by Mary Calmes
I sighed. “You didn’t get in trouble?”
“I don’t get in trouble.”
“But people pay you. Don’t they want a refund?”
The long exasperated sigh let me know that I was annoying.
“Tell me how it works.”
“No.”
“Is Hawkins still alive?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Really?”
“Come on,” I pleaded.
He turned his head to me. “Money gets wired, and I either make the transfer when I finish the job or I don’t.”
“Oh.” That answered one question. “And Hawkins?”
“Someone else did that.”
“Okay.”
We were silent.
“We will get Landry back,” he promised me.
I pushed air through my lungs. “How do you know?”
“I just do.”
I tried to let his certainty comfort me.
“What are you thinking?”
“That none of this makes any sense, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Why Landry?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
I looked back out the window, unable to talk anymore.
When we landed at McCarran International, I texted Gabriel to tell him I had landed fine and that I would give him an update as soon as I knew anything. I had called him the night before after Conrad picked me up and explained what had happened. He was furious for me and made me promise to let him know if I needed anything at all.
“Thanks Gabe,” I had replied softly.
“You’ll get him back Trev,” he promised me. “Make sure you call me.”
“I will,” I sighed and hung up.
After Conrad and I separated, me to duck into the bathroom and him to go get a rental car, I went to wait for him on the curb outside in front of arrivals. Ten minutes later, he rolled up to collect me.
“That’s amazing,” I told him as I opened the back door and threw my duffel in.
“What is?” he asked when I got in the passenger seat and buckled in.
“I’ve never gotten a car that fast.”
He squinted at me. “You reserve it online, they come pick you up, take you to the rental car place, you sign, they give you keys, and you drive away. What’s to wait for?”
“You must be, like, a gold member or something.”
“Try platinum.”
“I guess you rent a lot of cars, huh?”
“Contract killer, comes with the job.”
“You don’t say hitman?”
“We don’t say contract killer either. For fuck’s sake, Trev.”
“I’ve never, you know,” I said, looking at his profile, the dark aviator glasses, the chiseled features, his dark smooth skin, “told anyone what you do.”
“I know that,” he said, checking the rearview mirror, distracted.
“Just so we’re clear.”
“We’re clear,” he murmured, but he wasn’t really paying attention to me.
“What’re you doing?”
“Is your seatbelt on?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
I looked at him again—his black leather jacket, the cashmere turtleneck underneath, the scarf the same color—and thought that he looked like he was ready to go sightseeing or something.
“Do me a favor.”
“What?”
“Reach under the seat and pass me the gun.”
“You just rented this car and there’s a gun under the seat?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“That’s not that big a deal right now. Could you get the gun?”
When the handgun with the silencer was in my grip, I straightened up. At the same moment, he began to slow. Another car flew by us, several others having passed, but when this one did, we were suddenly in pursuit. He had the Lexus up over ninety before the car in front of us missed a turn, skidded, slid, and hit the concrete barrier. When the car stopped, we did too, in the middle of the freeway, and got onto the median. He reversed fast before spinning around and driving the wrong way back to the car. It was early, so we were mostly alone, but still there were lots of blaring horns before we stopped.
I reached for my door as Conrad threw his open and grabbed the gun from me.
“Do not get out!” he barked at me even as he did.
“I—”
“Do not get out!” he roared a second time, standing outside the car before sprinting toward the other.
I couldn’t see—not from my angle or the other car’s—and I wanted to go, but the man had given me a direct order, and it was more about trust than anything else. Did I trust him enough to stay put?
When I saw him loping back, I turned and waited for him.
He got in, shoved the gun at me, threw the car into drive, and peeled out, fishtailing back onto the freeway as we drove away.
“Jesus Christ, Conrad, what the fuck?”
“There should be a holster under your seat. Can you get that for me?”
“Conrad!”
He growled at me. “Okay, so those guys were supposed to kill us.”
“Kill us?”
“Well, you. I wasn’t on the menu since no one knew I was coming.”
“Are you kidding? What the hell is going on?”
“Someone is really sloppy, because this plan is bad.”
“What…? This doesn’t make any sense,” I said, leaning over, reaching for the holster, feeling around until I found it, pulling it out and showing it to him.
“Unscrew the silencer, holster the gun, and then pass me the silencer and then the gun.”
It was hot. I turned to him. “You fired the gun?”
“Of course. You don’t let people live who are trying to kill you. That’s, like, the number one rule of survival.”
“But we could have turned them over to the police. Maybe they could have led us to Landry.” My voice quavered.
“They had no idea where Landry is; all they were supposed to do was keep you from making it to the house. Period.”
I took a breath. “They weren’t very good.”
“No,” he agreed. “Which tells me a lot.”
“It does?”
He nodded. “This, combined with your earlier point that none of this makes any fuckin’ sense, because why?”
“I dunno, why?”
“Landry’s been gone—what’d you tell me when we were talking about this a while back— like, nine years?”
“Eight years.”
“Okay, so eight years he’s been out of the picture, and the second he’s back he’s a ransom target? Yeah? Does that make any sense?”
No. None at all.
“Think, Trevan. What could it be?”
“I don’t wanna learn anything here, Connie; just fuckin’ tell me what you think.”
“Well, logically, it can only be family bullshit or friend bullshit. Whoever took Landry knows him or knows of him. There’s no way someone waited all this time. This has crime of opportunity written all over it.”
“How do you know?”
“Like I said, nothing else makes sense, and those idiots back there, they were guys that somebody knows and asked for a favor or threw money at.”
“And you killed them.”
“Yes, I did, because a, that’s what I do, and b, they were trying to kill you. You stay safe because people know if they come for you, they die. If people ever find out that someone tried to kill you and lived through it—that’s my reputation.”
“You would kill people for your reputation.”
“It’s my name, Trevan. You don’t know. My name is all I have.”
“No one would have known if you let them go.”
“I would have known, and believe me, those assholes would have talked. People know that I’m your shadow; all they have to say is, ‘We tried to kill Trevan Bean and lived.’” He shook his head. �
�There’s no way.”
“Jesus.”
“Get the fuck over it, it’s done.”
I nodded because I didn’t have a choice.
“Think now,” he said as he drove, slowing to a pace that would not alert highway patrol. “Who would want to hurt Landry?”
I had no idea.
“Are you thinking?”
“I am, but I don’t… I don’t know.”
“Okay,” he breathed. “What does Landry have?”
“He has nothing worth a ransom. He has a jewelry business, and he rents an apartment with me, for crissakes. He doesn’t have shit.”
“Yeah, but you said his family does.”
“Sure, and that’s who they want the ransom from, but—”
“But why would Landry factor in? How does he factor in?”
“I don’t—”
“You’re not thinking.”
I wasn’t, I was barely breathing.
“Trevan.”
“What, fuck, how the hell should I know?”
“C’mon, Trevan, use your brain. When Landry left, was there a trust fund? Did he have one? Was there money that got moved around? How many kids are there?”
“Four.”
“And did that become three and now it’s back to four?”
“Are you serious? I have no—”
“That’s motive, do you understand? Money is motive, the biggest one, always.”
“Money.” I had to wrap my brain around it. I had none; I grew up lower middle class, dipping into poor after my father died. There had never been enough. I didn’t know about money.
“You have to think; how much is enough to fuck someone over for?”
“That can’t be.”
“It’s the only thing it can be.”
I shook my head.
“Yes.”
“No,” I insisted. “It can’t be his family. You weren’t there, you didn’t see them. They all want him to love them so bad.”
“You’re wrong. Somebody doesn’t give a crap.”
I never argued with him, but this time I could because I knew what I saw and I knew love when it looked me in the face.
“Listen to me.”
“I am.”
“I think Landry was out of the will and now he’s back in and somebody’s pissed about that. Or someone used up their trust fund or borrowed against it and now it’s gone because Landry’s back. I dunno, but it has to be about cash either being gone or being smaller. Any way you slice this, it’s money.”
I just stared at him.
“What?”
“That’s a lot of fuckin’ scenarios.”
“And I’ve been the deal breaker on the end of all of them at one time or another.”
“Everything you just said—you’ve actually lived all those. Those all really happened.”
“Yeah. I’ve killed people because of all those things.”
“Jesus.”
“You don’t get it, but Landry’s been gone a long time. Eight years is long enough for things to have been changed, and now that he’s back, money will get redistributed. And probably his folks haven’t even thought about moving things around yet, but it follows that they will. Whoever did this is counting on it. Landry’s parents would want everything to be equitable between the four children.”
“You’re telling me that either one of his brothers or his sister arranged this.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m telling you.”
“That’s crazy.”
“That’s money. You have to think. What is some prodigal son when weighed against millions?”
“I just can’t believe it. I mean, I saw them with him.”
“Which is why seeing is bullshit, hearing is worse, just like the saying goes.”
“Then how do you know what to believe?”
“You follow your heart and listen to your goddamn friends.”
I took a deep breath. “I want him back. I need him back.”
“I know you do.”
I worked hard not to hyperventilate.
There were police cars in the driveway of the house when we reached it half an hour later. Conrad and I were allowed through the barricade, both of us given admittance without question. Someone had made sure my name was on the list, along with anyone who was with me. As the front door was opened by a uniformed policeman, I heard my name yelled from the opposite end of the room. I turned and Jocelyn ran fast to fill my arms.
“Oh, Trevan, I’m so sorry. You bring him to us after all this time and this happens,” she cried, hands on my chest. “I’m so sorry.”
I wrapped her in my arms and saw the looks of a pain and sadness on all the other faces in the room.
Except one.
Except the person I would have never suspected.
Neil, Landry’s father.
I had counted on Scott. Scott was the perfect choice. Scott was hard to like. He wasn’t warm like the others, and I had thought he wasn’t crazy about Landry. But the surface was one thing, and what was underneath was something completely different.
The look Scott was giving me was one of begrudging concern. He was sorry for me and worried about Landry; it was all over his face. What was on Neil’s face was surprise. He was absolutely stunned to see me.
“I gave the cops your name so you could come right in,” he told me.
Because he never thought I’d make it there.
My eyes locked on his face. He shivered hard.
“Folks,” a man said, walking over, looking at Neil and Cece, “it seems we have a development and something we all need to discuss.”
They looked at the man as he pointed to me.
“Are we free to talk in front of these men?”
“Oh God, yes,” Cece told him. “Detective Baylor, this is my son’s domestic partner, Trevan Bean, whom we told you about, and his… friend?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Conrad told her. “And Landry’s as well. I’m Terrence Moss.”
I turned to look at him, confused for a minute until it hit me. This was a police detective that he and I were being introduced to. It had never even crossed my mind, how close Conrad himself was standing to danger. And he was doing it for me, there for no other reason.
“Thank you for being here, Terrence,” she told him. “We appreciate you coming all the way from Detroit with Trevan.”
“Yes, we do,” Jocelyn nodded, tears leaking from her eyes as she clutched at me.
“So, what?” Scott demanded, annoyed. “Jesus, do you have news? We need to do something… he could be really hurt and… what?” he barked at the detective.
He turned to Neil. “Two men, Joshua Beatty and Topher Jones, were just found dead on Highway 15.” And because he was looking at Neil, I knew he was already aware that Neil knew them. His fixed regard, the squint of his eyes, was not good.
“Joshua and Topher.” Scott said the names, trying to think of something, trying to dredge something from his mind. “Joshua and…. How do I…? Oh, I know. Dad, aren’t those friends of Brendon?”
“Who’s Brendon?” I asked.
Scott turned to me. “He’s our maid Christine’s son.”
I looked back at Neil. “The maid’s son. Does he live here?”
“Yeah,” Scott answered for his father. “He lives in one of the larger cabanas down by the lake, close to the one you and Landry were sharing. His mother used to live there, too, before she passed away.”
“Who is Brendon’s father?” Conrad asked.
I turned to look at him. Everyone did.
“Why is that important?” Scott asked him.
He turned to look at the detective. “I think it’s very important.”
“As do I,” Detective Baylor agreed. “So we checked. No father on record.”
“How did they die?” Neil asked the detective, his voice sounding almost robotic. “The two boys.”
“They weren’t boys, Mr. Carter, but to answer your question, they were both shot in
the head with a small caliber handgun.”
He nodded and dropped down hard on the chair beside him, like he had just been drained of life—boneless, soulless, just empty.
“Mr. Carter?” The detective said his name sharply.
“He promised me no one would get hurt.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
“Who promised what, Mr. Carter?”
He just started shaking his head.
“Mr. Carter?”
“My son.”
“Which son?” Detective Baylor asked him, and we were all silent.
Conrad put his hands on my shoulders, squeezing tight.
“Daddy?” Jocelyn said.
He looked up at his daughter. “Brendan.”
“Brendan?” She squinted. “What are you—”
“Oh God,” Scott groaned, sounding like he was going to be sick.
“Brendan is your son?” Cece Carter asked her husband. The look on her face went from horrified to furious in a matter of seconds. “You told me I was seeing things! You told me—ohmygod!” she shrieked.
Once she started screaming, it quickly became a howl that wouldn’t stop. Scott went to her; Jocelyn got on her cell phone and called the doctor even as the wail went on and on. It was horrible to hear, and I watched Neil Carter’s life end right there in front of me.
“Mr. Carter!” Detective Baylor yelled, ordering the officers to take Mrs. Carter away. Jocelyn went with her, squeezing my hand before she left, making me promise to come to her mother’s room the minute I heard anything, the minute I knew the whole story.
“I promise,” I said without turning to look at her, my eyes locked on her father.
“Mr. Carter,” Detective Baylor barked again. “Tell me what happened now.”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Where’s Landry?” I roared at him.
“I don’t know.” He looked up at me with broken eyes. “He took him, and he was supposed to give him back the minute the ransom got paid.”
“But there’s been no ransom demand,” the detective reminded him.
He turned his head to the policeman. “I know, and that’s troubling.”
Troubling?
I started to shake, the desire to tear the man to shreds coursing through my body.
Troubling, he said.
Detective Baylor grabbed a chair and put it down in front of Mr. Carter. “Explain this to me: you had your one son kidnap his brother?”
“Half brother,” Scott almost snarled. “Jesus Christ, Dad, what the fuck did you do?”