by David Lucin
“That’d make sense, wouldn’t it?” Philip said. “My dad’s not stupid.”
“Touché,” Sophie retorted with a wave of her stick. “Where is he, then? And before you think about lying to me, let me warn you that I have no qualms about inviting in my head of security, and as you can see”—she gestured to the saws, the screwdrivers, and the drills hanging on the walls—“we have a lot of . . . useful implements to encourage you to talk.”
Philip loosed an insincere laugh. “Right. Like you have the guts for that. Not even that Dylan Baker guy would. I don’t care what stories about him are floating around out there.”
“You’ve got a real problem with authority,” Sophie said firmly, though there was an ounce of respect in her tone. “Do I need to remind you who has all the leverage here?”
“What leverage? Empty threats about torture?” He leaned forward in his chair as much as he could, an idea rolling around in his skull. “The way I see it, I’m the one with the leverage here.”
Sophie returned to chewing her stick. “Explain.”
“Maybe I’ve had a change of heart,” Philip said, and Sophie’s jaw dropped so fast the stick nearly fell from her lips. “Maybe I’ve come to the realization that it’s in everyone’s best interest that my dad is found and arrested.”
It was Sophie’s turn to laugh. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I find it rather hard to believe that being isolated in this musty shop has led to some great epiphany on your part. Please take no offense when I ask that you elaborate.”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Philip admitted, not knowing exactly what he was going to say. But as soon as he started speaking, the words tumbled out of his mouth. Saying them was almost therapeutic, and he regretted not having taken Rachel up on her offer to talk when he had the chance. “All we wanted was payback for my mom.”
“Your mom,” Sophie repeated softly. “Heard she died not long after the bombs.”
“That’s right,” Philip confirmed, then briefly explained how she passed. “My dad blamed the mayor, the cops, the refugees. Even I did. Still do. The plan was to kick up some support for CFF and get Dad into office.”
“Might’ve happened if you waited until fall. What changed? Why did you see fit to launch a military-style operation against me?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. Ever since that big protest, my dad was getting paranoid, thinking the police were after him. He was convinced that this was the only way. Strike first, I guess. Initiative and all that.”
She spat onto the floor. “And you went along with it?”
“Really wishing I hadn’t now. Otherwise, my friend out there might still be alive. But thanks for asking.”
Her cheek twitched at the mention of Rachel. After a short silence, she asked, “So he gives up the dream of running for mayor and decides to stage a takeover instead?”
“Looks like it. That was always the last resort, but I really didn’t think it’d go that far.” He licked his lips, wishing he had more water so his voice wasn’t so hoarse. “This isn’t over for him. He’ll keep escalating until he gets what he wants or dies trying. We might not be the perfect father-son combo, but he’s still my dad, and I want him to come out of this alive.”
Sophie nodded along, then glared a hole through him. “And the Go Market? Based on what you’re telling me now, that was CFF, I presume? The beginning of your little scheme.”
Valeria Flores's yelp filled his ears. He fought to keep his expression neutral, but he must have failed, because Sophie’s eyebrows folded into the shape of a V.
“Were you there?” she hissed.
Philip knew what she was getting at, but if he was going to come clean about Valeria Flores, it wouldn’t be to Sophie Beaumont; it would be to Valeria’s friend, the girl with the long ponytail.
So he dodged the question and told Sophie what she wanted to hear. “I’ll tell you where my father is.”
Her mouth opened as though she intended to press him about his role at the Go Market, but then she shut it, crossed her arms, and touched her lip with an index finger. “Just like that?”
“You think everyone but you is a moron?” Philip asked. “No, not just like that.”
“Then what? Let me be clear about this up front: setting you free is not an option.”
“Figured as much.”
She tapped her foot and turned over her wrist like she meant to check a watch, but she wasn’t wearing one. “Look, Mr. Grierson, I’m enjoying this chat, given the circumstances, but I’ve begun to suspect that this is some ploy to stall me. You have thirty seconds to give me what I came in here to get. When those thirty seconds expire, I’m walking out that door and not coming back. So if you want to make a deal in return for your father’s location, let’s cut the BS, shall we? Neither of us are getting any younger.”
Reluctantly, Philip conceded that Sophie was growing on him. She was abrasive in every way possible, but he appreciated that she was blunt and honest. Once more he was reminded of Rachel. “Fair enough. I have two conditions.”
Sophie waved her stick, telling him to continue.
“First, I want to try talking to him.”
She coughed out a half-chuckle. “You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious, actually. I might be able to talk him down, explain that he needs to quit this before he gets himself and a lot of other people killed. I’ve already lost one friend today. I’m not losing anyone else.”
“And you think he can be convinced to see reason?”
“If he doesn’t, his guys, they respect me. There’s a good chance they’ll listen to what I have to say.” A “good” chance was somewhat of an exaggeration, but he had to give Sophie the impression that his plan would work.
She retrieved her hat from the floor and brushed it off on her shirt. “I’ll propose that we try, but no promises. Ultimately, this will be a Flagstaff PD operation.”
“That’s all I can ask for.”
“Second condition?”
“One of your guards,” Philip began. “A girl. Young. Long black hair. Asian.”
Sophie squinted at him. “What about her?”
Confessing to murder would no doubt send him back to prison, but after last night, that was inevitable anyway. Although he’d never get over the guilt of killing Valeria Flores, he could ease it a little, and the only way he could think to do that was by apologizing to the only person he knew for sure was Valeria’s friend.
“Let me talk to her—alone—and then I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
* * *
Jenn sat on the edge of the couch in the Beaumonts’ living room, her rear hardly attached to the cushion. She’d tried standing but couldn’t stop pacing. Eventually, Sam forced her to sit down. Now she fidgeted, wrung her hands together, and picked at the frayed denim along the pockets of her jeans.
Liam, Gary, and Dylan huddled around the kitchen table, an irregularly shaped piece that Ed had made in his shop. On it lay an open paper map of Flagstaff. They were discussing where Grierson might have taken the mayor, but nobody had any solid ideas. Presently, Sophie was prodding Philip for information. Jenn doubted he would talk. What kind of son would give up his own father? She wondered why Dylan had yet to involve himself. As awful as his interrogation tactics were, they needed to find out what Philip knew.
“Hey,” Sam said and touched her knee, which was bouncing up and down. “Try to relax. Everything’s out of your control right now.”
“I know. But this is serious, Sam.”
“We’re not even sure why he took her.” His hand moved to her thigh. “Maybe he knows we have Philip and he’s planning to use the mayor and her husband as a bargaining chip. He could want to do an exchange.”
Jenn hadn’t thought about that, but as logical as the possibility sounded, she didn’t believe it, not for a second. “No, that doesn’t seem like something he’d do. He wants to be in control, plain and simple. This is a coup. It has to be.”
/> “A coup?”
“Yeah,” Jenn said, wondering if taking the mayor was part of Grierson’s plan all along or if he was simply giving one last, desperate roll of the dice after his defeat at the farm. There was no way to be certain. “It’s where you take over the government by force and then—”
“I know what a coup is. But really? Does he have the manpower for that? He can’t overthrow the police, can he?”
“You weren’t there for the big protest,” she said. “They were fanatics. Hundreds of them. We only got six of his people last night, plus the two Ed took to the hospital. Who knows how many more he has? We need to find him before he tries getting his supporters to march on the Go Market or the police station or wherever else.”
He bit the nail on his middle finger. “You don’t think that would actually happen, do you?” he asked, sounding like he believed it probably would.
Before she could answer him, the front door banged open, and in came Sophie. At once, the men at the table went quiet and turned to her, but she spoke to Jenn: “There you are.”
Jenn touched her chest. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. Step outside with me for a minute, will you?”
Her bowels cramped. “What for?”
“Prince Philip has requested to speak with you.”
Sam shot out of his seat. “No way.”
Gary chimed in with, “Do you know Philip Grierson, Jenn?”
“No,” she croaked out. “Never met him before in my life.” Then, to Sophie, “What does he want with me?”
“I have no idea.” Sophie tapped her foot and scratched at the mesh on her cap. “He wouldn’t tell me. He pleads ignorance when I grill him on the mayor going missing or his dear old dad having any plan to kidnap her, but he said he’s willing to give us his location in return for talking to you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jenn said. “I don’t—”
“I’ll go with you,” Sam offered, chewing on a thumbnail now.
Sophie began shaking her head almost before Sam finished. “Nope. He specified alone.”
Her bones heavy, Jenn rose from the couch. Why would Philip want to speak with her? When he came to the farm with his father and that blonde woman, he saw her while she was lurking in the woods, but only briefly. Last night, during the attack, any CFF people who caught sight of her wound up dead.
The cross around her neck pressed into her skin, and a bubble of pressure pushed against the back of her sternum. Was he at the Go Market that night? Had he seen her there? Did he know who killed Val?
“Look,” Sophie began, touching her breast pocket in search of cigarettes that weren’t there. “I absolutely do not expect you to go in there and see him if you don’t want to. We can find another way.”
Jenn’s hand inched toward the necklace. “No,” she said, trying to project confidence, but the words squeaked past her lips. “I’ll do it.”
“Jenn,” Sam pleaded and touched the small of her back.
She forced out a smile and tapped the pistol on her hip. “It’s okay. He’s tied up.” With a quick glance over at the kitchen table, she saw Gary give her a short nod. Dylan did the same. Liam, still seated, swallowed so hard that his head bobbed. Was he also thinking that Philip might have seen her at the Go Market?
Sophie led her outside. At the bottom of the steps leading up to the deck, she said, “I didn’t want to say this in front of the guys, especially not your boyfriend. No offense to him, but he’s hyper-protective of you even though you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, and I simply lack the patience for his Superman antics right now.” Taking Jenn’s forearm, she pulled her to the side of the house. “So before you go in there, I wanted to give you my opinion on the situation. As much as I like to remain skeptical, I believe Prince Philip is telling the truth. I don’t think he knows anything about Grierson the elder having a plan to take Andrews.”
“Why?” Jenn asked. “He could be playing you, stringing you along while his dad does who knows what to the mayor.”
“I’m not convinced that’s the case. Philip was being oddly open with me, and his relationship with pops is . . . complicated, to say the least. Apparently Grierson Senior paid a lot of money to get Philip’s prison time down to only—”
“Prison time!” Jenn blurted. “For what?”
“Armed robbery, I heard. You didn’t know that?”
“No! Why would I?”
Sophie grunted. “Huh, I guess I assumed you would’ve known. Anyway, if we can hold the questions until the end, I’d like to continue.”
“Sorry,” Jenn said. She was already apprehensive about meeting Philip, but now she was second-guessing her decision. “I’m listening.”
“The point I was trying to make, Jansen, is that I get the sense Philip has had a sort of epiphany, and he’s showing a lot of what I can only identify as remorse.” Again she patted her shirt pocket, then swore under her breath and added, “He didn’t admit it outright, but when I prodded him later about CFF being behind the Go Market, his mask slipped.”
“So? I’ve been saying that forever.”
“But then I asked him if he was there. He changed the subject a little too quickly for my liking. I’m worried that he might have been personally involved.”
The sounds of gunfire and of Mikey and Bryce shouting at each other as they fought to save Val’s life echoed in her ears. “That still doesn’t explain why he wants to talk to me.”
“No, but I want to reiterate that you don’t have to go in there.”
“No,” Jenn said. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Outside the shop, Sophie paused and told Jenn, “I’ll be waiting right here.” She pointed to a spot in the sparse grass. “You need me, give me a shout. Got it?”
Jenn could only nod; her attention was fixed on the door. After Sophie finally pushed it open, she gestured for the guard inside to come out, then told Jenn to go in. Her stomach was full of butterflies, the kind that made her sick.
Light streamed in through the high windows above a lathe, spotlighting a man bound to a chair in the center of the room, his hands restrained behind his back. His hair was thicker and blonder than the last time she saw him, but still short. From this close, the tattoo appeared even more intricate. He wore a black long-sleeve shirt and dark pants. There were spots of what looked like blood on both. His or someone else’s?
He squinted and leaned forward as much as his restraints would allow. “What’s your name?” he asked. His voice was deep, rough, intimidating. Or maybe it only came across as intimidating because she’d found out that he spent time in prison for a violent crime. She reiterated to herself that she was the one with the power here—the one with the weapon.
“Does it matter?” she shot back. “What do you want with me?”
Awkwardly, he shifted in his seat. “I saw you at the farm. When my dad came by to talk to Sophie.” He licked his lips, which sounded almost like sandpaper on wood. “I’m Philip.”
“I know that.”
He squirmed again and insisted, “This would be easier if I knew your name.”
“Fine. It’s Jenn. Happy?”
“Jenn,” he repeated slowly. “Is that short for—”
“Can we get on with this?” The pressure in her chest was building, pushing harder and harder against her ribs. “Why am I here? Why do you want to talk to me?”
A loud sigh escaped him. “I was at the Go Market that night. I saw you.”
Goosebumps formed along her arms. Sophie had suspected that Philip was there, and not since Allison first proposed that CFF was involved in the attack did Jenn really doubt that Grierson’s people had killed Val, but hearing his admission unsettled her. Finally, though, after Gary and then Liam questioned her theories, this was the proof she’d always needed.
“I knew it was you,” she spat, then saw Val as she lay dead on the pavement. “Did you do it?” She almost didn’t want to hear the answer, but she was reminded of her
promise to Val. “Did you kill her?”
He ran his tongue over his lips some more. In the half-second it took him to respond, every muscle in Jenn’s body had gone taut. “You were her friend, weren’t you?” he asked. “Valeria Flores?”
“Don’t say her name,” she growled. Her left hand reached for the cross, while her right was on the butt of her Glock. Tears filled her eyes. She was ashamed when one broke free and rolled down her cheek; the last thing she wanted to do was show this monster any weakness. “I’m going to ask you again. Did you kill her? Was it you?”
Philip sighed and hung his head, shoulders slumped. Then he sucked in a lungful of air. On the exhale, he said, “It was me. I’m sorry.”
The pressure behind her sternum released. Her knees wobbled, and the room spun. He continued speaking, but the sound had become a distant, jumbled echo. The edges of her vision darkened, and a flutter in the back of her throat tried to break free as a sob or a scream. She didn’t know which would come out. Likely some combination of the two.
Then everything faded to black, and she wasn’t in the woodshop anymore; she was at the cemetery with Val. After Phoenix, she’d asked about Jenn’s family, her brothers and especially her parents. Her mother and father, Jenn said, simply disappeared—it was like they never existed. No memorial, no funeral, nothing.
“So we can make one,” Val suggested.
Beneath a tree, away from the other graves, together they dug a hole. It was only a few shovelfuls deep, but that was enough to bury a photograph. It was silly, sure, and even a little stupid; Jenn only had a single printed picture of them. Yet it was something real, something tangible. It gave her parents a final resting place and gave Jenn somewhere to visit them. Val had said a prayer in Spanish. Jenn didn’t know what it meant, but it was beautiful and perfect. Nobody else came. They wouldn’t understand. But Val did. It was the only time Jenn had seen her cry.
Now she was gone—gone because of Philip Grierson.
For days, Jenn fixated on Vincent and convinced herself that he was responsible. He would pay, she promised, for orchestrating the attack. But she hadn’t really expected to face the actual murderer; in the end, the person who fired the shot was less important than the one who gave the order. She suddenly had the opportunity to exact real vengeance.