Rancher Daddy

by Lexi Whitlow

  A baby? I reach down and place my palm on my belly. There’s a tautness there, down deep inside. I thought it was just a pulled muscle or something from all the heaving. Could there be…? Do I have a baby growing inside me?

  I don’t bother to shower. I just pull on jeans and a t-shirt and run a comb through my hair. I’m going to go to the drug store and buy a home pregnancy test. I’m not going to think about what any of this means until I know – for sure.

  Keys and purse in hand, I head out into the kitchen, and that’s when I see the stack of papers on the kitchen table with a handwritten note from Maddox on top.

  “Good Morning Ave,

  I hope you’re feeling better. I made coffee. It should still be fresh. After you’re awake, please have a look at the report I left here for you. I wish I could have waited to give this to you face to face, but I need to talk to your parents about it – NOW. I plan to be back before you even wake up, but if not, please, please, please don’t leave the apartment. I’ll be back very soon. We’ll talk about what to do.

  I love you more than anything.

  – Maddox 7:30 a.m.”

  * * *

  I check my watch. It’s almost noon. I can smell the stale coffee. It’s long since gone cold. The scent turns my stomach, but some other feeling raises a chill at the base of my neck.

  I slide Maddox’ note aside and lift the first few pages of the hefty document he’s left. I start reading.

  * * *

  The photos and text sent to the source number on March 16, originated from a private cell phone number registered to Duane Robin Abbot,...

  * * *

  My knees go weak. I have to sit. My head spins.

  This can’t be right.

  I remember Robin. He worked for my mother in D.C. when I was just a kid. He would have been cute if he hadn’t been such a sycophant.

  Yeah, that was Robin in the bar that night. Amazing I didn’t recognize him. But then I never paid him any attention before, either. A moment before he knocked me out he said something like, “It is you. Isn’t it?” like he knew me.

  He used to work for my mother. No. He still works for my mother. And they paid him to follow me? They paid him… And he… He took those pictures of me… He was at the Fairmont… They knew what he did, and he was still at the Fairmont, and they let him send me those photographs.

  Oh my God. My parents did this.

  Suddenly I feel very calm. The nausea is gone. Clarity; that’s what this is. It’s the stillness and focus I summon in the moments before I have to step out into a crowd and work it, or before I take the stage to deliver a speech. Inside this bubble of clarity, I know myself. I know what’s real, what’s imagined, and what’s completely false.

  I flash on my mother’s dead eyes and cold smile. False.

  My father’s iron-clad, take-no-prisoners determination. False.

  Maddox. He’s authentic. True and loyal, and he’s very real.

  God, I’ve been so blind, for so long.

  I retrieve my phone from my purse and dial his number. It goes to straight to voicemail. I leave him a message, explaining that I’ve read enough of the report to understand. I say I love him, and yes – we’ll go away together.

  I decide to wait for Maddox to return before going out, as he asked. I spend the time reading through the details in the report, and what I discover chills me ever more profoundly, convincing me that my parents aren’t just reckless and uncaring – they’re genuinely dangerous.

  I expect Maddox to be back anytime, so after an hour, I’m worried. I call him again, and once more the call goes straight to voicemail.

  He went to confront my parents with this information. What was he thinking? If they’re willing to have someone with a violent history follow me and attack me – just to try to scare me into submission – what will they do to him? What are they really capable of? What depths will the desperate go to in order to keep their secrets?

  Maddox is in danger, and so am I.

  I try to call him again. No answer. Something is terribly wrong. He should have been back hours ago. I realize I need to leave before my parents catch up and realize I know what they’ve done.

  I quickly pack an overnight bag and head toward the door. Just as I’m about to open it, my phone rings.

  Maddox!

  I check the caller ID before answering and see – to my horror – that the call is from my mother.

  Do I answer? Do I just let it go?

  No. Answer it. She’ll be freaking out by now. Play dumb and calm her down.

  I swipe to answer, and put on my best sickly voice. “Hello.”

  “Where are you?” Evelyn asks me, her voice brittle as tin.

  “In bed.” I lie. “I’m still sick. I’m so sick.”

  I hear her sigh. Is it relief? “Stay in bed,” she says, contriving a sympathetic tone. “I’ll stop by in a little while and bring you some hot and sour soup. Just get some rest.”

  “Okay,” I say dreamily. “I will. I’m not getting out of bed until I have to throw up again.”

  “I’ll be there very soon,” she assures me.

  “Okay.”

  I grab the report from the kitchen table, shoving it in my bag with my laptop and clothes.

  “I’ll see you then, Mother. No need to hurry. I’m so tired. I’m going back to sleep.”

  As soon as she hangs up, I bolt out the door without a backward glance. Once in the parking garage, I realize that Maddox has taken the Range Rover. I have no transportation. Now what?

  Ordinarily this would cause me to panic, but clarity is useful in times of great stress. I take a deep breath, gather my thoughts, and consider my options.

  Ella works nine blocks away at a local gallery. My parents have no idea where she works, as they’ve never shown the least bit of interest in my ‘artsy friend.’ I don’t think they even know her last name.

  I heft my bag on my shoulder and start walking. Ella will help me sort through all of this, at least until I can find out what the hell my parents have done with Maddox.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Maddox

  I don’t wait for Evelyn Thomas’ Rottweiler of a secretary to announce me. I blow past her like she’s a ghost, with her nipping at my heels, barking.

  As I barge in, I find Evelyn sitting behind her desk like she’s the Queen of England. The expression on her face when she first see’s me is best described as bemused, but it shifts quickly to outraged indignation when I ask her – without any preamble – who the hell Duane Robin Abbot is, and why she’s paying him to stalk people – including their daughter.

  The Rottweiler secretary says, “I’m getting General Thomas and calling security.” She disappears.

  Evelyn Thomas glares at me.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  I drop a copy of the report on her desk.

  “Your senate page, going back ten years,” I say. “You’ve paid him $200k and change in the last six months. Do you pay that kind of money to people you’ve never heard of? Do you let them into your offices? Into your events? I have photographs of your husband talking to him at the Scarlet Huntington event. They looked like they knew one another pretty well.”

  She blanches.

  “You’re beyond your depth, Maddox.”

  I turn. Richard Thomas is standing behind me, flanked by Dan Diamond and another one of their thuggish security guys.

  “Am I?” I ask. “Fine. Just tell me why? Why would you have a guy like Abbot follow Avery? Why did he assault her? And why did you let him in to the Fairmont and the other events after you knew he hurt her? Explain it to me like I’m a six-year old. ‘Cause I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  General Thomas turns to Diamond and the other guy, waving them off. They retreat from the office, closing the door behind them, leaving just the three of us in what feels like a stand-off.

  Evelyn looms behind her desk lik
e a pillar, immobilized, un-blinking.

  General Thomas takes two confident steps toward me, his face a mask of arrogant superiority. I’m reminded of the first night I gave into him.

  “Avery doesn’t always grasp what her purpose is. Sometimes she needs to be reminded, and reminded just how tenuous her situation is. Some people are motivated by money. Some by ambition. And some are motivated by fear. Avery’s the latter. We only had Abbot remind her of everything she needs to be frightened of, and just how small she is on the spectrum of things that actually matter.”

  He gave me a satisfied smile.

  “And it worked. She’s gotten in line. She’s behaving herself. And she’s serving her purpose.”

  “Her purpose is to serve you?” I ask, feeling my heartbeat pick-up, my vision narrowing. “To help you two achieve your political ambitions?”

  “What else could it possibly be?” General Thomas asks me, shrugging. “Evelyn and I both knew, very early on what it was we wanted to accomplish in our lives. It was necessary to have a family – a child – to look the part; to be convincing. Avery’s always been part of the larger strategy. And one day, she’ll carry it...”

  I don’t wait for him to finish. I’ve heard enough. The blow I deliver to his smug face is as explosive and unexpected as it is devastating. I feel his jaw pop as my fist punches in deep, displacing flesh and bone. I catch him from below with a follow-up left hook, rocking his head back violently. He drops like a sack onto the hard floor at my feet – out cold.

  I swing around to Evelyn Thomas, considering doing similar violence (in opposition to every rule I ever manufactured in my mind about never hurting a woman), but before I can reach her, Dan Diamond and at least five other guys are on me, dragging me down to the floor, kicking me, pummeling me with fists.

  I give as good as I get – generally speaking – but when all is said and done, I’m in cuffs, surrounded by San Francisco PD, being read my rights, as EMTs work on Richard Thomas, trying to get him to wake up.

  The police haul me downstairs and duck me into a patrol car, then drive me to City Hall for booking.

  At the county lock-up, they take my keys, my belt, my wallet, and my cell phone. They put me in a cage with seven other guys who all look like they’re tweaking on something nasty that’s going to kill more brain cells than they can afford to spare.

  “You got one phone call, Bryant. Make it worthwhile,” the Bull says, when my paperwork is finally processed.

  I know that Avery is at her apartment, probably reading the report and having a panic attack. I also know she can’t help me, and right now, I’m no good to her. I know of only one person I can turn to in a situation like this. I ask them to pull the number from my cell, and once I have it, I get on the phone and call First Lieutenant Lucas Salvatore. He picks up on the first ring.

  “Salvatore,” he says.

  “Boss, it’s Bryant. I’m jammed the fuck up and I need your help, post haste.”

  He may have anticipated this call based on the fact that I emailed him at six this morning, sent him the report, and told him I was going to the Thomas’ to confront them with the intelligence.

  “What did you do?”

  Twenty-four hours later Lucas Salvatore is standing beside me, along with an attorney named Webster hired to represent me at my arraignment hearing. The judge looks at me and Salvatore, at the charges against me, and then she looks over her glasses at the three high-priced attorneys at the other table.

  “By the looks of all this, everyone here wants this to go away quietly,” she says. Her face looks as pinched and superior as Evelyn Thomases.

  She’s in their pocket. Of course.

  “Mr. Bryant, General Thomases council has requested a mediation meeting before we proceed to formally filing charges. Are you amenable?”

  “We are ma’am,” my attorney replies without consulting me.

  The fuck I am. I glare at him. He shoots me a look that tells me to shut the up.

  Twenty minutes later I’m in a room with the suits. Apparently only one of them speaks. The others are just there to add color. The Thomases have a deal.

  “One hundred thousand dollars, plus six thousand per month for the next five years. All you have to do is go away. Leave the Bay Area. Do not contact Avery Thomas, and do not respond to any attempts she makes to contact you. Start a new life. Agree to keep what you know about Robin Abbot to yourself. No contact with the press or anyone else on the matter.”

  The man slides a piece of paper in front of me. It’s a contract.

  “Mr. Bryant, that’s almost half a million dollars. It’s very generous.”

  “Fuck off,” I respond.

  He draws in a deep breath. “If we move ahead with assault charges, you’ll face prison time. Richard Thomas’ jaw is broken and his skull was fractured. Attempted murder isn’t out of the question.”

  “Fuck off,” I repeat.

  He turns his attention to my attorney. “Will you discuss this with your client, Mr. Webster? Talk some sense into him? We’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

  They leave the room, leaving me with Salvatore and my lawyer, who – as soon as the door closes – grins at me like a giddy kid.

  “Fuck off?” he says, entertained with my choice of words. “You pick interesting enemies.”

  “They can fuck off. I’m not about to leave Avery to them. I’m not about to let them...”

  He raises his hand, shushing me.

  “Of course not.” He replies. “They’re awful. And the offer they’ve made...” He pops his finger on the contract like he’s popping the flippers on a pinball table. “… it isn’t worth the recycled paper it’s printed on. You can sign it – but it’s unenforceable. It actually puts in print a confession of at least some of their misdeeds.”

  He grins at me. “In fact, I think you should sign it, so we can get their signatures on it – Mr. & Mrs. Thomas’ – and then take that, along with your interesting little report, to the U.S. Attorney Generals office. It’s blackmail, pure and simple. It’s illegal, not to mention highly unethical.

  “Signing it will get you out of here a lot faster, and it will put them off their guard. Just don’t cash their checks. You’ll have to find another way to pay me for my expert legal advice.”

  I look to Salvatore for guidance. He nods and shrugs. “You have nothing to lose.”

  That much is correct. I have nothing to lose – except Avery. Every hour that passes puts her farther and farther beyond my reach. For all I know, by now her parents have already turned her against me completely.

  “I’ll handle the AG’s office.” Webster says. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Webster calls the other lawyers back in, then explains that I’m willing to accept all the terms offered, on the single condition that both Richard and Evelyn Thomas sign the documents themselves.

  “I think we can arrange that.” The lead attorney agrees. “They’re both anxious to put this issue to bed.”

  I bet they are.

  When Lucas lets me use his phone, I call Avery. On her cell. And then on the landline her parents insisted she have in her apartment.

  And then I check my own phone when the jailer hands it to me. The message she left on my voicemail sounds calm, like she understands everything and she has a plan. Like she’s resigned to it. My stomach drops. Every word she says indicates that she’s finally going through with the plan. She’s taking that goddamn passport, and she’s leaving.

  Lucas surveys the look on my face and punches me in the shoulder. “That girl got the fuck out of dodge, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah,” I say, sighing. I haven’t even been released from prison officially, and I’m already trying to figure out if she went north, south, or booked a flight to the fucking Caribbean.

  “Women, man,” Salvatore says. “Guess you better get the hell out of here and figure out where she went. Easy as pie, right?”

  I nod. “Yes sir. Easy as fucking pie.”
<
br />   “You give me a call when you get wherever it is you’re going, Bryant. I need a man like you on board when I retire.”

  “And I’m happy to have you, sir,” I say.

  Salvatore claps me on the shoulder and walks outside while I sign all the papers that will set me free. He’s a good man — far better than General Thomas. Salvatore is a marine truly deserving of his rank.

  The Thomases might think I’m out of their daughter’s life for good — but there’s no way I’m letting her get away this time.

  Now all I have to do is figure out what her plan is and track her down.

  When it comes to Avery, all roads lead to and from Ella. So that’s exactly where I’m planning to start.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Avery

  It’s hilarious that the instructions say “Wait five minutes”. It takes less than thirty seconds before the plus sign pops up in neon-bright magenta inside the little plastic window of the pregnancy test. Amazing that you can dribble pee on a plastic stick, and a few minutes later, the entire course of your life as you imagined it takes a hard left turn.

  I walk out of the bathroom, plastic stick in hand. I wave it at Ella.

  “Ella. I think there’s something you might want to see.” I sit down in one of the chairs across from her and put the pregnancy test on her table.

  She’s buried in the report, her eyes as big around as saucers. She ignores the evidence in my hand as she looks up from the papers and says, “Girl, your mother and father are evil. Walking, talking, fire-breathing, evil mofo’s.”

  I know.

  I slide the stick towards her. “You’re exactly right, Elle. And there’s this.”

  I didn’t think her eyes could get any wider, but she surprises me.

  “Oh shit.”

  That’s one way to put it.

  “It won’t take my parents long to find me,” I say, ignoring the blaring plus sign for now. “My cell phone account is in their name. They’ll pull some strings, search my call log, track it to you, then track my GPS. It’s a matter of hours, not days. I need to move on, or become their Stepford spawn. And they’ll have try to control this, too.” I gesture to the test and look at Ella with wide, frightened eyes.