by J Grayland
Chapter Forty-five
Nate
As I pulled the SUV into the parking space at King Security, a loud bark came from the back seat. Turning, I was faced with a large, wet tongue as Chance tried to lick my face. Since it was a clinic day for Casey, it meant that it was a “take the mutt to work day” for me, and he always got excited as soon as we got here. Getting out, I opened the back door for him to excitedly jump out and turn around in circles before he instinctively walked over to the elevator and sat, waiting for me to press the button.
Everyone in the office loved the days I brought him into work, and I was pretty sure he did, too. I mean, so many pretty girls, stroking and patting you all day, feeding you treats, and taking you for a walks and a toilet break on their own breaks? Yeah, he had it made, and I had to admit I had grown attached to the mutt. As soon as I opened my office door, he went straight to his bed in the corner and curled up for his early morning, pre-snack time nap, and I went to turn on my computer. I had just sat down in my chair, when Paxton flung open the doors to my office and strode in to stand in front of my desk. He looked flustered and irritated. He wasn’t wearing a jacket or tie, and his silk, button-down shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, like he’d been up all night digging a ditch. Alarmed at his entrance, I stood.
“Paxton, what the fuck is wrong? You look like shit,” I said impatiently.
“That’s because I feel like shit. I just spent the last two hours at Portland PD.” He sat, dropping down into the seat opposite me.
“What? What the hell for?”
Paxton ran both of his hands through his hair and down his face before taking in a deep breath.
“I got a call early this morning, asking me to go in and see a Detective Dillon. They couldn’t tell me anything over the phone, and that scared the shit out of me. I thought something had happened to you. So, I pressed the point more until they assured me it had nothing to do with any of my family members or the business.”
Walking around to the front of my desk, I leaned back against it, crossing my arms over my chest.
“And?”
“Peterson is dead,” Paxton said.
“What?”
“He was found dead in his office last night. His throat had been slit from ear to ear.”
Absently rubbing a hand across my chin, I tried to grasp what Paxton was telling me. Peterson was dead?
“So, what does that have to do with you?” I asked him.
“The last phone call he made was to my number.”
“Why would he call you?” I asked, confused.
“I don’t know. I never took a call from him, but apparently, he did call me, and it went to my voicemail.”
“And did he leave a message?”
“Yes, two words: I tried.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I said with frustration.
“I have no idea. I’m just glad I had an alibi.”
“I fucking hope so.”
“Of course, while he was getting his throat cut, I was at home with Lynda and Emily.”
“Thank fuck for that,” I breathed out with relief. “And you have more proof, not just Lynda’s word right?”
“Yeah, video surveillance at home. It’s date and time stamped.”
“Good,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and finger. “So why would he be calling you?”
“I don’t know. The last time I ever spoke to him was when you and Casey got back from Ashgabat.”
Nodding, I walked around my desk and sat down. “Then we need to do some research,” I said, flipping on my computer and hitting up Google for every news channel or information on the death of Peterson. We spent the whole day locked in my office, scouring the internet. I read so many reports on the killing that my eyes were starting to water. Paxton had called Lynda to see if everything was alright at home and let her know what had happened. I sent Casey a text, checking if she was okay and asking if she could text me when she left the clinic this afternoon. I was relieved when she sent me back a heart emoji. By 3 p.m., we were both mentally drained from trying to piece together what little bit of information we did have into something that made sense. Going to the bar, I pulled out two glasses and a bottle of single malt and brought it to the desk, pouring us each two fingers. I handed one to Paxton, and as he took the glass from me, it hit me like a ton of bricks.
“It’s Casey.”
“What?” Paxton said confused.
“The message he left on your voicemail. It has to be something to do with Casey,” I said, mulling over the words in my head until it smacked me hard in the face. “‘I tried,’ Paxton, that’s what he said. And the only thing that those words could mean is he tried to call off the sale.”
Paxton’s eyes grew wide with realization at the same time my phone pinged with a message from Casey: “Leaving now.”
Chapter Forty-six
Casey
As I left the clinic, the best thing I had seen that day was the town car waiting at the curb and Nick leaning against it. I was so tired, I just wanted to curl up on Nate’s couch in his office and sleep. It had been a busy day. Nothing out of the ordinary, but for some reason, lately I couldn’t seem to get enough sleep. Nick opened the back door as I approached the car, “Hi, Nick,” I said, but all I got was a silent nod, as usual. Sliding into the back seat, he closed the door and made his way around to the driver’s side. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes. It only took around ten minutes to get back to the penthouse, and I didn’t intend on falling asleep for the short journey. But you know what they say about best intentions? Because when I opened my eyes and glanced out the window, it was pitch black outside. Rubbing my eyes furiously, trying to clear the sleepiness from them, I looked again, and there was nothing. No buildings, no cars, no lights, just blackness. I reached into my purse in search of my phone to see what the time was, but my purse was empty. Leaning forward on the chair, I knocked on the dark glass divider that separated me from Nick.
“Nick!” I called out. “Where are we?” When he didn’t even flinch, I knocked on the glass again, this time harder, but he just ignored me and kept his head straight ahead. “Nick, talk to me. Where are we? Answer me!” I yelled and continued to pound my fist against the wall of glass. I screamed and yelled so much, the back of my throat was starting to sting and burn. I tried the door handle of the car. It shook slightly, but it was locked. Sitting back, I scanned the back seat, trying to find something, anything that I could use to help me get out of the back seat of this car. But there was nothing. What the fuck was going on? Could he not hear me through the glass? And where was my phone? Was I still asleep and dreaming? Trying to get my mind into some kind of order and clear my confusion, I tried to slow my breathing and pull myself together.
Nick was a good guy, wasn’t he? He had worked for Nate for a long time, and Nate vetted all of his employees thoroughly, so what the hell was going on? Were we running to escape someone or something? Or was he running to someone?
“Nate will find me. He always does. He’ll have some kind of tracker on the car or my phone or something. Just keep calm and stay strong. I can do this,” I told myself, but could I do this? Whatever this was?
Chapter Forty-seven
Nate
“Answer the fucking phone,” I yelled as it went to Casey’s voicemail once again. I smashed the iPhone onto the desk so hard I was sure the screen just shattered. The last text message I received from her was over three hours ago. I called the clinic, and they confirmed that she had left there around 3 p.m., and was picked up in a town car by her usual driver. Since then, my brain was in overdrive. Paxton alerted the local police and was down in the surveillance room, trying to locate the car or either one of their phones with the tracking devices we had in them.
Pacing back and forth in my office, I found myself standing in front of t
he wall of glass windows, looking out into the darkness of the night. She was out there somewhere, and I needed to find her. Hanging around here wasn’t helping to cool the volcanic fury that I was trying so fucking hard to contain. This anger had been slowly building up all day, from trying to figure out the cryptic words that were left on Paxton’s phone by Peterson to the realization of what those words actually meant. Picking up my phone with its now slightly cracked screen, I thumbed through my contacts and pressed dial on the number I needed. Within two rings, a chirpy, southern drawl came down the line. “Hey, buddy,” Jax answered. I could barely hear him, and there was a lot of background noise. It sounded like he was at a bar or a party.
“Jax, it’s hard to hear you,” I said.
“Hang on, I’ll take this outside,” he said, then I heard him say, “I’ll be right back, little lady, so keep my seat warm and my beer cold,” followed by the sound of a door opening. The background noise became slightly muted.
“What’s up, Nate?”
“Jax, I need you to come in,” I said, sternly.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice now deeper and serious.
“A lot. Peterson was found dead this morning, and Casey’s gone missing. I think it might be Asferat.” I heard his deep intake of air.
“I’m on my way,” he said and hung up.
Looking down at my phone, my office door pushed open, and Paxton walked in. “Have you got anything?” I asked him anxiously.
“Casey’s phone is off the radar, but the car and Nick’s phone is still showing up.”
“Where?” I asked impatiently, and Paxton spread a map out onto my desk and pointed to a spot on it, tapping it with his finger.
“There, on Mount Angeles Road, heading toward Olympic National Park.”
“Washington?” I exclaimed, shocked at how far they had gotten in peak rush hour traffic.
“Looks that way. Have you tried calling Nick’s phone again?” Paxton asked.
“Yeah, I tried a few times before, but there’s no answer.”
“Try him again, because that road has a bad reputation for cell drop out.”
Picking up my phone, I dialed his number again. I was just about to cut the call before it rang out when he answered. “Nick? What the fuck are you doing?” I seethed down the phone line. I could hear him breathing, and after a short pause, I yelled, “Talk to me, you motherfucker.”
“I wondered how long it would take you,” Nick said.
“What the fuck are you doing?” My words were now coming out clipped and sharp.
“I’m making a financial decision in my favor. Nothing personal, Mr. King. It’s just my new boss pays a lot more than you do.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll triple it,” I said.
“Sorry, can’t do that, I’m afraid. You see, my new boss isn’t as understanding as you are, and if I try to stiff him now, well, let’s just say I won’t live long enough to reap any benefits from the paycheck,” he said, laughing into the phone, which only enraged me more, but I decided to try a calmer approach.
“Nick, don’t do this. You know Casey. She’s a good person. Just turn around and bring her back. I’ll pay you, then you can disappear, no questions asked.”
“Nice try, but I know your reputation too well,” he said, laughing again. Right at that moment, I was instantly done with being calm.
“Listen, you motherfucker, you have just made the biggest mistake of your life, because I’m coming for you, and when I get to you, you’re dead.” This time, I flung my phone across the room, and it smashed against the wall. Looking down at the tiny, shattered pieces, I closed my eyes against the pain that shot through my body before letting out a loud cry of anguish. “FUCK!” Heading back over to my desk, I grabbed my keys and a spare phone. Then, I pushed lightly at the wood on the bottom of the drawer, flipping it open. Reaching in, I pulled out the Glock I kept there and released the magazine, checking it before pushing it back into the butt of the gun. I push it into the waistband at the back of my jeans. Walking out of my office, I ignored the shout from Paxton as I got into the elevator, went down to the garage and slid into the Audi, slamming the door and firing the engine. “I’m coming, Casey. I’m coming.”
The End…
…for now
Coming in 2018
Forever Free: The final book in the Freedom Series
The Club—A Standalone Novel
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