Something Real (Exile Ink Book 3)

by Skylar Hill

  James wouldn’t let her go—and she didn’t want him to. Ever.

  “If they go ahead with the parole, we’ll figure it out,” Cam said. “We’ll get a restraining order…”

  Evie snorted, and Cam’s eyes fluttered shut in frustration.

  “Sorry,” Evie said. “But we both know that’s not going to work.”

  “You’re right,” Cam said. “But it’s where we start. We’ll need a paper trail. You know that.”

  “And if he just decides to show up at your house one day with a gun?” Evie asked. “Or if he shows up at the lab? My dorm? The studio?”

  Cam didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t say “He won’t,” because of course, he might. There was no way to predict it. All she knew was that her and Evie’s testimony had put him in prison. That she’d put a bullet in his shoulder and still wished it had been his head. And that he was probably really pissed off about it.

  So she gave her sister what she deserved: the truth.

  “Then we will do what we do best, Evie: We will do whatever it takes to survive.”

  “Whatever it takes?” Evie asked, and her voice was so small, her eyes were so scared as she searched Cam’s for reassurance. Cam’s heart felt like it would burst.

  “Whatever it takes,” she promised.

  Chapter Nine

  James

  James rented a car at the airport, driving the three hours down the 5 with the radio off, his throat tightening with each mile. The scenery around him—acres of farmland and rolling yellowing hills rising behind them—blurred as he drove.

  He’d told Cam he had to go up to his mom’s for the day and would spend the night. He didn’t like lying, but he did plan on stopping by his mom’s on the way back, so maybe it was more like a little omission.

  But he needed to know. He pulled through the gates of the prison, heading to the visitor’s parking lot, darkness churning inside him.

  The prison was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles of dust and tumbleweeds in a flat, cracked expanse that stretched out as far as the eye could see. It was bleak and hopeless even without the razor-wire topped fences and long, flat windowless buildings.

  James headed to the visitor’s center, picking up the badge that was waiting for him, letting them pat him down before a guard began to lead him through a maze of hallways. He was silent as the guard unlocked a tiny room and walked him through the process.

  “Panic button’s here,” the guard said, pointing to the red button on the wall. “Chairs and table are bolted to the ground. He’ll be cuffed, but not to the table. I’ll be right on the other side. You call or hit the button if he gives you trouble.”

  “Got it. Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” the guard said meaningfully.

  James nodded. Most of the time, he didn’t like to take advantage of the fact that enough money could buy almost anything—even something like this—but in this case, he was just going to be grateful.

  He sat down, folded his hands in front of him, and waited. The room was small and windowless, with cameras tucked in the corners, a steel table and chairs the only furniture in the bare, depressing space.

  He didn’t feel scared or nervous. Instead, he felt a dreadful, steely sort of anticipation as the minutes ticked by. Finally, the door swung open, and the guard marched the prisoner into the room.

  James leaned back in his chair as Keith shuffled into the space and at down across from him, the table between them.

  “I’ll be right outside,” the guard said.

  And then they were alone.

  James stared him down, taking in the bastard that had caused so much pain. Keith’s thinning hair was slicked back, his deep-set eyes a dark brown that glittered meanly under the harsh fluorescent lights. There were prison tats sprinkled up his arms, which bulged with muscle, and a long scar curving down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his khaki jumpsuit.

  There was a part of James—all animal protectiveness—that just wanted to lunge for him. Close his hands around his throat and squeeze until there was no going back. He wanted to beat the shit out of him, to break every bone in his body that he broke in his daughter’s bodies, and all the other bones too. But it wouldn’t help. Not now.

  Russ was right, no matter how much he hated it. Keith was working the system, warping it to fit his needs.

  It was time James followed suit and beat him at his own game.

  “Well, you’re not my lawyer,” Keith said, cocking an eyebrow. He glanced at the door. “Looks like Gary’s finally decided to get off the straight and narrow. You must’ve paid a pretty penny to get him to turn. That guy’s a Boy Scout.”

  “I wanted to have a conversation with you. I found a way,” James said.

  “Is that so? That’s mighty determined of you.”

  “I’m a very determined man,” James replied.

  Keith pursed his lips, looking James up and down. “So,” he said. “Let me guess. You came here because you know one of my daughters.”

  “I do.”

  Keith smiled, a full, teeth-baring smile that showed that several of his were missing. “Which one, I wonder? You’re what… in your thirties? A little old for my youngest. So it must be Cam. Am I right?”

  “You are.”

  Keith’s eyes skittered down to James’s hand. “No ring, I see,” he said. “You went to all this effort, and you’re not even married?”

  James didn’t react. He knew Keith’s type. He was the kind who fed off other people’s reactions. He lived to shock people, to cause them to cower, to fear him. So James kept his face a placid mask, staring him with a careful detachment. Keith wanted him to react, he wanted his anger. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

  “So my oldest bagged her a rich man,” Keith said. There was a sick note of fatherly pride in his voice that rankled James. He wanted to clench his fists, but he wasn’t going to give Keith the pleasure of that kind of reaction. “Makes sense. She was always beautiful, my Cammie. And rich men always like a hot piece on their arm.”

  Something sour and hot rose in James’s stomach, to hear him say such a thing, to diminish and objectify Cam in that way, like her beauty was her only worth. Like she wasn’t talented and kind and strong and a hundred other amazing things. It disgusted him to have to sit there and listen to Keith use her nickname, the one that Evie used when she was teasing her sister. Evie always said it in a way that told him that it must’ve been Cam’s childhood nickname. Something her mother probably called her. It enraged him to hear it fall from this man’s lips.

  “Well, you paid your money, and now I’m here,” Keith shrugged, his cuffs clinking at the movement. “So why are you here? You gonna warn me to stay away from my girls?”

  It took a lot to keep breathing normally when all he wanted to do was growl, they aren’t your girls, but James managed to keep control. “Do I need to warn you to stay away from them?” he asked.

  “They’re my daughters,” Keith said, blinking innocently at him. “My flesh and blood. I haven’t seen them in years.” There was that smile again, cruel, gaping at him. “I can’t wait to see them again.”

  This time, he couldn’t stop his fists from clenching. Keith’s eyes zeroed in on the movement and he chuckled.

  James leaned forward, his gaze level. “You asked me why I’m here. I’m here for one reason, Keith. I’m here to show you how easily I can get to you.”

  Keith snorted. “I’m shaking,” he drawled. “So you paid off a guard. Anyone can do that.”

  James pulled out the list Russ had given him. “Robert Gavin. Phillip Wheeler. Lawrence Gibb.”

  Now he had Keith’s attention. The blood drained out of the man’s face. “Where did you get that?” he demanded.

  “Like I said, I’m here to show you how easily I can get to you,” James said, folding the paper.

  Keith shifted in his seat, clearly thrown. “So you got a few names of some buddies who are gonna give statements
on my behalf,” he said. “All that means is you hired some shitty PI who paid off the right person.”

  “Three PIs, to be exact,” James said. “And one of the best security firms on the West coast. If you get out, they’ll be on you 24/7, just waiting for you to screw up. Plus the army of lawyers lying in wait for that day.”

  “You think I’m scared of some tatted-up city boy because he has a little money?” Keith sneered.

  James stood up. He loomed over the table, letting Keith take in what exactly he’d be dealing with. James didn’t throw his size around a lot—but when he did, he made sure it made an impression. The older man’s eyes widened slightly when James unfolded to his full height. “I don’t just have a little money, “ James said. “I’m a McGowan. If you don’t know what that means, ask one of your friends.” He tossed the list on the table between them. “I’m sure they’ll enlighten you after I pay them a visit as well. If they even take your calls after that.”

  “Guard,” he called, walking towards the door. “And Keith?” He turned back, his eyes narrowing as Keith glared at him. “This tatted-up city boy grew up with a Winchester in his hands and a father who taught him how to use it. Cam and Evie are not your girls. They are not your family. They’re mine. And if you attempt any contact, if you go near them, you’re going to find out what I do to protect my family. Rest assured, you won’t like it. You might not even survive it.”

  The door opened and without another word, James left the room.

  “Did you get what you needed?” the guard asked James nervously as they walked back through the prison, towards the run-down visitor’s lobby.

  James smiled. “Yes,” he said. “I got exactly what I needed.”

  Chapter Ten

  James

  By the time James got to his mom’s place, it was dark. As he drove his car up the rough gravel road, he thought for the millionth time about bringing his old truck out of storage. He’d been putting it off—probably because it’d been a sixteenth birthday present from his father. It was a beat-up old thing from the seventies, a Chevy with wide bench seats and a lot of character.

  The house his mother and father had built just ten years earlier was set on a bluff in a valley, overlooking hundreds of acres of old-growth redwoods. It wasn’t the place he’d grown up, but it was where he’d spent all his summers since he could remember. The old fishing cabin was still by the lake, and like all the men in his family, he spent time there whenever he wanted to be alone.

  As he pulled up to the house, an exercise in eco-design made partly from rammed earth, he just gazed at it for a moment, feeling the sadness settle in his chest. His father had designed this place, a beautiful round house, with a wrap-around balcony whose rails were driftwood his father had painstakingly gathered each time they had gone to the beach. It had three levels: the downstairs a complete living space for guests, the upstairs, and the sleeping lofts where his parents—and now, just his mother—lived. The walls were curved inside and out, and the open design gave the house a natural, earthy feel, spacious and full of light. .

  Sometimes he wondered if his mother was lonely in this big place. She kept an apartment at Aiden’s building in the city and had many friends and her own scientific work. But she and his father had built this place with eventual daughter-in-laws and grandkids in mind. They had expected to spend their twilight years by each other’s side, the center of a rambunctious horde of children, loving and loud and never, ever boring.

  And now that dream would never be. It killed him, that his father would never meet his child. He thought about it more and more often, now that he had Cam. How would he be able to convey to his children the kind of man—the goodness, the spirit, the empathy—their grandfather was?

  By being the best damn father you can be, he thought, answering himself in the next breath.

  He got out of the car, heading up the stairs and knocking lightly on the door before letting himself in the house. He’d phoned ahead, so she was expecting him.

  “Hey, Mom!” he called, heading toward her office that overlooked the dome greenhouses she had built. “It’s me.”

  “Hi, sweetheart,” she said as he peeked into her office. Her scarlet-rimmed glasses were hanging off the end of her nose as she looked up and smiled at him, a pen in her hand and a large tome in her lap. “I was wondering when you were going to get in.”

  “Thanks for letting me crash,” he said. “I didn’t want to drive into the city this late.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Are you hungry? I have some roasted eggplant that’s to die for.”

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  She got up, kissing him on the cheek, heading toward the kitchen anyway, and he followed, knowing that it was useless to resist at least a snack.

  “What brought you out of town?” she asked as he sat down at the kitchen table, watching her as she peeked in the fridge.

  “Business,” he said, not wanting to get into it. He couldn’t exactly tell her he’d spent the day at the prison. “Just picking up some last-minute stuff. You know how it is.”

  “I’m so excited for you to open,” she said, pulling out a glass container of grapes and setting a wedge of cheese beside it. “Your father would be so proud. Just like I am.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” James said. “Speaking of the opening… I actually did have an ulterior motive, stopping by.”

  “Oh?’ she asked, pulling out a container of sliced salami and beginning to arrange a little charcuterie plate.

  He felt a flash of nervousness. Was she going to think it was too soon? He wanted her to approve, of course. It wasn’t necessary, but he wanted it.

  “I was wondering if you had Grandma Addy’s ring,” he blurted out.

  His mom froze, her eyes going wide. “What?” she gasped. “You’re not…” her eyes grew even bigger and then filled with tears. “Jay! Sweetheart.”

  She dashed across the kitchen, threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “You’re going to propose to Cam?”

  He laughed, squeezing her back. “I am.”

  His mom pressed her hand against her mouth, still teary, but her eyes were smiling. “Oh, sweetie, this is wonderful news! Cam is an incredible young woman. I’m so happy that she’ll be joining our family.”

  “Hopefully,” he said. “I have to ask her first.”

  “Oh, pish-posh.” She waved him off, patting at her eyes with a napkin she grabbed off the table. “I’ve seen the two of you together. She will definitely say yes.”

  “So, does this mean I can have the ring?” he asked. “I know some women like new rings and big diamonds and stuff, but I remembered Grandma Addy’s ring was from the twenties and a sapphire, and Cam really likes vintage stuff.”

  “I think Grandma Addy’s ring would be perfect for Cam,” his mom said. “And I have it upstairs in my jewelry box. Now you might need to get it resized for her, but I don’t think it’ll be much of a problem.”

  “How do I figure out her ring size, though?” James said. He hadn’t realized it was this complicated.

  His mother frowned. “Hmm, I guess the best way would be to take a ring she already owns and bring it to the jeweler. They’ll be able to tell the size. That way you won’t tip her off, if you want it to be a surprise.”

  “Definitely,” James agreed.

  His mother looked down at him, a smile on her face that he hadn’t seen in a long time. “My baby,” she said. “Getting married… I can’t believe it.” She reached out and ruffled his hair. “Soon, there’ll be grandbabies.” She let out a happy sigh.

  “Well, I gotta get married first,” James said.

  “Not always,” his mom said with a grin. “When confronted with the alternative, your Grandmother Addy preferred to believe your brother just ‘came early.’”

  “Mom!”

  She cackled, heartily amused at his scandalized expression.

  The next morning, James’ mother had to leave early for an appointment. After
she drove off—with a hug, a kiss and the promise to see him next week for Exile Ink’s opening—he steeled himself to do the last thing he’d come to do. He made his way down the garden paths, heading to the meadow where his mother’s two working dogs were, guarding her flock of goats. She’d taken to making goat’s milk soap; James had no idea where she found the spare time, but she seemed determined to fill every minute she could, maybe as a way to distract herself from the grief.

  He walked through the woods, the trail somewhat familiar to him. But it wasn’t one worn into the grooves of the forest by his feet as a boy; instead, it was the path he’d walked only as a man, grieving and lost.

  His father was buried on a hill on the property, beneath the old heritage oak tree he’d proposed under. The simple stone marker was inscribed

  Jacob McGowan

  Beloved Father, Husband, and Scientist

  The scientific man does not aim at an immediate result. He does not expect that his advanced ideas will be readily taken up. His work is like that of the planter — for the future. His duty is to lay the foundation for those who are to come, and point the way. He lives and labors and hopes.

  —Nikola Tesla

  “Hi, Dad,” James said, bending down to clear some of the acorns that had dropped on the grass. “It’s been awhile.”

  He sat back on his heels, his fingers rubbing the smooth rock of the headstone.

  He never felt stupid talking to this stone, even though Aiden had asked him several times what he’d got out of it, in a tone of voice that was more curious than condescending. Somehow, sitting here at his father’s grave was always comforting. Even though his father had been more spiritual than religious, James knew he was looking down on him, and he felt closer to him here. Not only because this was where he was buried, but because this forest, this place, was what he had loved the most, apart from his family. Even more than his work, this piece of land was in his father’s blood, just as it was in James’.