“A black Lincoln started following me a few weeks ago,” I added. “It was the same car that ran us off the road, and I believe the intent was to kill us… or to scare us into being silent about what we know.”
Douglas ran a hand through his hair, issuing a low, slow sigh. “My God.”
He sank back into his chair, avoiding everyone’s gazes as he seemed to absorb all the accusations being hurled at him. Dad stood and approached the desk, bracing his hands against it and leaning toward Douglas a bit.
“Mr. Baldwin, Bellamy and Tate are in danger, and we believe you are the only one who can help them. Haines has the sheriff in his pocket, and God knows who else.”
Douglas laughed, but it was a humorless sound. Once he started, it seemed as if he couldn’t stop, his face reddening as he laughed as if Dad had just said the funniest thing in the world.
“God knows who else,” he repeated, swiping a tear away from one eye. “That’s a good one. Everyone, Mr. McGuire. Haines has just about everyone in his pocket. That includes me.”
“Why?” Tate demanded. “What did he do to earn your loyalty?”
Douglas sneered. “I don’t owe that son of a bitch a thing… not after he’s threatened my son. I know that black Lincoln well, and so does anyone else who’s ever had a run-in with a certain Atlanta-based crime syndicate. Jameson Whitlock drives it, and he’s Canton’s right hand. If he’s after you, that means Canton knows you’re onto him. How did he figure that out?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tate said.
“It’s my fault,” I said, unwilling to let Tate cover for me. “I might have asked him outright why he invested in East Valley… He seemed upset by the question.”
“That’s because the investment was under the table,” Douglas said. “I’m going to tell you what happened, and then you three are going to keep your mouths shut about what you know and let me handle this.”
Tate crossed his arms over his chest and jutted out his chin. “What makes you think we trust you?”
“You don’t have a choice,” Douglas retorted. “I’m the only person who knows all the players involved, and who to take this to. I’m the only one who can save your life. Now, sit down and listen.”
Tate grudgingly perched on the arm of my chair, placing an arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him, equal parts excited and nervous. Excited to finally have the final piece of the puzzle… afraid of what Douglas’ confession might mean for Tate and the rest of their family.
“Canton and I were never close friends,” he began. “But like all people of influence, we ran in the same circles, knew the same people, and often attended the same events. A lot of these events had backroom deals going on, money exchanging hands for bribes and extortion, gambling, drugs… you’d be surprised how many of these people are involved in illegal activities.”
Tate scoffed. “Nothing about any of this surprises me anymore. What about escorts from the Arm Candy agency?”
Douglas nodded. “Yes, they’re the most popular escort service in the Young County area. How did you know about that?”
Raising his eyebrows, Tate indicated our box of files. “I have a story to tell, too, but you finish first.”
“Right,” he replied. “Anyway, I usually turned a blind eye to all that stuff. If I was at an event, it was usually for a photo op or business, and, most nights, your mother would be with me. She indulged in a little gambling from time to time, but nothing serious.”
I fought back a look of surprise at that. Faith didn’t seem like the type, but I wouldn’t judge her. Her husband was the one in the hot seat here.
“One night, when Canton was still mayor, he held a fundraiser at his house for one of his charities. Your mother wasn’t feeling well, so she stayed behind and insisted I go alone. We had just acquired the land for East Valley, and I needed to make connections for the type of people who might live there one day. So, I went. While I was there, I started feeling bad myself. Whatever your mother had, she had passed it on to me. So, I went looking for a bathroom and found all the ones on the ground floor occupied. So, I went upstairs, hoping to find some privacy. I opened the wrong door and found myself in the master bedroom. That’s where I found Canton standing over a woman’s body. She was wearing a white negligee, lying on a bed that had been covered in rose petals, and her throat was bruised. She’d been strangled to death.”
“Isabella,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears.
The poor girl hadn’t deserved to die like that. I didn’t care that she’d been a junkie and a prostitute—she had been a person. And if falling for Tate had taught me anything, it was that no one was beyond redemption.
“Yes,” Douglas confirmed. “I’d never met her, but I recognized her as a woman Canton had been with at some parties when his wife wasn’t around. I supposed she’d been trying to seduce him or something, and it had gone bad. He was in a panic, pacing and cursing to himself when I came in. He pulled me into the room, closed the door, and told me I couldn’t say anything. I checked her pulse, realized she was dead, and told him that I couldn’t keep this a secret. He had killed that woman. It wasn’t right.”
“But then, you took a bribe to keep your mouth shut,” Tate spat with disgust. “Is that it?”
“It isn’t so cut and dry, but yes,” Douglas replied without batting an eyelash. “Baldwin & Co. was going bankrupt. We were hemorrhaging money because we’d been overambitious. We’d bought some expensive property in Atlanta and begun construction on these luxury condos that should have been a quick, easy project. Only, one thing after another went wrong, and we had to spend more and more money to fix the problems—shoddy materials being ordered and having to be replaced with better ones, problems with electrical and plumbing, and there was even a fire that caused us to lose an entire building, forcing us to start from scratch. It was a disaster. But we’d already bought the land for East Valley and begun construction on the houses. We were doing everything we could to recoup our losses, but if something didn’t happen, we’d lose everything in less than a year. Everything your mother and I worked for, that my father and grandfather built… gone.”
“You want me to believe you helped cover up a murder for your family?” Tate asked incredulously. “Most days, you act like you can’t be bothered with us.”
“Think what you want about me, but I work as hard as I do for your mother, you, and your siblings,” Douglas argued, the hard set to his jaw coming back. “I would have done anything to keep from losing our family home, or having to sell everything we owned. When I first refused him, Canton pulled out his checkbook. He told me he knew East Valley would be the project that could make or break Baldwin & Co. He said if I kept my mouth shut about what I’d seen, he would make it happen for me. The amount he wrote on that check was more than enough—it would get us out of the red, with enough left over to put into the construction at East Valley. I figured the girl was a prostitute and a junkie… she would have ended up dead at some point anyway. Canton had panicked when she threatened to tell his wife about them if he didn’t leave Nancy for her, and then killed her. But no one needed to know that, and I doubted anyone would believe it if I snitched.”
Tate shook his head. “You told yourself what you wanted to believe to justify what you did.”
“I did,” Douglas admitted. “That night, I took the check and walked out of that room, just as Jameson Whitlock and some of his thugs came up the stairs. I knew who Jameson was… had heard of some guys getting roughed up by him over gambling debts. I assumed they would dispose of the body. It wasn’t until I saw the news in the paper a few days later that I realized they’d staged her suicide. Not long after her death, I started seeing Isabella, here in this house. At first, I thought I was hallucinating. I figured it was my guilt over having turned a blind eye to her murder. She was wearing the same nightgown, and I could see the bruise from her being strangled. It wasn’t until Tate first noticed the rose petals and mentioned them to me that I realized th
e truth. She was haunting me—holding me responsible for what happened to her, and Tate could see her, too. And how can I blame her? I was a witness to her murder… or at least the aftermath of it. I failed her, and she has never stopped haunting me for it. I see her every day.”
He stood, turning to look at Tate. “So, you see, you are not the reason I can’t stand to be in this house… they are. Her and that other ghost—I can’t figure out who she is, but she seems angrier than Isabella.”
“That would be Camila,” I said. “Isabella’s sister, who also happened to be an FBI agent. She was investigating Isabella’s death because it didn’t sit right with her. I guess Canton was on to her, too, because she died in a car accident when her brakes went out on her on Highway 8. That Canton probably arranged the accident is the one part of this we can’t prove, but it falls in line with his M.O.”
“That box contains files,” Dad chimed in. “Camila was building a case against Haines, and she was closing in on him. She found evidence of all his illegal activity—the extortion, bribery, embezzlement, and his ties to Jameson, which also could connect him to other suspicious deaths. She died trying to take him down, and now the kids might be next.”
“How did you two get involved in the first place?” Douglas asked.
We sat in his office for another half hour while Tate told him the entire story—from first encountering the ghosts and getting sick, to realizing I could see Isabella and Camila, too, to our decision to investigate in order to rid the house of the ghosts. It ended with the last of our discoveries, and all the information included in the files. By the time he was done, Douglas looked as if he would be sick.
“This has all been my fault,” he whispered. “Every bit of it. I brought your illness on you, and invited those ghosts into this house by not doing the right thing. Mr. McGuire, I put your daughter in danger… I can’t apologize enough for that.”
No one spoke for a long time. I felt a bit of pity for the man, but not as much as I felt for Isabella and Camila.
Finally, Douglas took a deep breath and exhaled, running his fingers through his hair again—a habit I realized he shared with Tate. Then, he squared his shoulders and schooled his expression to the same passive one he always wore. An amazing transformation.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he declared. “I’m going to take this box and make a visit to the Young County district attorney’s office. She’s a friend of mine, and I know for a fact she’s one of the few Canton can’t reach with his extortion and bribery. From here on out, you guys are no longer involved in this. I’m taking over.”
“Are you kidding me?” Tate argued. “Do you know what we went through to collect this evidence? I’m not just going to hand it over to you so you can burn or shred it!”
“I understand that you don’t trust me,” Douglas replied, remaining calm. “But like I said, I’m the only person who can fix this. I messed everything up, so let me make it right.”
Tate lifted his chin and frowned. “I’m going with you to make sure she gets these.”
Douglas shrugged. “Fine, but after that, you’re done. I don’t want you involved in this any longer.”
“Fine by me,” Dad agreed. “I can appreciate that you want to make things right, Mr. Baldwin. I think we can both agree our kids should have never gotten mixed up in this in the first place.”
A knock came at the closed office door before Douglas could reply.
“Come in,” he called out.
Ezra opened the door, peering in at us, his face a mask of worry. “Mr. Baldwin, security cameras spotted a black Lincoln parked outside the gate. It’s been there since Mr. McGuire arrived to pick up Bellamy.”
Douglas’ face went red, and the light of raged sparked in his eyes. “Ezra, go to my safe and get Lucille. Mr. McGuire, Bellamy, come with me.”
“I’m coming, too,” Tate declared, shooting to his feet as Ezra turned his chair and left to do Douglas’ bidding.
Douglas didn’t seem inclined to argue as he jerked his tie loose before removing it and throwing it down onto his desk. Ezra returned a moment later with a menacing-looking shotgun laid across his lap. Crossing the room toward the door, Douglas took the shotgun from Ezra, who backed away to allow us to leave.
“Oh my God,” I whispered as Douglas gripped the shotgun with both hands, so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“Dad, what are you going to do?” Tate asked, eyeing his father warily.
Pausing near the front doors, he turned to face Tate. “What I should have done a long time ago. I failed you once… I won’t make that mistake again. Mr. McGuire, it is my belief that Jameson intends to follow you and Bellamy when you leave here and finish the job he failed last week. We cannot allow that to happen.”
Dad’s eyes widened, then he nodded, his mouth set with grim determination. “No, sir, we cannot.”
Douglas nodded once, decisively. “Good. If you don’t mind, I’ll need a ride down to the gate. Park the car at the fence and let me handle Jameson. Once I’m done, you should be safe to leave.”
My hands began to shake as we followed Dad down the front steps to the car, where he and Douglas got into the front seat, while Tate and I took the back. Reaching for my hand, Tate looked at me as if wanting to reassure me that everything would be fine. But this had spiraled so far out of control by now, and I wasn’t sure anymore if things would ever be the same.
No one spoke during the ride to the gate. Before long, we were there, with Jameson Whitlock’s car parked on the curb just as Ezra had said. A shudder rocked me when I noticed the scratches in the black paint from where he had rammed Tate’s car, almost ending our lives on the highway.
“Stay here,” Douglas commanded once the car had stopped just within the gate.
Getting out of the car, he marched forward, activating the gate’s motion sensors and causing it to roll open. As he drew closer to the other car, Tate opened his door, going to step out. Reaching out, I grasped his arm, holding him back.
“Tate, don’t!”
Glancing back at me, he shook his head. “I can’t stand back and let him get hurt.”
Shrugging out of my hold, he continued, following Douglas through the gate. Dad must have sensed that I’d want to follow, too, because he shot me a glare over his shoulder.
“Don’t you dare,” he whispered.
Gripping the back of the seat in front of me, I peered over it to see out the front window, my heart in my throat as Douglas paused just at the curb, the shotgun still clutched in his hands.
“Jameson!” he barked, raising the gun with both hands and bringing its butt down against the passenger window with enough force to shatter the glass. “Get out of that car and face me, you coward!”
I flinched at the sound of the shattering glass, watching as the driver’s side door swung open, and the large, hulking figure of Jameson Whitlock emerged.
“Hey!” he yelled, rounding the car toward Douglas with his hands curled into fists. “What the hell are you doing?”
Douglas took a swing with the gun, ramming the butt into Jameson’s face as he approached. The thug crumbled, falling to one knee on the ground and pressing one hand against his now-bleeding nose. In the blink of an eye, Mr. Baldwin had taken another swing, throwing Jameson onto his back with another jab of the gun against his face.
“Goddamn it,” the other man roared, rolling onto his side and cradling his abused face.
Douglas went back to assaulting the car—leaving several dents along its side and busting out one of the side mirrors. He had just raised it to bash in the windshield when Jameson found his feet and lunged for him. Douglas swiftly flipped the gun around and leveled it at Jameson’s chest. The man paused, one foot on the curb, his dark eyes narrowing murderously at Douglas.
“Not another step,” Douglas growled. “Tate, go back,” he threw over his shoulder at his son, who had come up behind him with his arms folded across his chest.
“I’m not
going back without you,” Tate insisted.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Jameson asked, his voice low and gravelly. Giving up trying to stop the flow of blood from his nose, he curled his hands into fists at his side.
“No,” Douglas retorted, his voice still low, but holding a steely edge. “For the first time in a long time, I’m thinking clearly.”
“You really want to go against Haines?” Jameson growled, pausing to spit a mouthful of blood onto the ground. “After what you did, he could end you.”
“If I’m going down, I’ll take both of you with me,” Douglas fired back. “Now, listen up. You take another step, and I will blow a hole in your chest the size of Jupiter. Every bit of land up to this curb belongs to me, and Georgia castle defense law says I can meet an intruder on my property with deadly force.”
“You’re not a killer,” Jameson scoffed. “Just a rich little snot with a God complex.”
Douglas cocked the weapon, jabbing Jameson in the chest with it. “I haven’t shot this thing in a while, but, at this range, I can’t miss.” Keeping one hand gripping the gun, he lifted the other to point at Tate. “You see this boy? This is my boy! You come near him again, I will end you. Same goes for his girlfriend. Bellamy McGuire is off-limits, too. You go on back to Canton and tell him what I said. Tell him he can have every cent of his money back… I’m done playing his game. If he wants to come after someone, he can make me his target. He knows where to find me.”
For a moment, Jameson didn’t respond—simply standing there and staring at Douglas as if wanting to tear him limb from limb. I began to fear that Mr. Baldwin was really going to have to shoot him. Finally, he moved away, stepping back onto the street. Keeping his gaze on Douglas and Tate, he backed around to the driver’s side of his car and got inside. The sound of screeching tires on asphalt faded away as he sped back down the hill toward town.
Grasping Tate by the shoulder, Douglas led him back through the gate toward where we sat waiting in the car. We got out as they approached. Laying the shotgun against his shoulder, Douglas came to a stop in front of us, keeping a firm hold on his son.
Bellamy and the Brute Page 28