For Immediate Release

by Clancy Nacht

  “Sure.” Lance took Elliot’s hand and sighed. It was nice talking to Elliot with their clothes on. In spite Elliot’s fits of possessiveness, he was open to Lance’s suggestions and willing to put his reputation in Lance’s hands. Sure, the primary was won, but Elliot didn’t know that.

  Elliot smiled so brightly it dazzled Lance, reminding him of those early days when Elliot was a beautiful mystery and there wasn’t so much baggage.

  Then Lance’s thoughts took an abrupt turn. Where was Gideon? Surely not on the jet. Did he fly commercial? How far behind was he? Was he all right?

  “You okay?” Elliot’s smile had faded to concern.

  “Yes, just tired, sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I know writing a speech is a lot to ask of you, but it really only has to be five hundred to a thousand words. No one wants to listen to me ramble forever.” Elliot peered around the cabin and then leaned in to give Lance a quick peck on the cheek. “It was good talking to you like this.”

  Lance’s cheeks warmed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “We should take a night off at some point and just watch a movie. Do something normal.”

  “Really?” Normal. That was one thing Lance’s life hadn’t been for a while. The idea sounded luxurious, even if it was a night “off” with a man he was indentured to.

  “Yes. If it makes you smile like that, we’re doing it. I’ll look at my schedule.” Elliot released Lance’s hand as the jet came down softly at a private airport.

  Lance chewed his lip, wondering if that would really happen. Elliot always seemed intent on doing something sexual. Most of what he knew about the man came from his website.

  After they landed, the jet taxied to a nearby spot where a limo awaited. Susan held her children’s hands as they bumbled down the aisle, followed by an aide. The little girl, Natalie, waved at Elliot. “Hi, Daddy. Hi, Daddy’s man!”

  Susan flashed a lethal glare at them. Lance looked away obediently and didn’t wave back or make any friendly gesture.

  Elliot waved until his daughter was off the plane, and then frowned. “This arrangement seems to be wearing on Susan.”

  Lance exhaled, stomach knotted in sympathy for her. He couldn’t offer to leave. If Lance made a big deal of Susan’s disfavor, it could get her in trouble with Schrader. “Having me on the jet is probably much. I enjoy it, but I don’t want to—”

  Elliot held up his hand. “I’ll deal with her. It’s fine, Lance. Don’t get distracted. I need that speech!” He patted Lance’s shoulder, flashed his politician smile, and deplaned.

  Damn. Lance had meant to ask how oppo research was going, but it didn’t matter now. He had to focus on the speech. He hoped there was WiFi in the hangar where the jet was headed, though he could transfer the file to his phone and send it that way if he had to. Even with the enormous amount of trust Elliot had put in Lance, the speech had to go through Corey.

  The jet taxied into the hangar, blocking the sunlight and leaving Lance to work by the glow of his laptop monitor. Lance started from the top, expressing anger and outrage at those who would take the lives of others, wishing peace and prayers to the families in their time of grief. For a moment, Lance paused. Easing into the suggestion of stricter gun control was always considered politicizing death. But somehow expressing that there needed to be more good guys with guns wasn’t?

  The most emotional response to such tragedy was the urge to arm oneself, much like eschewing travel after a plane had been downed. The fear response was the least rational. Not to mention the fantasy that one could take control of such a fraught situation with use of a gun.

  It was idealistic to believe there was an easy way to end such a situation, and even more out of touch to imagine mentally disturbed people considered consequences. Many of these shooters’ plans included suicide by cop. The only sane response was to try and keep those people from obtaining such weapons.

  It was certainly a concept Americans grasped when it came to nuclear arms in foreign hands.

  Still, shoehorning such philosophy into a speech while appearing presidential was risky. Well, would be risky if Elliot weren’t already Schrader’s chosen candidate. Lance tried to curb his urge to lecture and instead wrote about proceeding with thoughtfulness and caution, not allowing such a deplorable act to inspire despair.

  Lance pressed his lips together as he recalled George W. Bush urging Americans not to allow the terrorists to win. They hated us for our freedom, so we should shop, more or less.

  That seemed safe and along the lines of what he wanted to say without pressing on guns. As Lance started typing again, urging all Americans to resist fear of public spaces and to defy those who would oppress freedom of movement in our country, the door to the jet opened.

  Apparently, stairs had been rolled up while he was concentrating. The door to the cockpit opened to reveal Schrader, smirking. “Hey, kiddo. I hear you typing furiously. I trust you’re keeping in mind that your candidate is a Republican.”

  “I’m aware.” Lance frowned at his words and then back up at his dad. Of course Schrader could fly a jet. Why was Lance surprised? “Isn’t piloting a little below your pay grade?”

  “It’s my jet.” Schrader took a seat across the aisle from Lance and attempted to look at the screen.

  Lance turned his laptop away from Schrader. “Good for you.”

  “Let me see what you have.” Schrader reached for the computer, but Lance swatted his hand away.

  “What, you're a speechwriter too? What does it matter? The election is fixed. He could get up there and blow raspberries for all it fucking matters.”

  “It will matter if it’s obvious the candidate isn’t someone Republicans would vote for. Frankly, all your advice is running contrary to the party line, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult for people to rationalize why Swardson is ahead in the polls.”

  Schrader reached for the computer again, faster this time, but Lance clamped it shut and pulled it against his chest.

  “You’re behaving like a child, Lance.”

  “Then pimp someone else out to the senator.” Lance grabbed his bag and shoved his computer in it. “Surely there are some Log Cabin Republicans wandering around who would be more than delighted to be Swardson’s whore.”

  Schrader sat back and eyed Lance. “Though you were falling for him.”

  “What I may or may not feel doesn’t negate the fact you’re forcing me to stay here.” Lance stood, as did Schrader.

  Looming in the aisle, Schrader effectively cut off Lance’s escape. “You put yourself in that position. I just gave you more reason than simple lust.”

  Lance lifted his chin defiantly. He would not cower before his father, even as the truth hit him. How could Schrader not see the difference between a position Lance had put himself in versus one he was obligated to?

  “You in a position of greater power isn’t a motivator for me to do anything. I’m here because you threatened people I care about.”

  “Like Gideon?” Schrader shook his head. His nostrils flared. Though it was dark, Lance was pretty sure he could see his father’s face darkening as he flushed with rage. “I don’t know how you can countenance that man when you know what his father did.”

  “The old ‘sins of the father’ chestnut, huh? Or do you think Gideon had something to do with what happened to Mom?” Lance shifted the bag on his shoulder and stepped into Schrader’s space. Their faces were close now, his eyes as gray as Lance’s, but harder somehow. Like cut diamonds filled with fury. “Forgive me for not blaming him. I don’t even completely understand what happened to her.”

  “You know she’s dead. That’s enough.” Schrader didn’t back down. Lance hadn’t expected him to. “Darwin raped her.”

  Lance blinked at that ugly, horrible word. He averted his gaze, not wanting to think of his mother violated.

  But it wasn’t the first time he’d heard the accusation. It was the rationale within the Raider group for why Darwin
had died. At the time, in Lance’s juvenile mind, Darwin’s death had pleased him. It had satisfied his need for vengeance at the loss of his mother. Now, though, other facts niggled at Lance’s perception of those events.

  “You didn’t let me say goodbye to her.”

  “You wouldn’t have survived seeing her body.” Schrader clapped his hand on Lance’s shoulder in what might’ve been a comforting gesture, but as Schrader dug his fingers Lance’s shoulder, he realized it was about domination and force.

  “I’ve always been stronger than you thought. I don’t even know where she's buried. There are no ashes. Where is my mother?” Lance pushed forward into Schrader’s grip, letting a lifetime’s turmoil build into rage to match his father’s.

  Schrader set his jaw. “You kill Gideon, and I’ll take you to where she’s buried.”

  “I’m not killing anyone.” It was a dodge. Schrader knew Lance would never do such a thing, even to someone he disliked.

  “You love him, don’t you? Love is a weakness you can’t afford, and certainly not with that man. Whatever you believe of his involvement in your mom’s death, you know he’s out to destroy me.”

  Lance shoved Schrader back against the cockpit door. “In that, we’re aligned.”

  “You can’t afford me as an enemy, Lance. Not now, and certainly not when your man becomes president.”

  “You wouldn’t kill me.”

  Schrader stood aside to let Lance out. “No, that would be too easy. You have so many people you care about, Lance. Each one a pressure point. Killing you would be wasteful. I am not a wasteful man.”

  That was true. Not for the first time, Lance wished it wasn’t.

  Death seemed far less frightening than living at Schrader’s whim.

  “I won’t kill Gideon. And if you kill him, we’re done.”

  Schrader rolled his eyes. “You don’t get to say when we’re done.”

  “I’ve disappeared before.” Lance stepped into the doorway of the jet. No workers were in evidence.

  Schrader called his bluff. “You think I didn’t know where you were? I let you leave.”

  The truth sent a shiver down Lance’s spine. He thought of Talia’s offer. She’d likely be more thorough than the people Lance dealt with before. They’d been more than willing to take Lance’s money and make promises about keeping the information from Schrader, but they were still his dad’s contacts.

  “The speech is neutral. I’ll keep your input in mind in future speeches and press releases.”

  Lance didn’t turn back to look at Schrader as he left. He didn’t need to. He knew all too well the self-satisfied smile that would be on Schrader’s face.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gideon smoothed his hands over his pants, trying to keep his palms dry. He wasn’t the trembling sort, but he couldn’t help himself. For ten years he’d worked for her, maybe longer. On and off, perhaps, but any time he was in too deep, she was but a call away. So many numbers, so many years, but he’d never been in her presence.

  The Saint was shrouded in mystery. To some she was an urban legend, but Gideon’s paychecks came from a real bank account. Well, real for a value of the word.

  As the elevator doors opened, a beautiful black woman with long dreads gave him a slow smile. “She’s ready for you.”

  Gideon nodded and passed her into the hall. The Saint was living in the penthouse of a high-rise hotel in Austin. From what he understood, she moved through these frequently but remained a fixture in Austin for those who knew her, or knew of her. She was considered a score settler. Many who worked for her had their own axes to grind. Each freelancer worked not only for money but also for the right to request her aid.

  Were it up to Gideon, he wouldn’t be here. Now that there was Lance to consider, Gideon wasn’t sure he could ever really settle his score with Schrader. Then again, it was possible Gideon wasn’t here for himself. Corey had been the one to arrange this meeting, shortly after being bumped off the passenger manifest of the private jet that whisked away Senator Swardson and Lance in Vegas.

  Gideon removed from his breast pocket the card he’d retrieved from the lobby and unlocked the door, hands still shaking.

  The room was beautifully appointed, if not a little cold. The living area featured small white couches and teak wood. An alcohol trolley sat near the open door that led to the balcony.

  It was there that the Saint stood, her back to him. Her long, blond hair waved in the light breeze like the gauzy skirt of her pale dress. She turned her face and examined him with a long, slow gaze as he approached.

  In the ambient moonlight, she was a vision of beauty. “Come, have something to drink with me.”

  The way she moved, the way she gazed at him, seemed strangely familiar, but he’d never seen her before.

  She sat at a couch beside a low table set with tea. “Please, come.”

  Gideon obligingly allowed her to serve him tea from fine, paper thin china. He waited for her to drink before he followed suit. She smiled at him over the rim of her cup. Her ruby lipstick stained the white porcelain when she set it aside.

  “Our friend has reached out to me about a mutual friend of ours. Magnus Schrader.”

  Gideon winced at the name and looked away despite his best efforts at self-control. “Has he?”

  “Kingmaker, he calls himself.” The Saint laughed, a dainty but chilling sound. “Your friend Corey, not Magnus.”

  Gideon nodded but he wasn’t sure how to answer. Corey could call himself what he liked, but he’d been booted from the plane and complained to Gideon about it the whole way to Texas on their commercial flight.

  “It seems we all have a similar problem.” She gestured between them as she leaned in, like she was taking him into her confidence. “We’ve been awaiting the opportune moment. He took something precious to me, as well.”

  Gideon nodded and steeled himself, not quite meeting her gaze.

  “I’ve waited many years for him to want something he couldn’t take, something that would require patience and time to achieve.” She reached out to Gideon, fingers curling under his chin to force it up and make him meet her sapphire gaze. “What he wants, he cannot have. I want it for myself.”

  The Saint sat back and crossed her arms. She looked more tired than angry, yet her tone betrayed agitation.

  “So you’re going to steal the election? Do you have a candidate?” Gideon set down the cup and mimicked her relaxed pose, though neither of them seemed genuinely at ease.

  She laughed again. Her gaze went lazily skyward as she set her hand on the edge of her cushion. “No, and no. On the eve of the final call, you’ll kill Magnus Schrader.”

  They hadn’t even talked details, but Gideon already knew he wanted to do it. How clever, kicking Schrader when he was finally on the cusp of something truly remarkable.

  Gideon leaned forward, cock hard just thinking about the possibilities. It would all be so easy.

  And then he thought of Lance.

  The idea of Lance’s outrage upset Gideon. They weren’t exactly friends, but whatever fucked-up kind of lovers they were, it was the closest thing Gideon ever had to someone of his own. Schrader was a miserable excuse for a father, but he was still Lance’s dad.

  Gideon exhaled. “I’d like to help you, but I need to talk to someone first.”

  She smirked and raked her gaze over Gideon. “Do you mean his son?”

  She’d done her homework.

  Gideon nodded, stunned he’d even brought Lance up. He hadn’t been lying about being compromised.

  The Saint’s expression remained placid but for the moue of her red lips. “His father pimps him out, and the boy doesn’t want Magnus murdered?”

  “He might. I don’t think so, though. He’s not that kind of person.” Gideon looked out the window at the city’s twinkling lights.

  Where was Lance now? San Antonio still? Coming back? Gideon hadn’t watched the press conference. There hadn’t been time.

&
nbsp; The Saint stood and returned to her spot on the balcony. Warm air gusted in, the humid heat dissipated in the chilly apartment. She stared down on the city and said, “Bring him.”

  Gideon followed but hovered in the doorway. “He’s not…”

  Gideon almost said “one of us” but maybe Lance could be. Massaging the spot where Schrader had shot him, Gideon stated the obvious. “It’s his father.”

  “I know. It’ll be difficult for him.” She slumped against the rail as if it alone held her up.

  “Bringing him won’t change that.” Gideon took a steadying breath, marveling at his own heart. “I’ll talk to him, but just meeting you wouldn’t compel Lance.”

  She turned her head slowly, and this time her expression was murderous. “You bring him to me. Let me worry about his feelings.”

  That was Gideon’s cue to disappear.

  “Thank you.” Gideon backed toward the door, uncertain if she’d stop him. Once in the hallway, he caught his breath.

  How the hell was he supposed to talk Lance into meeting with the Saint? Talking him into killing his own dad sounded easier than persuading him to get tangling up with another crime boss.

  Then again, maybe she was their way out. Together.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  In the relative safety of his car, Gideon took out his phone and pulled up an app. He’d bugged Lance’s phone with a GPS tracker. Unless Lance was using one of the burners, he should have it with him. Gideon stared at Lance’s dot for a few minutes, waiting for the map to resolve. Was Lance even in town?

  Private jet flight was much faster than commercial. When they’d made it to San Antonio, Corey had gone ahead to the speech, and Gideon had driven to Austin to meet with the Saint. By now the speech should be over. Lance either stayed in San Antonio or was en route to his office or home in Austin.

  Judging by the blurry map, Lance was on his way into town, but headed for which of those likely destinations Gideon didn’t know.