by R. R. Banks
The switch makes a clicking sound and the lights come on, bathing my living room in soft, golden light. I let out the breath I'm holding, a powerful wave of relief washing down over me as I stare at the room. The empty room. A nervous chuckle slips out of my mouth and I shake my head, feeling like an idiot.
“Christ,” I mutter to myself. “I'm getting paranoid.”
“Good evening, Paige.”
A lightning bolt of panic sears my nerves and my stomach lurches at the sound of the voice – the voice behind me in the dining room. Slowly, I turn around to find Damon Moore seated at the head of the table staring at me, with a tall, large man I don't know standing beside him.
“W – what are you doing in my house?” I ask.
“Well, I was hoping you and I could have a chat.”
I take a step backward, my heart thundering in my chest. “I want you out of my house,” I say, my voice quavering. “I want you out of my house right now.”
“Not until we've had a chance to talk,” Damon says. “Now, don't be rude and put on some coffee for your guests.”
“I – I'll call the cops,” I say.
Damon arches an eyebrow at me. “With what phone?”
I look down at my empty hands and then cast a glance at my bag. It's sitting on the kitchen counter and given that Damon and his goon are between me and the bag, it might as well be in Antarctica for all the good it's going to do me.
Damon looks at his man and nods. The goon walks over to the counter, grabs my bag and roots around in it until he finds my phone. Dropping my bag back on the counter, the large man looks at me and smirks. A moment later, he slams the phone down on the ground and crushes it beneath his foot.
My heart sinks and I start racking my brain, trying to find a way out of the house. As if reading my mind, the goon takes a few steps toward me, putting himself within easy reach, should I try to bolt. I know that if I do try, I'm not going to make it very far.
“Now,” Damon says, a malicious little smirk crossing his face. “We won't have to worry about you making any calls and inviting unwanted guests to our little soiree.”
“Look, I just want you to leave,” I say. “I've had a shit day and all I want is to take a shower and go to bed. If you want to talk, fine, we'll talk. Come by the shop tomorrow –”
“I'm afraid that's not going to work,” Damon says.
“Why not?”
“Because your boyfriend is making things difficult for me.”
I shake my head. “I don't have a boyfriend.”
Damon sighs and shakes his head. “Please,” he says, motioning to the foot of the table. “Why don't you have a seat?”
“I – I'm fine standing.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he chuckles. “But, it's making me a nervous wreck. So, please, have a seat.”
I look at the goon, who gives me a dark look and pulls back his coat to show me the butt of a pistol sticking out of his waistband. I look back at Damon who spreads his hands and shrugs.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “My associate has a bit of a flair for the dramatic. Please, sit.”
I quickly take a seat at the table, sitting opposite of Damon. The goon moves behind me, positioning himself in the living room's archway, cutting off any possible escape route. If I'm going to bolt, I'm going to have to make it through the kitchen and out the back door before they catch me. And I know my odds of doing that aren’t all that great.
“What do you want, Damon?”
“Well, your shop, of course,” he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
“Fine,” I say. “Make me an offer and we'll negotiate a price.”
Damon looks at me, his smile reptilian, his eyes hateful. “Oh, I don't think there's going to be any negotiation,” he says. “You've kind of overplayed your hand here, Paige. I mean, I tried to be nice. Wanted to be good to you. And all you did was spit in my face. That doesn't make me happy.”
“What do you want?” I ask.
“First, I want to know what your boyfriend is doing.”
“I don't have a boyfriend,” I say. “I told you that.”
“Okay, fine. Semantics, Jesus Christ,” he says and then looks over at his goon. “Can you believe this?”
The goon chuckles and shakes his head. “Women are difficult.”
“No shit,” Damon replies and then turns back to me. “Fine, not your boyfriend. How about, the man you're fucking? Is that better?”
“I'm not fucking him,” I say, my voice ice cold. “It was made very clear to me today that I've been played for a fool.”
“Yeah, I heard Brittany stopped by to see you today,” he says smoothly. “I'll have to apologize for that. The woman has absolutely no grace or tact.”
“I don't care,” I say. “She and Liam both can fuck right off.”
“Wow,” Damon says, sitting back in his seat. “That's quite the potty mouth on you. And honestly? I think it's kind of sexy.”
“You can fuck off too.”
He laughs out loud, slapping his hand on the table like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. Eventually, his laughter dies down and he looks at me again.
“Tell me, Paige,” he says. “What is Liam doing? Why is he buying up properties in town?”
“I told you, I have no idea,” I say. “He lied to me about it. He told me he wasn't here to do business. I was an idiot and believed him.”
Damon lets out a long breath and rubs the stubble on his chin, making a dry, scratchy sound. He looks from me to his goon and back again.
“You really don't know anything?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Do you want me to write it down for you?”
“That's really – unfortunate,” he says.
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, my hope was that you knew what he was up to,” he says. “And that as I worked behind the scenes to counter his moves, that you could try to talk him out of it. And of course, continue feeding me information about him.”
“Even if he isn’t my boyfriend, I wouldn't do that,” I say. “I swear to Christ, you people are sick.”
He nods and laughs again. And something about the way he laughs sends goosebumps crawling all over my skin. It's creepy. Evil.
“I was hoping we could settle this amicably,” Damon says. “With nothing more than a conversation.”
I shrug. “Nothing says you can't,” I say. “But, I'm the wrong person to be having that conversation with. You need to be talking with Liam one-on-one.”
“Yeah, that's not going to work.”
I can tell that Damon is afraid of Liam. Intimidated by him. And is not very likely to take him head-on. I can see that at the heart of it, where it matters, Damon is nothing more than a coward. A bully. He's more than happy to pick on somebody weaker than him, but stack him up against somebody his size and he'll fold like a shitty lawn chair every damn time.
“Are you afraid he's going to kick your ass?” I ask, my tone mocking.
“Watch your mouth.”
I laugh. “Wow. Liam was right. You are a giant pussy.”
I jump in my seat when Damon slams his fist down on the table. He hits it so hard, he makes everything on top of it rattle and shake.
“I said, watch your mouth,” he says, his voice low and menacing.
“Get out of my house, Damon.”
“Gladly,” he says and nods to the goon behind me.
For a split second, I actually think they're going to leave. But then, I feel the goon's hand on the back of my head, quickly followed by a rag being forced over my nose and mouth. I breathe in the fumes and my vision begins to waver. A few seconds later, darkness begins to creep in at the edges of my vision.
And after that, everything goes black.
~ooo000ooo~
When I come to, I feel like I'm having a panic attack. The world around me is still dark and I start to freak out, thinking that they'd done something to my vision. Something to my eyes. I try
to move my hands and legs, but find that they are held fast by something tight and binding.
As my head begins to clear and I become more aware, I realize that I'm sitting in a chair. There's a hood over my head, and judging by the feel of it, I'm bound to the chair by zip ties. And I know that I'm not alone. I can't see them, but I can feel them in the room with me.
“Damon, it's not too late to fix this,” I say, my voice thick. “Let me go and nobody ever has to know things happened this way.”
There's no response, but I know they're there. It's like their bodies are displacing the air around me, lending a physical pressure to their presence.
“I know you're there,” I say. “Just, let me go and we'll call this square. Nothing bad needs to happen to anybody here.”
I hear the scuffing of a shoe and a second later, light floods my eyes as the hood is removed. I blink rapidly, my eyes trying to adjust to the flood of illumination. When I get my vision back, I'm looking up at Brittany, who's staring down at me with a sinister smile on her face.
“Hey, girlfriend,” she says and giggles.
My mind is racing as fast as my heart as I try to figure out what in the hell is going on. I have no idea what Brittany has to do with Damon. Are they working together? And if so, to what end?
I look around and we're sitting in what looks like a warehouse of some sort. It’s mostly empty, except for some rusted out machinery and stacks of large wooden crates, many of them rotting away or with large, gaping holes punched into them. The air around me smells musty and the whole place reeks of disuse and abandonment.
“Wh – what's going on?” I ask.
Damon's voice comes from behind me, sending a chill down my spine. “What's going on is that we're going to settle this,” he says. “Tonight.”
“Tonight,” Brittany says, smirking at me.
Damon and his goon step into my field of vision. Brittany walks over and pulls the goon down into a long, passionate kiss. Damon looks at them for a moment and then turns, looking at me, with that predatory smile on his face once more.
A moment later, Brittany looks at me and smiles. “This is Travis,” she says. “Travis is all man. A real man. Way more of a man than Liam could ever dream of being.”
“I thought you and Liam were getting back together,” I ask, still not comprehending.
I feel like all the puzzle pieces are starting to line up. The picture is beginning to come together, but it remains maddeningly out of focus. There are just a few pieces I don't have that would complete the picture for me – pieces I can't quite get my head around.
“I'm afraid Brittany was having a little fun at your expense,” Damon says.
“Like I'd ever get back together with that loser,” she says and looks at me, a cruel grin on her face. “I was just trying to get under your skin. Looks like it worked too.”
“I don't understand,” I say. “What's going on?”
“What's going on,” Damon says. “Is that we tried to play nice with Liam. But, he insists on being an asshole. He insists on being defiant and not giving me what I want – which is for him to pack up and leave Port Safira.”
“And what I want,” Brittany chimes in, “is to be filthy stinking rich and live a life of fun, adventure, and shopping.
“Which means,” Damon says, “in order for Brittany and me to get what we want, Liam Anderson is going to have to die. Tonight.”
Chapter Thirty
Liam
It's well after five and fully dark by the time I step out of the small gift store. There's a cold chill in the air, but I'm still running hot. The earlier interaction with Damon has me wound up tight. Though, given the fact that I have a verbal agreement with Mrs. Bryant, the nice older woman who runs Red Door Gifts, the tension that's got my body in a vice grip is somewhat eased. At least that's one more business Damon isn't going to get his filthy, disgusting hands on.
I text the legal department at ADE to draft up the agreements and give them the email address they need to send them to. I want the contracts signed ASAP before Damon has a chance to swindle Mrs. Bryant and talk her out of it. If there's one thing that Damon does well, it's slinging bullshit. He can charm the pants off anybody and sell ice to an Eskimo.
I won't give him that chance. I'm going to scoop up as many businesses in Port Safira as I can and block him at every turn. So far, I'm the only one doing business on Sapphire Avenue – the town's main artery. Damon's dealings are on the outer edges of town to this point and I'm going to keep him out there. I'm not going to let him touch anything closer to the heart of town. Not if I can help it.
I doubt she's still there, but I walk up the street to Bookworms anyway. The shop is dark, the door is locked, and the closed sign is in the window. Paige has left for the day.
“Damn it,” I mutter to myself.
I slip my phone back out of my pocket and punch in her number. Holding it to my ear, I listen to the call connect, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Shit.”
I key in a text message and send it. I just want to talk to her and hope she's going to give me the chance to explain. There has been a horrible misunderstanding about this entire affair. She's thinking that I'm doing something shady. Something terrible. That I am conspiring to gut her hometown. But that's not the reality of the situation. And all I want right now is the chance to explain that to her. To lay out all the plans and paperwork and show her what I’ve been doing.
A few minutes go by and there's still no response from her. Since I don't actually where her house is, I can't just pop by. I have no choice but to hope she gets back to me tonight. Otherwise, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow when her shop is open again.
With a frustrated sigh, I turn and head back to my car, and from there, I head home. There's nothing more I can do down here. I just have to hope that Paige's cooler head prevails and that she'll talk to me.
The drive home is quick and as pull through the gates, parking my car in the circular drive. Hemingway bounds over to me the second that I step through the door. I take a minute to kneel down and give him some scratches behind the ears and belly rubs when he flops over in front of me.
“You're lucky, you know,” I say to my dog. “Dogs don't have to worry about messy things like relationships and emotions. Frustrating things.”
He looks at me with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, a big doggy smile on his face. I stand up and Hemingway follows me into my office. I fish a couple of treats out of the bowl on my desk and toss them to him. He eagerly snaps them up and looks to me for more.
“If I keep giving you treats,” I say. “You're going to be so fat, you won't be able to get off that bed.”
He wags his whole body, still giving me a sweet doggy smile. I can't resist. Reaching into the jar, I pull out a couple more treats and toss them over to him. They're gone in a matter of seconds. Of course. Hemingway never learned how to slow down and savor something.
“Sir?”
I look up to find Janice peeking her head into my office. “Yes?”
“I've left some dinner for you in the oven,” she says. “If you won't be needing me any more tonight, I think I'm going to turn in.”
“Please, yes,” I say. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. And thank you.”
“I'll be on call should you need me.”
“Get some rest, Janice.”
She disappears, closing the office door behind her. I drop down into my seat and fire up my computer. A moment later, my cell phone rings and I slip it out of my pocket. It's Adam. I connect the call and hold the phone to my ear.
“Adam,” I say. “How goes your fight against disability fraudsters.”
“Ongoing,” he says. “Ever ongoing.”
“At least it keeps you employed.”
“There's always that,” he says. “Listen, sorry it's taken me a bit, but I had to dig real deep on this. I found the connection between Waltham and Damon.”
“Oh really?”
&n
bsp; “Yup,” Adam says. “It's under layers of crap and it took some real doing. They're pretty good at hiding their tracks. But, basically, Waltham works as an enforcer. A fixer, maybe. Basically, he does all of Damon's dirty work. If somebody needs to be roughed up, it's Waltham that does it.”
“Or, if somebody needs to be knifed in an alley, it's Waltham that does it.”
“Exactly,” he says.
“So, we've now established the line – Damon, Brittany, Waltham,” I say.
“Yeah, a real unholy trinity,” he says. “You need to be on your toes, Liam. I'm serious. You need to watch your back. And honestly, until all of this is sorted out, I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you would consider hiring some security.”
I lean back in my seat and let out a long breath. It's the last thing that I want to do. I feel like it might send the wrong message or convey a poor image of me. As much as I hate it, I do have to worry about projecting the right image. It matters. Especially to skittish investors who are looking for any reason to avoid dealing with you.
And for that reason alone, I always try to be conscious about projecting an image of strength and stability in public.
But, deep down, I know that Adam is right. Until this mess is sorted out and I'm finally clear of Brittany, I have to be smart. Prudent. Maybe I can find a company that's discreet enough that bodyguards won't even be noticeable. Yeah. It might be a pipe dream, but I can try to find one.
“Okay, yeah,” I say. “Until this is settled, I'll look into it. Just send over your list of recommendations and I'll start making calls.”
“Good stuff,” he says. “I will.”
“So, the question becomes, now that we know the players,” I say. “What are we going to do about it?”
“I'm working on that, actually,” he says. “I think your case and the other case I'm working on dovetail nicely. All we need to do is get Damon into a compromising position and I think we can both clear the decks.”
“That would be nice,” I say.