by Mary Stone
“A safe house,” Winter answered.
His entire body stiffened. “For how long?”
Winter offered him an exaggerated shrug. “For however long it takes to neutralize the threat to you and your family. You made an agreement with the Russian mafia to launder illicit funds through your wife’s business and serve as a pet mule to smuggle whatever they told you to smuggle. I know you’re a pilot and not a lawyer, but what you did is illegal.”
“Then why in the hell should I have even come to you people for help?” Indignation flickered in his gray eyes as he threw both arms in the air.
Bree offered him a sweet smile. “Honestly, that’s the only smart thing you’ve done so far, Mr. Dalton. You could have come to us ‘people,’ or you could have wound up facedown in a gutter on the wrong side of the tracks, next to your family. You might wind up in a cell when this is all said and done, that’s up to the US Attorney. But, honestly, I doubt it. You’ll be charged, might do a little time, and then they’ll fine you. Mitigating circumstances and all that. So, in the end, that’s what it comes down to. Either you wind up dead in a gutter, or you get slapped on the wrist for being a first-class idiot.”
This time, Winter couldn’t help her chortle. “Personally, I think you made the right choice.”
12
Eric Dalton scrubbed his hands over his face, hating how dry and unkempt his beard had become. How unkempt his life had become in such a short amount of time.
Ever since Agents Stafford and Black had made their little visit to his hotel room, Eric’s mind had done nothing but spin. They’d pretty much handed Eric a viable explanation on a silver platter for the sheer amount of money he had borrowed from the Russians. Before the agents showed up at his hotel room, he’d felt like the story about his life insurance policy had worn thin.
Like Agent Stafford had mentioned, the use of a life insurance payout as collateral didn’t make sense. There were too many holes in that story. Too many different ways he could have eluded the repayment of his debt.
But the idea of being used as a mule made sense as well as the idea of offering the Russian mob an outlet by which they could launder money. Both options had crossed his mind, but only fleetingly. Especially the second.
This was Eric’s mess, not Kelly’s, and he wouldn’t jeopardize her business—the same business he intended to save through his dealings with the Russians. Even if her day to day activities at the studio had been hampered by the loss of her leg, the business was still a source of pride and livelihood for Kelly. Eric wouldn’t offer to launder illicit funds through the establishment that gave his wife’s life purpose. He couldn’t.
But the story made sense, and it kept the Feds away from the real agreement he’d made with the Russians. A number of their people were at risk of hefty prison sentences from a pending RICO case. The case hinged on the testimony of a key witness, and it was Eric’s job to point them in the direction of the man or woman who had flipped on them.
This deal was all or nothing.
More importantly, it was a one-time deal. Eric either satisfied the terms of the agreement, and his daughter’s life was spared, or he failed, and Natalie died. But as the days wore on, he wondered if the Russians would stop at just Natalie and Jon. Moreover, he wondered if they would stop at this one deal.
If the week ended and they received the location of their witness, would they come back for more? Would they use the transaction as blackmail to keep Noah on their payroll?
Eric couldn’t worry about that.
He would rather see Noah forced to work with the Russians until the end of time than see Natalie’s broken body in a casket.
A knock against the door snapped Eric out of the restless contemplation. From the recliner at the other end of the couch, a man sighed and pushed to his feet. Between his worn jeans and plaid shirt, Bobby Weyrick didn’t look like a federal agent. But then again, that was the entire point.
Agent Weyrick had been tasked with overseeing the safe house at night, and a different agent would relieve him in the morning. The digital clock below the television indicated that it was only eight in the evening. Bobby Weyrick had only been at the house for an hour and a half, so the visitor wasn’t here to take over his shift.
When the man went straight for the door, Eric almost leapt up to protest. Wasn’t the whole point of a safe house to ensure that he was safe? How in the hell was opening up to a visitor safe?
“Relax, man.” Bobby held up a hand. “It’s your…I mean, it’s Agent Dalton. You’re the one who wanted him to stop by, remember? Besides, I’m out of smokes, so it gives me a chance to run to the gas station.”
As Eric straightened in his seat, all he could manage was a nod.
“Good, let me get the damn door, then.”
Despite the reassurance, Bobby still tucked his service weapon into the waistband of his jeans before he approached the dim foyer. Staring at the screen that cycled through the video camera views from around the house, Bobby flashed Eric a thumbs-up and pulled open the door.
“Evening,” a familiar voice greeted.
“Hey, man. You hold down the fort for a couple minutes, all right? I’m going to need nicotine if I’m spending the whole damn night here.”
With a slight smirk on his lips, Noah stepped through the doorway and nodded. But when his eyes shifted over to Eric, any semblance of amusement vanished. “All right, Weyrick. See you in a few.”
The other man clapped Noah on the shoulder before he disappeared out into the night. Noah eased the door closed and flicked the deadbolt into place, but even as he strode into the living room, he made no move to sit.
His eyes were the same shade of forest green as Olivia’s, and he looked more like Liv’s father than he looked like Eric. Thanks to their Nordic ancestry, the Raeburn family all exceeded average height by more than a significant margin. Liv was just short of six-foot herself, and her mother wasn’t far behind.
Like his grandfather, Noah had the build of a linebacker, but the black suit he wore was tailored for his frame. As he stuffed both hands into the pockets of his slacks, the light from the corner lamp caught the face of a vintage watch. When Eric’s first thought was that the timepiece must have been a knockoff, he almost cringed at himself.
“You want to sit?” Eric finally forced himself to ask.
Noah shook his head. “Not really. I want to know why you wanted me to stop over here. You’re lucky Bobby needed to run to the store, or else I’d have already turned around and left.”
“Where’d you get that watch? It looks…” he almost said expensive, “nice.” The question fell from his lips before he could stuff it away. Dammit.
The corner of Noah’s mouth twitched in the start of a scowl. “It is nice. Why? You surprised? Damn thing’s probably worth as much as whatever car you’re driving around these days. Let’s see, it’s, how old is it? Made in the 1950s, I think. That’s what Granddad said when he gave it to me, anyway.”
“Noah, I—”
Noah ignored him and barreled on. “Part of a limited collection, I believe. Grandma Eileen got it for him with her Christmas bonus from work one year. I think she said it cost around a grand back then, and there were only a couple hundred of them made. Not sure how many are around now. They gave it to me when I got back from my second tour in the Middle East.”
Eric’s eyes widened. “That has to be worth close to fifty-thousand now. Or more. Who made it?”
As Noah rubbed his forehead, the gold light caught the silver and black band. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “If you even think of trying to steal the watches my granddad gave me so you can pay those Russian fucks, I will shoot you in the ass. I don’t give a shit how much it’s worth, Eric.”
Shaking his head, Eric opened his mouth to refute the candid observation, but the words hadn’t so much as formed on his lips before Noah continued.
“It was a symbol of Gram’s love for Granddad, and now it’s a symbol of their love for me.
I know, I know. That’s hard for you to grasp. Just drop it, all right?” Pointedly, he looked at the watch in question. “No thanks to you, I have a very successful career, which means I’m a busy guy, and I’ve got places to be. So, unless my watch was the reason you wanted me to come over here, then you’d better get to talking.”
“No.” Eric’s voice was hurried as he shook his head.
He couldn’t help it, could he?
It seemed that any chance he had for an interaction with his eldest son, he couldn’t help but make himself look like a complete and total asshole. How in the hell was he supposed to get to a point where he could confide in him if Noah couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him?
“Then what do you want, Eric?” Noah’s tone was deathly calm, his expression unreadable.
In that moment, he wasn’t Eric’s son. He was a hardened combat veteran, an agent of one of the most influential government agencies in the country.
This wasn’t going to be easy. But maybe, just maybe, even if Noah didn’t have any sympathy for his father, maybe he would feel differently about his sister. What was clear was that he wouldn’t be able to win Noah over by establishing that his own life was in danger, but if he explained that Natalie’s life hung in the balance, maybe he could earn enough sympathy to sway his estranged son.
He had to try.
Wringing his hands in his lap, Eric glanced back to the floor. “Natalie’s been kidnapped.”
Noah narrowed his eyes. “Come again?”
“I, I got a message from them. From the Russians. They kidnapped Natalie, and they’re going to kill her unless I can pay them back. They’ve got her husband, too, and he’s hurt. He’s going to die unless we can get to them soon. They told me that if I get the cops involved, they’d kill her. Please, you have to help me with this.”
Noah locked those hauntingly familiar green eyes on Eric, then he did something completely unexpected. He laughed. The sound wasn’t amused or warm. It was on the verge of petulant. “You’re serious?”
Eric leapt to his feet. “Noah, they’re going to kill her! And I know you can help me, but th-the bureau, th-they can’t. Th-they’ll know.” He paused, gritting his teeth against the stutter. “The Russians will know that the cops are involved, and they’ll kill her. Please, you can’t tell the FBI about this.”
With another scowl, Noah shook his head. “No, Eric. That’s not how this is going to go down. I refuse to jeopardize my career by keeping this secret between you and me. You know what that is, right? That’s obstruction of justice. I won’t do anything that could land me in prison just so I can help you get out of the mess you waded into. What the fuck do you think we’re going to do, anyway?”
“I—” Eric started to reply, but Noah forged ahead as if he’d been silent.
“You think we’re just going to roll in there like Rambo and start murdering our way through Russian mobsters until we find the princess in the castle? Until we can rescue your daughter? By which I mean the daughter you actually gave a shit about. Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Eric?”
“No, that’s not…no.”
The stammering, the blubbering, none of it had been part of Eric’s plan.
Crossing both arms over his chest, Noah pinned him with a venomous stare. “Because here’s what I’ve got to say about that. No. Fuck no. I’m not doing any of that, and as soon as Weyrick gets back here, I’m going to go tell my boss that your daughter was kidnapped. Because, even if I was Rambo, there’s no way in hell I’d be willing to risk my life for some half-cocked pipe dream just so you can come out as the hero.”
“That’s not—”
“We’re going to do this the right way. The way that actually works. We’re going to investigate and find out where she is so we can get her out safely. That’s how this works, Eric. That’s how the real world works, you got it? Keep your sob stories to yourself. I know Bobby Weyrick, and if you try to plead with him, there’s a good chance he’ll duct tape your mouth shut.”
All Eric could do in response was nod. With a weary sigh, he dropped back down to sit.
When he made the initial agreement with the Russians, he had been sure he would be able to coax his estranged son into helping him, into helping Natalie.
Now, he realized what a grave mistake he had made.
The years had taken their toll, and he doubted any amount of pleading would change the unabashed malice in Noah’s eyes when he looked at Eric.
Three days had elapsed since Natalie was taken by the Russian enforcer who called himself Alek. Eric didn’t know if Alek was the man’s real name, but he doubted it. The man had given Eric a week to uphold his end of their bargain.
That week was almost half gone.
Rather than advance his cause, the attempt to plead with Noah had shoved him backward two steps. He was at square one, and he had no idea how to move ahead.
If he didn’t figure it out soon, Natalie would die.
Jon would die.
If the Russians caught wind of the FBI investigating Natalie and Jon’s kidnapping, Natalie and Jon would die. Then they could come after him.
He had no choice.
He had to warn Alek that an official federal investigation into Natalie and Jon’s abduction was incoming.
When Noah finally walked through the door to his shadowy apartment, it was almost eleven. As soon as he left the safe house and Eric, he had met up with Max at the office, where he’d given up every detail of Eric’s plea. Bobby had been given the order to keep an especially close eye on Eric Dalton throughout the night.
During Max’s call to Bobby, Max had gone so far as to give Bobby permission to sit in the corner of the room while Eric slept. Though Bobby’s voice was tinny and small, Noah still heard the man make a remark about how that would make him similar to a creep in a horror film.
The hit of levity was a much-needed reprieve from the tense conversation with his damned father.
If it hadn’t been so damn late, he would have called or texted Winter, but she had sent him a goodnight message an hour ago.
Besides, he could tell there was something weighing on her mind. Throughout the day, she had seemed preoccupied, even a little edgy.
Then again, they’d shared a passionate kiss in the parking lot of their apartment building, and neither of them had mentioned word one about the incident.
He needed someone to talk to, or he would lose his damn mind.
As he flicked on the lights, he remembered that the time in Austin was an hour earlier than the East Coast. Even if it hadn’t been, Lucy Dalton had always been a night owl.
Draping the black suit jacket over the back of a dining room chair, he retrieved his phone and unlocked the screen. He hadn’t talked to Lucy on the phone in months, though the lapse in communication wasn’t out of the ordinary. They had the occasional text message exchange, but for the most part, they were both busy people.
With a weary sigh, he dropped down to sit in the center of the spacious couch.
Not long after she turned eighteen, Lucy had tried to mend the gap between her, Eric, and the rest of the Dalton family. Her efforts had been short-lived, and she’d walked away from the experience even warier than she had been before.
Maybe she would have better insight on why Eric had sought out Noah.
As he tapped the phone-shaped icon beside Lucy’s name, he propped his stocking feet atop the coffee table and leaned into the cushion at his back.
Lucy picked up halfway through the second ring, and her cheery tone was confirmation of his hunch that she was still awake.
“Hey, little bro.”
The warm greeting eased some of the tension from his tired muscles. “Hey, how’s it going?”
She chuckled. “Oh, you know. Busy, busy. I’m in Santa Monica for a few days at a tattoo show. These things are always wild. They’re a blast, but they’re exhausting. When I get back, Mom’s coming to visit. I’ve got Kevin holding down the fort in Austin unti
l I get back. How about you?”
Kevin Chen was a longtime friend of Lucy’s, and of their entire family. Three years earlier, Lucy had been Kevin’s best “man” when he married his partner, Jeremy. Jeremy was about as artistically inclined as Noah, but Kevin and Lucy had honed their talents together over the years.
Jeremy and Kevin’s wedding was the last time Noah had been home to visit his family.
Noah pulled himself out of the recollection before he had time to dwell. “I’m all right, I guess.” He pushed down another sigh.
“You guess?” Lucy echoed. “What does that mean?”
“It means it’s been a weird-ass week so far.” He paused to rub his scruffy face with one hand. Dammit. He needed to shave. “Guess who showed up a couple days ago out of the blue?”
He could almost hear Lucy’s eyes roll back in her head. “I don’t know. An ex-girlfriend?”
Wouldn’t that be some shit? “No, and I’m not really sure if that’d be better than this or not. Guess it depends on which ex.”
Lucy snorted. “Personally, with the exception of Mary Sue, I’d run for the hills if any of your other exes showed up unannounced on my doorstep.”
His laughter was all but involuntary. “You and me both. But no, it wasn’t one of my exes. It’s Eric.”
“The other fifty percent of our DNA, that Eric?”
“Yeah.”
Her groan was muffled, but he still caught it. “What for? He need money or something?”
“No.” Noah’s chuckle was flat, almost mirthless. “He got the money he needed. He just borrowed it from the wrong people, and now he’s here in Richmond because he thinks he’ll get some red-carpet bullshit because we’ve got the same last name.”
This time, it was Lucy’s turn to sigh. “You don’t get much more out of touch than that. What about the rest of his brood? He leave them behind?”
“Something like that, yeah.” Noah knew he couldn’t discuss the details of the case with someone outside the bureau, but Lucy didn’t need the specifics to understand the type of strain Eric’s sudden appearance could cause.