by S. M. West
“But I took all of it out on you.” My fingers curl around his wrists and his hands still cup my cheek. I don’t want to lose his touch. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much and I should never have ended things with you.”
“Hey, I forgive you and I love you. You don’t need to keep apologizing.” He brushes hair away from my face and I’m a ball of emotions. Relieved and overwhelmed with love and joy for his forgiveness as well as upset with myself for the damage I caused.
“I came to terms with this a long time ago. There’s no point in getting stuck in the past. We’re moving forward.” His warm, soft lips press against mine, and I wrap my arms around him, needing him close.
He brings his face to the crook of my neck, lips brushing the shell of my ear, and says, “And yes. I want us to live together when this is all over.”
Kit
A knock at the door severs the moment, and I groan into Caro’s neck, not wanting to let her go. Before we have a chance to break apart, Logan walks in, key in hand.
“Ah, am I interrupting anything?” He pauses at the door, waggling his brows, his smile spreading from ear to ear.
“Come in.” Not letting go of Caro just yet, my lips brush against hers once more and then I grudgingly put some space between us.
“Hey, Logan.” She sits on the sofa and I amble to a closet. “We’ve got work to do. I think we’re safe here, for now, but it’s only a matter of time before they find us. We need a plan.”
After tonight’s crash, which could have been an attempt to kill us, we’ve got to go on the offensive, and to do that, we need to go over what we know and figure out our next move.
Whiteboard in hand, I use my foot to shut the closet door.
“Dude, you have a fucking whiteboard?” Logan snickers, removing his jacket and boots and letting the excess snow fall to the floor. “Who are you, a closet corporate asshole?”
“Shut up.” I rest the board on a side table and lean the back against the wall. The board is covered in notes and ideas for the business plan for the Phoenix. I’ve got to capture this before I erase it.
On the same wavelength as me, Caro grabs her phone. “Let me take a picture and then you can erase it.”
“Thanks.” I rub my jaw and grab the eraser and markers from the closet.
“So what are we doing?” Logan makes himself at home, pulling out a dining room chair, drink in hand.
“We need to go over everything we know and see what we’re missing…” I look to Caro, who’s now cleaning the board. “You know me, I’m a visual thinker. I need to see it all laid out. There’s got to be something here that we have overlooked.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Caro picks up a marker and starts to write the initials of everyone involved, like Elliot and Flora. Logan calls out beetle juice and I make another marking, and off to one side I jot down the locations of various things that have happened, including the clinic locations and where Elliot’s phone and car were found.
I step back, standing next to where Logan sits, and take it all in. Caro joins us. This idea is a way of trying to stop things from spinning out of control. So far, we’ve been scrambling for clues and always behind.
And now, with everything laid out, I’m more frustrated than ever. At first glance, it isn’t helping, only adding to the fucking confusion. It’s fragmented and nothing jumps out or fits naturally.
“I feel like we’re forgetting something.” I rub my jaw, combing through the chaos of today and further back, scrutinizing the board.
“Like what?” Logan asks.
“Something to do with the accident.” It’s an indescribable, niggling sensation but as I say it out loud, the sensation grows and more comes to me. “Or something about the guys in the Escalade.”
Then like a bolt of lightning, another memory streaks across my mind and I snap two fingers together. “There was an emblem or logo on the jacket of the guy driving.” I squint, trying to picture it as I looked at the guys in the car in the rearview mirror. “And the same logo was on the side of the car.”
We’re upside down, the car rolling over and over as the shaky, vague logo takes shape in my mind.
Caro leaps from her spot toward the board, her eyes aglow. “One of the witnesses said something similar to one of the officers at the accident scene. They said the Escalade had a logo on the side.”
Hope sparks in my belly. This could be the break we need.
“Why don’t you try drawing it?” Logan is now standing too. “Even if it’s crappy. It might jog your memory or spark something for Caro.”
“Sure.” I draw a crude shield or crest and shade in parts in red marker. “I think this was red and there was also gold in it.” I point to another part of the image.
“Do you remember if there were any words or letters on it?” Caro tilts her head to one side, studying the image.
“Let’s see if we can find something similar online.” Logan brings a laptop over to the table and opens up the browser.
With a few strokes, hundreds of red and gold logos pop onto the screen. “Let’s narrow it down to security or transportation firms.” I lean over Logan, scanning the page. This is going to take a while; there are pages and pages of images and my hopes are waning.
Logan types more words into the bar, narrowing the search criteria, and another page of images is displayed. Nothing looks familiar and someone’s phone rings.
“It’s Paddy. One sec.” I hit speaker on my phone and place my finger to my lips, motioning for them to listen but not say a word.
“Hey, Paddy. You got anything for me?”
“I gotta make this quick. Drug Enforcement has been investigating the emergence of beetle juice for some time now. It first hit the streets in Toronto but spread fast. Now you can get it pretty much anywhere from B.C. to Newfoundland.”
“What about the supplier? Anything on him?” I scan the computer screen with one ear on the phone call and the rest of my brain intent on finding this logo.
“He’s known as the Beetle and Drug Enforcement are trying to identify him. They have a few CIs.”
A red and gold shield on the screen screams at me. My finger presses into the screen and all eyes land on me. I mouth ‘that’s it’ and Logan hits the image, taking us to a website for a local security firm.
Paddy continues, “But all they know is he’s some wealthy white guy based in Toronto. No name or other details. That’s all I got for now. I’ll call if I find out more.”
“Okay, thanks. We’ll call if we need anything else.” I hit end on the call and Caro’s stunned expression causes me to jolt. “What is it?”
“I’ve seen that logo before.” Her voice is far off, as if she isn’t here with us.
“Where?” I ask at the same time Logan asks, “When?”
“I want to say the investor party. It keeps coming to mind when we were standing outside the front entrance…but I’m not sure. I could be wrong.” Doubt creeps into her voice.
“Go with it.” I rub at the back of her neck to loosen the tension building there. “Don’t discount anything. The smallest detail could lead to something.”
“SUVs and limos were parked to one side of the entrance and…for some reason, I think one of the cars had this logo on it.”
Her head snaps to the whiteboard, and she grabs a blue marker from the table. I want her to tell me what she’s thinking but I don’t want to break her concentration.
She writes VW on the board close to Elliot and Flora’s initials. VW? Who’s VW? As I flick through all the names we’ve come across, nothing and no one comes to mind.
“Outside of Casa Loma, Victor Walsh was standing beside an SUV with that logo on it.” Her words come out as a rush and she’s just as surprised as I am at that connection. “He was talking to a man wearing a jacket with that logo.”
My mind races with the addition of Victor but Caro isn’t done. The marker hovers over the letters and she draws a circle around the VW, thickening the line
s of the letters until they touch as if they’re bleeding into each other, almost as if one.
“It looks like the logo for Volkswagen.” Logan’s confusion is clear in his tone.
“Yup.” I nod in time with Caro and we stare at each other.
All those moments with Victor and his questions about Elliot and his odd behavior, keen interest, come at me in slow motion. Then Paddy’s phone call just a few minutes ago—“some wealthy white guy based in Toronto.”
“We found the Beetle.” I grin as sweat breaks out along my body.
“I think so.” Her cheeks are flushed with excitement.
“What?” Logan scratches his jaw, furrowing his brow. “Oh, yeah! They make a car called the beetle, don’t they? Or the bug?”
“Yes. Victor’s the Beetle.” Caro looks a little queasy. “Now what?”
“Are you okay?” I grab her by the elbow, pulling her close.
“Yes. Victor is a donor for the Home and someone Nick and Maggie invested a lot of time in.” She’s shaking her head in disbelief. “And all this time, he’s flooding the streets with drugs.”
“Yeah, but we’re going to stop him. Do you know where we could find Victor?”
“What? Now?” She takes a couple of steps back, staring at me incredulously. “Why don’t we call Holman and get him to arrest Victor?”
“We can’t trust Holman. You’ve said so yourself. If he’s working for Victor and we tell him we know Victor’s the Beetle, we might as well give him the gun to kill us with.”
She gasps, but there’s a glint of understanding in her eyes. Holman has proven to be an unknown factor. We don’t know where his allegiance lies, and we’d be foolish to trust him now, especially when we have the best lead. Possibly our only chance at ending this before someone gets killed.
“Can’t it wait until morning? There’s a blizzard out there.” She taps a marker in her hand nervously.
“We can’t waste time. Look what happened today.” My hand reaches out, fingers sliding over the bluish bruise on her cheek from the crash. “Victor may not know about my place, but he will. And soon. They found us today, and my gut tells me they went there looking for Flora and got lucky when we were there too.”
It’s only now that we’ve had a chance to take a minute and lay everything out that I figure Elliot’s girlfriend and losing time was the reason those guys found us today.
“Flora?” Her eyes widen.
“Of course. That makes sense, man.” Logan nods, working through the same information I did to come to the same conclusion. “You said she was snooping around on the streets, and she most probably wasn’t discreet.”
“Yeah. It wouldn’t have taken much for Victor to get her name. A junkie will turn over their mother for a hit, and she may have even used Elliot’s name.”
“Flora might be in danger.” Fear coats her voice.
“Yes, but in case you forgot, we distracted them. They didn’t go into the clinic, they came after us. You’re the main target right now. And that’s why we can’t wait.”
“Okay, so we can’t wait. I get it. But what about Flora?”
“I’ll go make sure she’s okay. Get her to hiding,” Logan says.
Caro’s shoulders relax. “Great, thanks.”
“Yeah, that’s good. Don’t scare her, and if she needs help in hiding, we can help with that, okay?” I give Logan a stern tone and look. “You have to be careful. Someone could be watching her too.”
“Got it.” Logan takes a gun from his jacket, showing me he’s got protection.
“How can I help?” She’s still hesitant but there’s acceptance to her voice.
“We need to know where Victor is right now. Would he be home at this time of night on a Sunday? And if so, where is that, and let’s make sure he’s there.”
“Let me call Willow. I know Victor’s wife, but Willow is closer to her. They’ve worked together.”
She makes the call while I get my gun and make sure it’s loaded, focusing on what I’m going to say to Victor when I talk to him. This is going to end tonight.
“Willow’s calling his wife now. She’ll make up some excuse and text me.” Her eyes are glued to my gun. “What are you going to do when you see Victor?”
“Kick some ass,” Logan chimes in, pumped.
Shaking my head, I hold back a grin. Caro won’t find this amusing although I’m also pumped. We finally know who’s behind this.
“I’m going to clear your name. Make him understand that you aren’t mixed up in any of this. You don’t have whatever it is he wants, and you don’t know where Elliot is.”
“Okay, and I’m coming with you.” Caro clings to my shirt, her gaze pleading, and it stabs at my heart.
Securing her to my side, I say in a controlled tone, “Text Logan the details about Flora.” Then I look to Logan. “You better get a move on in this weather. Text me once she’s secured.”
He nods and strides to the door, pausing to take in Caro stuck to my side. She can’t come with me. It isn’t safe, but I’m waiting for us to be alone before letting her down easy.
Once the door clicks shut, I step back from her. “Please send Logan the details.”
She doesn’t move, studying me for a beat or two before she picks up her phone. I shrug on my jacket and boots.
“Willow just texted. He’s at home. I just sent you his address.” She inches closer, eyes red-rimmed and features weary. “She says it’s horrible out there, and she was on her way home but our place is closer. She wants to come by, maybe even crash tonight. I said it was okay. And she said she remembered something about Elliot.”
My heart rate spikes. Elliot. I still very much want a word with that guy. Or maybe more a fist. “Really? Good. We need to find him too.”
She nods solemnly. “Please don’t fight me on this. You can’t go in alone. What if Victor has those guys at his place?”
“It’s his home. Chances are he won’t. I can do this on my own. It’ll be fine. I need you to stay, please.”
“And what about what I need? I need you to be safe.” She narrows her gaze and twists her lips.
“I will. I won’t do anything foolish, promise. Besides, you have to be here. Willow’s coming.” I wrap my arms around her and bury my face into her neck. “I can’t be worrying about you. Stay, and once Willow is here, don’t open the door for anyone. Got it?”
A tiny squeak escapes her. “You better come back to me. We still need to figure out where we’re going to live.”
“What’s there to talk about? My place is best.” I force a chuckle, eager to get this over with so we can start our life. I squeeze her tight and pull back.
“What?” She tries to feign offense but worry still etches her features. “See, this is why we need to talk.”
My self-control is feeble at best, and I cling to it with an iron grip, briefly pressing my lips to hers. I want to kiss her long and deep but don’t trust myself to let go.
My mouth lingers on hers for a heartbeat, maybe two, before I rip myself from her embrace. “I love you.”
“I love you. Be careful.”
One more kiss and I leave. I want a day, a decade, a lifetime to be with her and the sooner I get Victor off our backs, the sooner our time together begins.
Victor’s home isn’t too far and even in this shitty weather, I make it to his Rosedale home in decent time. I park the loaner car, another one from the garage, at the curb.
Flurries swirl around, falling and sticking to everything. There’s easily a foot of snow and no sign of the weather letting up. This crappy snowstorm doesn’t help with getting places; it adds a lot of wasted time and will make it difficult if things go south.
Victor Walsh answers the door, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his features slide into a frown. “Mr. Jensen, I’m surprised to see you at my front door. What can I do for you?”
Grunting, elated to see the motherfucker and to finally have the Beetle in my grasp, I push past him int
o a large, opulent foyer of marble, crystal, and glass. A plump, pleasant looking woman shuffles from an adjoining doorway, pausing at the sight of me.
“Victor, is everything okay?” She nears the hall table where a phone sits.
Anxiety oozes from her, and calling the cops is likely on her mind. That might not be a bad thing. But I need answers first.
“Alma, everything’s okay.” Victor’s tone is calm, and I halt in my tracks. “Mr. Jensen and I are going to my office.”
He makes a point of saying my name loud and clear. What? So she knows who I am if something happens to him? I don’t plan on killing the bastard, although the thought is tempting. Well, at least that’s not my intention, but I’m open to whatever is necessary. My only goal is to get him to leave Caro alone. Forever.
Walsh leads the way down a carpeted hallway, piloting Alma back into what looks like a family room with a roaring fireplace heating the large space.
She’s still nervous, and I wonder if she has any idea how much of a scumbag her husband is. I could reassure her that no harm would come to him, but that’s a lie. It’s hard to say how things will end; it all depends on Victor. If I have to use other, more unsavory measures, well, I’m prepared.
His office is as I expect, large and pretentious. All the things some men need to feel important. He positions himself in the expensive leather chair behind the desk, interlacing his fingers over his belly.
“Mr. Jensen, I’m trying hard not to be upset with you for coming into my house the way you did. What do you want?”
So far, he’s sticking to the friendly hospital administrator persona. The one most believe him to be, and I revel in the ironic lopsided grin I stick on my face. I don’t have time for his bullshit and get to the point.
“Beetle juice.”
The moment of recognition is so fast, in a blink of an eye, I could have easily missed it. But I didn’t and it’s all I need.