by Deirdre Dore
“Yeah, Uncle, I know.”
“Okay. So are you coming to the house tonight?”
Brent certainly hoped not. He hoped he was staying with Raquel tonight. He was going to do everything possible to make sure of it.
“I don’t think so.”
“All right, then,” his uncle replied, and hung up.
Brent looked at the phone in his hand. His uncle was getting weirder and weirder. He wondered if the old man was losing his mind. Concern knitting his brows, he put his phone in his pocket, and started picking up the notes he’d made at the station. After all this was over, he was going to have a chat with his uncle, and probably his aunt as well. If George was losing it, Brent wanted to make sure he got the help he needed, though he didn’t think he would ever hurt anyone or cause any real trouble. George just wasn’t mean-spirited.
16
GEORGE HAD BEEN expecting Jessop to send someone to keep an eye on him and make sure that he got the drugs and handled Jane, but the man who showed up on his doorstep was the last person George wanted to see. Bob Sewester, a grizzled ex-Ranger who’d also served with Jessop in Vietnam. He was the most paranoid person George had ever met, and the least forgiving.
“Bob,” George greeted the man, grateful that his nephew wasn’t home. Brent wasn’t stupid; he’d take one look at Bob and know that the man was some kind of criminal. He had close-cropped hair and deeply wrinkled sun-damaged skin. Tattoos covered his body, and he wore a T-shirt that read FUCK THE GOVERNMENT. Bob was the opposite of invisible.
“George,” the old man replied, and spat chaw on the ground near George’s feet.
Hiding his disgust, he gestured for the man to come inside.
Bob was bowlegged, and age had bent his back a little, so he walked with a kind of hitch and slide that made George think of a giant lizard dragging a limb that had died. George didn’t fool himself into thinking that made Bob any less lethal. Bob had been dangerous longer than most people had been alive and had been the enforcer for Jessop’s gang for most of that time.
George closed the door behind them and passed Bob to lead the way through the kitchen and living room and into his study.
George went to take a seat behind his desk, but Bob beat him to it. George fumbled for a moment and finally sat in one of the armchairs on the other side.
“So, George, seems like we’ve got something of a cluster here in your stupid town again.”
George didn’t bother to defend his interest in the town of Fate. He knew Jessop and the others regarded it as nonsense. He didn’t care.
“I have everything under control.”
Bob twirled in the massive leather chair until he was facing the wall behind him, the wall on which hung George’s enormous pushpin board.
“You call this ‘under control’?” Bob asked. George couldn’t see his face, but he heard the disdain in the man’s voice. “I see that you’ve pinned the location of our latest house on this map here, you fucking idiot, for anyone interested to take a look, like that goddamn nephew of yours.”
“That’s not what it is.”
Bob spun back around. “Oh, don’t tell me. You’re still looking for that ‘magic’ girl you like to talk about. For a smart guy, George, you’re one stupid son of a bitch.”
George didn’t say anything. Knew better than to say anything.
“I’m here to make sure you don’t fuck this up, George. You’re going to get the drugs, and I’m going to handle our little helper Jane; she’s going to get a surprise visit tonight from a not-so-nice nurse at the crazy ward, and then she and I are going to talk.”
“I told Jessop I had that covered.”
“Jessop wants to make sure shit gets done right, not let some retarded delta bravo land all our asses in jail ’cause he wants to look for some fucking magic girl in the woods.”
George knew what delta bravo meant: douche bag. He’d figured it out eventually.
“All right, Bob. I’m going to get the drugs from Jane’s shop tomorrow night. There’s a weekly concert in the town circle on Friday nights in the summer. There’ll be plenty of people around making lots of noise. No one will notice me.”
The old man stared at him, a twitch lifting one of his hirsute eyebrows in a steady rhythm. “You always were good at that, George. Only thing good about you, how invisible you are.”
George nodded. He knew that. That’s what was going to let him get away from Fate unscathed, with plenty of money to start a new life, that was what was going to allow him to stick a knife in Bob’s ribs and end Jessop’s role in the course of events. George was going to win, because Jessop and everyone else underestimated him.
“So here’s the thing. I had a reporter friend of mine call the Feds. They didn’t say so, but I’d bet your ass that they have Jessop’s money. Someone leaked to our crew that they’d found a big pile of cash when they found ol’ Charlie’s body. So here’s the thing, George. You told us that you thought Mark was telling the truth, that Charlie had taken off with the money, and that your lovely niece and Jessop’s fuck-up son Nick had decided to run away together instead of continue this life of crime.”
George knew what he’d told Jessop. He also knew that Jessop had always doubted the truth of that story, at least when it came to his son. Nick “Mudman” Simon, the bastard son of Jessop and one of the gang’s women, had never been very smart. Jessop had sent him to seduce George’s niece—George thought at least partly to get a hold over him—but Nick had fallen hard for Jessica, who had been beautiful and more than a little rebellious. Jessop had doubted George’s story, especially when there was no sign of Nick or Jessica, but he’d been busy with the Feds at the time, and the woods had been crawling with searchers looking for the missing girl Summer.
“I guess I was wrong to believe Mark.” George shrugged. “And Nick and Jessica did say that they were going to run away together.”
They had, but George was certain they’d intended to steal Jessop’s money themselves and start a new life somewhere else.
“Well, George, I guess everybody just lied to you. Thing is, you’re such a tool bag, I’m half tempted to believe you. Doesn’t fucking matter anymore anyway. We’re pulling out of this fucking town, taking care of all witnesses, including your nephew, Jane, and anyone else who knows too much, and then I’m taking you to talk to Jessop yourself, George. See if you can convince him you’re telling the truth. How does that sound?”
It sounded like a lie to George. Jessop wanted him dead, likely wanted revenge and all the knowledge of where George had kept and stored the money all these years. But confronting Bob about that wouldn’t do any good, and confrontation wasn’t George’s style.
“All right, Bob.” He managed to sound cowed. He was cowed, at least with Bob sitting in his office staring at him. “I’ll get the drugs, and then I’ll go with you to talk to Jessop after you’ve taken care of everything.”
Bob eyed him distrustfully, a small sneer on his lips. “So tell me, you big pussy, where is your nephew, and when is he coming back here?”
17
JANE DIDN’T KNOW how George expected her to escape from this prison. It’s not fair, Circe whined inside her head, but Jane ignored her. For the first time in years, Jane was in control, at least when she took the medication.
There was a knock at the door and Keisha, her nurse, opened it when she saw that Jane was awake and moving around.
“Miss Jane, you have visitors.”
Jane was afraid it was George again, but when Keisha stepped into the room, it was her nieces—the three identical triplets—who were following behind her.
Jane blinked, confused. “I didn’t think I was allowed visitors.”
“They’re your family. The agent in charge said it was okay.” Keisha smiled at the girls. “All right, ladies, you’ve got about fifteen minutes, and then I have to give Miss
Jane her medication, all right?”
“Sure,” the girls agreed in that synchronous singsong chorus they liked to employ.
When Keisha left, shutting the door behind her, Jane stared at the three sisters. She remembered them being smaller. But then, she’d been mostly Circe for a long time. Circe hadn’t paid attention to the girls, she only noticed herself mostly.
“You’re you,” Ro said with some surprise.
Jane nodded. “Sometimes. Sometimes not. How did you get here?”
“Ninny drove us. You’re in trouble.” Ro’s blue eyes were less than pitying. “It’s your own fault.”
Jane narrowed her eyes. Circe wouldn’t let them talk to her like this. But she wasn’t Circe, not right now, not enough to talk back to these girls about something that was essentially true. She was in trouble. She knew it.
“Yes-s-s-s,” she hissed in agreement. “Are you going to help me?”
“Someone is coming to take you and find out what you know.”
Jane frowned. That didn’t sound like George. “Someone is coming to take me and find out what I know?”
The three girls nodded in unison.
Jane stood, spreading out her fingers wide, her body stiff and her teeth clenched. Circe wanted to come forward. She wanted to come forward and hide them both, lie for them both, but Jane didn’t think that would work, not anymore, and held her still, held her back.
“It must be Jessop, or Jessop’s men,” she said when she’d relaxed again and was standing in front of the girls, her head bowed. She didn’t know if the girls knew who Jessop was, but she thought they might. They were like Summer had been. They knew things. They had enough magic.
Jane lifted her head and considered the girls, her heart beating faster. If they had enough magic, they could help her find Summer.
They were looking at her curiously, heads tilted like birds, eyes sharp and hard.
“Can you help me get out?”
The three girls looked at each other. Jane knew they could get her out. They were stronger than they’d been before, and the solstice was coming.
Ro, who usually spoke most often, shrugged. “We can’t, but we can help someone else.”
“Someone else? Who?”
“Tomorrow. Friday. Someone will come to visit you. We’ll make sure they help you get out.”
Jane swallowed; she didn’t know if she trusted this, wasn’t sure she wanted to trust in this, but she nodded. She didn’t have a choice, really. And that was the story of Jane’s life, telling herself she didn’t have a choice, that it had been Circe’s fault, and Circe knew it wasn’t her fault. Nothing was Circe’s fault.
“So why are you here? To tell me to go with this person?”
“No.” Tira curled her lip disdainfully, already turning to leave. “We’re here for something else. Just be ready to go tomorrow.”
Her nieces filed out, leaving Jane alone in the room with her thoughts, with Circe, who thought that her nieces could help, if she convinced them.
A few minutes after the girls left, Circe heard the sound of running feet, shouts, and a woman screeching in fury. It sounded like someone had been tackled in the hall. Jane saw a vision of a nurse, not her usual one, being handcuffed, a syringe of a yellowish liquid in her pocket. Jane blinked and backed away from the door and crawled backward onto her bed, pulling herself in like a crab and letting her hair fall forward to cover her face.
One of her guards opened the door. “You okay?”
Jane nodded, staying hidden behind her hair.
“She’s okay,” he called to someone else, and closed the door.
Jane tightened her arms around her knees. That was a lie. She wasn’t okay really. There was no such thing.
18
THE LONG DRIVE to the Collins mansion wound its way through trees for nearly a mile before it opened up, revealing a terraced lawn and a massive white plantation house with an extensive rose garden. The evening sun was setting on the tree-covered hill behind the house, but there were lights throughout the garden and on the house. There were two cars parked beneath the porte cochere already, Tavey’s Range Rover and Tyler’s truck. Raquel wondered if he’d gotten out of the hospital. She didn’t think so.
Raquel pulled her bike behind the cars, keeping it close to the house so that others could park. Tavey came out the backdoor, her three stupid beagles following her, their tails wagging. She was dressed comfortably in linen shorts, sandals, and a T-shirt.
Raquel had changed into shorts and a tank top at the station, but she was wearing her leather riding gear, and the heat of the day had not quite left the air yet.
She removed her helmet and immediately began taking off her riding gear. The beagles inspected her briefly and then went about their sniffing. Raquel switched her riding boots for flats and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
“Hey, Tavey,” Raquel greeted her friend, hoping Tavey wouldn’t hear the slight guilt in her tone and know that she was hiding something.
“Hey.” Tavey was grinning in absolute delight, an unusual expression for her. “Guess what?”
Raquel knew only one thing that could make her friend smile like that . . . Tyler. Raquel grinned in response. “He’s out of the hospital?”
Tavey nodded, but then she tempered that with a little shake of her head. “Not quite out. I had to get my bedroom outfitted with some hospital equipment and we have a full-time nurse for the time being, but Tyler said he was going crazy in the hospital, so—”
“You got him out,” Raquel finished for her.
Tavey shrugged, a small smile on her lips. “He thought about protesting, not liking the idea of me spending all that money on him, but getting out of the hospital won out over pride.”
“Ah . . . the hospital. The downfall of every man.”
“And woman.” Tavey shuddered comically. “I hate hospitals.”
Raquel couldn’t remember ever being in one until Tyler had gotten shot, but she knew Tavey had been in them quite a bit when her grandfather had been sick.
Raquel finished removing all her gear and walked over to give Tavey a hug.
“Ugh, sweaty.” Tavey laughed but hugged her back. “Come on, Thomas made burgers and french fries. His attempt at cooking American food.”
Raquel wasn’t worried. Nothing Thomas cooked tasted bad.
They walked toward the back of the house, the beagles joining them. In the distance, Raquel could hear other dogs barking—Tavey’s rescue dogs and the ones she trained to find missing people.
“Have you found someone to replace Atohi yet?”
“Yes.” Tavey frowned, a moment of grief passing over her face. “He’s young, but he’s good with the dogs and they like him. He studied veterinary medicine at Texas A&M before he decided he didn’t want to be a vet. Ryan suggested I call him.”
Ryan had gone to Texas A&M, Raquel remembered, before he’d become an FBI agent.
Tavey led the way through the back gate to the yard, where Thomas was cooking burgers on an enormous metal grill. Atohi’s old German shepherd, Dakota, sat at his feet, recovering nicely after being shot.
Raquel raised an eyebrow at her friend. “I suppose this was another purchase that Tyler didn’t have a problem with?”
Tavey chuckled. “Yeah. He was definitely okay with this one. I told him it was his getting out of the hospital present.”
Raquel noticed that there was a new patio set as well and new cushions on all the chairs. The mosquitoes weren’t too bad yet, but the sun was going down, so Tavey—or Thomas, or perhaps Sylvia, the housekeeper—had set up tiki torches around the yard to keep the bugs away. It was all so nice that Raquel felt a moment of disorientation. Was this really the same world where her grandmother and Gloria Belle were dead, where the men who’d kidnapped and sold all those women walked around scot-free, where Summe
r was missing and, if Raquel didn’t do something, might possibly never be found?
It seemed strange and surreal, as if there were two worlds, and Raquel was seeing them both at the same time.
She shook off her momentary disorientation and called to Thomas, who was manning the grill in an apron. Beneath the apron he was wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and loafers with no socks.
“Hey, Thomas.”
He turned and waved at her with the spatula. “Raquel. Bonsoir.”
Raquel followed Tavey into the back of the house, through the small hall that opened into an enormous kitchen. Warm shades of slate gray, terra-cotta, and sage green made up the room, which was outfitted with stainless steel appliances and two Sub-Zero refrigerators. Tavey’s grandmother had liked to throw parties.
Tavey went to the counter. “I was just making Tyler and myself some iced tea. Would you like one?”
“I would kill for iced tea. Thanks.”
Tavey made the tea and Raquel sat at the breakfast table. From her position, she had a clear view of the porte cochere and her motorcycle, so she saw when Chris and Ryan arrived.
Ryan was wearing a suit and carrying a gym bag, so she thought he must have come from the office, and Chris was wearing one of her ubiquitous yoga outfits and flip-flops.
He took Chris’s hand as they walked to the house, and Raquel couldn’t help smiling at how happy Chris seemed.
Raquel stood. “I’ll just go say hi to Tyler, unless he’s asleep?”
“He’s not. Here.” Tavey briskly stirred iced tea with a long spoon. “Can you take him this? He keeps asking me to get in bed with him.” Tavey blushed when she said it, so Raquel didn’t resist the urge to tease.
“Already. He must be feeling better.” Raquel fluttered her lashes and Tavey laughed. Raquel smiled and took the tea, walking down the long hall, past the dog room and into Tavey’s bedroom, where Tyler lay at an incline, his chest covered in a thick white bandage, his blond hair unruly.
