by Freya Barker
Yanis
I stack the chicken on the platter my dad hands me and turn off the burners on my grill.
“Come and get it!” he hollers as he walks inside.
Bill—who I picked up from the hospital this afternoon—chuckles in the seat I guided him to when he offered to keep me company outside. His arm will be in a sling for a few weeks to keep it immobile while his shoulder heals, and since he has no family waiting for him in Denver, I offered him the spare bedroom.
Of course I checked with Bree first, who was immediately on board, and it was Ma who decided it was occasion for a family dinner. At my house.
We had a chance to catch up while I was manning the grill. Evans explained, despite being sidelined by the brass, he’d been digging around a little. Asking a few too many questions—apparently of the wrong people—and had been put on cold cases. He put in for a leave of absence, which was readily granted. Someone seemed glad to have him out from underfoot.
He used his ‘time off’ wisely, though. He’d tried to retrace Bree’s steps of that night, marked off a perimeter on the map where the log home had to be located, and circled any houses he could see on Google Satellite. Then he started driving around. It took him half a day to find it, proving how little fucking effort the police were putting in.
He was about to turn into a dead-end street he’d marked as one to check out, when he spotted a Range Rover coming down the mountain. He recognized the man behind the wheel as Sarrazin and stayed on his tail. Bill had been living out of his car ever since, afraid to take his eyes off the man.
I glance inside where Willa and Ma are bustling around the kitchen and my brother is lounging in front of the TV. Bree is bouncing baby Max, who apparently is grumpy around dinnertime.
“You’re a goner.”
Tossing back the dregs of my beer, I turn to find him grinning up at me.
“That’s envy talking,” I tell him.
“Damn right it is,” he confirms, as he twists in his seat to look at Bree. “Hope you know how lucky you are. Before you know it, she’ll be lugging around your own spawn.”
I’ll be damned if that doesn’t sting.
Turns out it’s true what they say; you don’t realize you want something until it’s too late to have it.
“Not an option,” I state quietly.
I sense more than see his head swivel back and meet his solemn eyes.
“That’s a damn shame,” he finally says.
“We should probably head in before they send out a search party.”
A fussy baby Max is passed from hand-to-hand during dinner so everyone has a chance to eat. When it’s my turn, the little guy falls asleep on my chest and my mother practically melts in her seat.
I’ve been expecting a comment so it doesn’t surprise me when Ma pipes up.
“You’re gonna make a great dad one day, my boy,” she says, beaming.
My eyes instantly shoot to Bree, who is frozen on the spot with a stack of dirty dishes she just collected in her hands.
“Ma…” I caution, getting to my feet. “I’m forty-six, how about I be a great uncle?”
“Pffft. Plenty of men have babies later in life,” she says with a stubborn set to her chin.
I firmly hold the baby against my shoulder with one hand and close in on Bree, slipping the other under her hair and curving my fingers around the back of her neck. Ma watches us and zooms in on Bree.
“You know Rosie was in her forties when she had Tessa,” she persists.
My mother can be like a bulldozer once she clamps on to an idea and I can tell she’s digging her heels in. Already I feel Bree growing tense under my hand.
“Enough, Ma,” I growl.
“But—”
“Anna…” Dad weighs in, his eyes on Bree.
Ironically, for all of his cluelessness most of the time, my father is the more intuitive of the two.
“It’s okay,” Bree announces, drawing the attention as she locks in on my mother. “I can’t have children, Anna. Lost that ability a long time ago.”
I watch the color drain from Ma’s face.
“Oh dear…” she mutters, wrapping her hand around a shawl knotted at her throat. “I didn’t know.”
“I realize that, which why I’m explaining it to you. I’m sorry if that’s a disappointment.”
“Don’t apologize for that,” I snap, getting annoyed.
I give her neck a squeeze, but she steps out of my hold and turns to face me.
“Your mom has a right to be disappointed, Yanis. I sure was, and so were you not that long ago. I’m not apologizing for something I had no control over, but I can certainly be sorry for bursting her bubble.”
It shouldn’t surprise me Bree has an understanding perspective on the situation and I find myself nodding in agreement.
Behind me I hear Bill mumble, “Total goner.”
Dimi bursts out laughing. Guess it wouldn’t be a family dinner without some controversy but as soon as it flared up, it’s over.
Not that much later I close the door behind my parents, who were last to leave.
“Ready for a beer?” I ask Evans, who’s leaning back on the couch.
“No alcohol with the meds I’m on. I’ll take a water, though.”
“Shit, that’s right. Mind if I have one?”
He waves me off.
“Nah, not much of a drinker these days anyway. It doesn’t bother me.”
Bree walks in from the kitchen and I catch her around the waist, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.
“You okay?”
She nods. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“Wouldn’t mind a beer.”
When I return with drinks, Bree has joined Evans on the couch. I take one of the club chairs.
“Have you by chance had an opportunity to call Benedetti?” Bree asks him.
“Actually, I spoke with him briefly last week. He asked me to come down and meet with him. I was supposed to drive out there for a lunch meeting on Friday but I won’t be driving anytime soon. He’s looking for someone right now and it looks like I might be out of commission for a bit.”
“It’s your shoulder,” I point out. “Not your head. I imagine if he’s that hard up for an extra set of hands, he’ll happily settle for a sharp mind to help take off the load.”
He throws me a dubious glance but then Bree puts in her two cents’ worth.
“I totally agree, and there are other ways to get there than driving. You can always fly.”
Evans snorts. “If I wanna pay an arm and a leg.”
“Maybe worth it if it nets you a fresh start,” I suggest.
He doesn’t look too convinced but nods anyway.
“I’ll think about it. For now, I’m gonna hit the sack, I’m wiped.”
I take his spot on the couch and pull Bree against me to watch a bit of the news. There is no longer any mention of a shooting or any ongoing investigation. Looks like the powers that be have managed to suppress any reporting on the subject. Half an hour later, Bree is nodding off on my shoulder.
“Bed.”
“Bossy,” she retorts in a sleepy voice.
“I’ll show you bossy,” I threaten, pulling her up off the couch with me.
Her eyes, half-closed earlier, are suddenly blazing with heat.
“Promises, promises…”
Bree
“Found something.”
Radar comes walking out of his office.
“I had to dig deep for this one,” he shares with a grin in my direction, as he walks past my desk and sticks his head into Yanis’s office. “Ownership of the mountain home is listed to a trust fund.”
I hear a chair squeak and a moment later Radar backs up to let Yanis through.
“Name?” he snaps as he leads the way into Radar’s office.
I quickly get up and follow the men in.
Radar pulls up a document on his screen.
“Ma
rtha 12/24/88.”
“Looks like a date,” Yanis says.
“Maybe a date of birth?” I suggest. “What is Sarrazin’s birthday?”
Radar flips through a notebook on his desk.
“June twenty-seventh. Same year though.”
“Who is Martha?” Yanis wants to know. “Any connection Sarrazin?”
“None that I can find, but I can tell you who is listed as managing trustee.” Radar turns to us, sporting that smug grin. “None other than Patria Holdings.”
“Did they create the trust?”
“I haven’t dug quite that deep yet.”
“Dig,” Yanis instructs him. “Find out who Martha is. I want to know who set it up, when, and who the beneficiary is. Aiken will need every sliver of information you can dig up to get a warrant. If they can get a forensics team in there, they may be able to find traces of blood or other DNA evidence tying Sarrazin to Bree’s kidnapping or the murder of Robert Connell, the floater they found in the reservoir.”
“Gotcha.”
“Call me if you find anything. Bree and I are heading out to Flynn’s Fields shortly.”
That’s right, I almost forgot with this morning’s rush to get Bill on his flight to Durango and the pile of messages waiting for us when we got to the office. Turns out even our brief stint in the local media was enough to generate a flood of new inquiries into our services. I guess taking down the son of a crime lord is good advertising.
Anyway, we’re supposed to meet up with Shep at the vineyard to take down the surplus PASS cameras we installed. Yanis is dragging me along for the ride, still not willing to let me get too far out of sight. His justification was I could go over the final accounting with Joe, but I see right through the excuse. He wants me close, and frankly, I don’t mind.
“Let me grab my stuff,” I tell him, heading for my desk.
Five minutes later we’re on our way to Palisade.
Shep is waiting when we pull into the parking spot beside his truck.
“He’s not here.”
“Who? Flynn?”
“Yeah. The girl in the office says he’s running a bit late. You wanna wait for him or get going on those cameras?”
Yanis looks at me.
“Don’t mind me. You guys go ahead, I’ll wait for Flynn inside. I’ll call you when he gets here.”
“I’ll walk you in.”
This from the man who used to send me off on assignments by myself to places like Kenya. I roll my eyes at him.
“I’ve been walking just fine, Yanis. My ankle is all better,” I offer sarcastically.
Maybe not all better—I still get the odd twinge or two—but well enough to make my own way to the office.
“Humor me,” the stubborn ass says.
Shep chuckles and rather than make a scene to further his entertainment, I start moving to the main building, not surprised when I hear Yanis’s footsteps crunch on the gravel behind me.
He opens the door for me and waits just inside as the receptionist points me to the rustic leather chairs in the waiting area. When I take a seat, he shoots me a mock-salute before heading back out.
Men.
I pull out my cell and check emails for something to do. Maybe ten minutes later the phone rings and I look up to see the receptionist answer.
“Flynn’s Fields, how may I help you?”
The woman’s eyes come up and meet mine as she listens for a moment. “Yes, Mr. Flynn. She’s here waiting for you.” A brief pause and then, “I will, sir. Yes, I can do that.”
She hangs up the phone and gets to her feet.
“Ms. Graves, I have to run a quick errand, but Mr. Flynn has asked me to make sure you’re comfortable. Why don’t I show you to his office, he said he shouldn’t be too long. Follow me.”
I get up and follow the woman down the hall, past the tasting room PASS has used for the past couple of weeks to a set of large, ornately carved wooden doors at the end. She shows me into a comfortable office with an oversized rustic desk and a seating area with a fireplace and furniture matching that in the lobby.
“Have a seat,” she indicates the couch before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
Nice space. It’s almost as big as my entire apartment. Large windows frame the vineyard beyond. Nice view too. If I had to work here, I’d probably spend more time admiring the view, or sneaking out the back entrance between the windows, than doing anything productive.
My eyes drift to the stone fireplace—oversized, like the rest of the room—with the vineyard’s logo branded into the thick slab of raw wood serving as a mantel.
Something stirs in the back of my mind and I get up for a closer look.
The logo looks to be a stylized landscape, bordered by some grapevines and overlaid with two capital letters F in Celtic script.
It’s somehow familiar, just like the scent of Pine-Sol that seems to cling to the wood of the mantel. It’s the smell that triggers the memory.
I’ve seen one with a logo just like this before. I didn’t examine it too closely at the time—I was in too much of a hurry to get away—but I’m willing to bet when the FBI gets their warrant for the mountain lodge, they’ll find the exact same logo branded into the fireplace there.
Then I notice the simple arched steel fireplace stand holding a brush and an ashpan.
But the slot where the fire poker is supposed to be is empty.
“Ah, I was wondering how long it would take you.”
I swing around at the voice to find him standing in the open back door. The easy smile on his face looks the same, but the steel in his eyes matches the weapon in his hand.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bree
“I suspect Angelo took it,” Joe says, shrugging. “Probably for the same reason he used the lodge.”
I brace when he casually walks toward me.
There’s nothing casual about the gun he’s holding, though. That thing looks dead serious.
“Why would he do that?”
The chuckle seems genuine enough.
“Because he’s an idiot and I like playing with him. Letting him think he has all the power. It makes him cocky, and predictable.”
With his free hand he points at the mantel.
“Put your hands up there.”
I contemplate whether I should risk going for my sidearm, but he seems to pick up on my hesitation.
“Don’t even think about it. There’s an AR-15 aimed at your lover’s head. One sound from you will have it explode into something unrecognizable.”
I’m willing to take a risk on my own life, but there’s no way I’ll risk his. Obediently, I place my hands on the mantel and feel him press the barrel of his weapon behind my ear.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, as he uses his other hand to search me for weapons.
I’m divested of my phone, my sidearm, and he finds the blade on my belt, but completely misses the small Sig I have in my ankle holster.
“Were you there?” I ask to keep him talking.
“At the lodge? No, or that bastard wouldn’t have gotten us in as much trouble as he did.” He chuckles again and I feel his breath brush against my cheek. “And I wouldn’t have had to clean up after his ass.”
I wonder who he is referring to when he talks about ‘us.’ Does he mean Albero? Is Joe somehow linked to him? I have so many questions, but right now I’m more worried about his arm reaching around me. With deft movements he one-handedly fastens a zip tie to my wrist.
I focus on the blond hair on the back of the hand and the faint scar that disappears in the webbing between his ring and pinkie finger.
It’s the same hand I saw on Bobby Lee’s ass in that picture from the Attorney General’s campaign party. The one in which Sarrazin’s eyes were shooting darts in his direction.
“Remember, just one wrong move or sound from you, or if you force me to shoot you here, Yanis will get a bullet as well.”
So that’s the plan, he’s
taking me somewhere else to end me.
Good. As soon as we’re out of range and Yanis is out of danger, I have a fighting chance, but in the meantime, I want to get as much information as possible.
“What was Bobby Lee to you?” I ask, as he moves to my other hand and puts a tie on that wrist as well.
“A fuck. A lousy one at that.”
His hand goes to my belt which he loosens and for a moment I worry he has more than killing me in mind, but he pulls the belt free from my jeans without touching the buttons.
“She was a means to an end. Angelo needed a reality check after hounding the bitch for so long.”
He takes one of my hands from the mantel and threads the belt though the zip tie on my wrist before slipping it back through the belt loops around my waist.
“Unfortunately, it only made the son of a bitch try harder to get in her pants.”
Then he pulls down my other hand and does the same before feeding the belt through the final two loops on that side. Finally he buckles it tightly, effectively trapping my hands to my waist, rendering them more useless than they would be tied together.
Even if I could stomach dislocating my thumb again, it’s impossible now.
Clever.
“Why does it matter to you?”
Knowledge is power. That’s the only thing I have going for me now.
He turns me to face him.
“It doesn’t, but it matters to the old man. He’d put a bullet in Angelo’s head if that wouldn’t draw even more attention to the famiglia.”
“You work for him? Albero?”
He throws his head back and laughs. If I didn’t know better, I’d call it an attractive laugh. A wholesome one. I can see why he fooled us all.
“Not exactly,” he finally says, grabbing me by the back of my neck.
He gives me a shove toward the back door, but I dig in my heels and twist out of his hold, glancing back at the fireplace mantel where he left my blade and sidearm. With my hands tied to my sides, I won’t be able to get to my ankle holster. I need to buy some time.
“If you’re not working for him, then why do this?”
“Money.” He shakes his head. “Isn’t it always about love or money?”
