by James, Ed
“Landon Bartlett Sr—our father—was a great man. As many of you know, he made a ton of money from investments back in the eighties. Apple, Microsoft, Hewlett Packard, you name it, he was there, shepherding and guiding, helping them grow into what they became. He then spent twenty years representing Washington state in the United States Senate, winning four elections. He sadly died eight years ago, but he left his entire inheritance to the Bartlett Foundation. Neither Chase nor I have any need for money thanks to the love and support he gave us, but we want to help those less fortunate. So we’re happy to pay it back to the people of Seattle by opening The Landon Bartlett Sr. Cancer Center.”
Huge cheers rattled around the room, much louder than for Chase’s speech.
“Clear your schedules for next month’s official opening.” Landon’s beard twisted as he grinned. “Your invites are in the mail and I’m itching to see you all there. Have a good night and enjoy yourselves.” He stood there milking the applause for both of them.
Chase joined him centerstage. He grabbed Landon’s hand and raised it high in the air.
Landon wrapped his arm around Chase, smiling as he spoke: “Doofus, I need you to sign the paperwork. Tonight.”
Chase gave a final wave to the crowd and led Landon offstage. “Anything to do with Zangiev?”
“Chase, I swear to God… No, it’s the final payment to the developers. The check needs to be countersigned by you, or there’s none of this.” He waved his arms back at the crowd. “No adulation, no press, no TV interviews. Got it?”
“Right.”
Landon reached into his sports jacket and pulled out a checkbook. He passed it to Chase. “Here.”
Already signed on the left, but needing a signature on the right. Fifty-three million dollars.
“Landon, that’s a heck of a lot of money.”
“Just sign it and you can go.”
Chase took his pen out of his jacket pocket and clicked it. He added his signature, but didn’t hand it over yet. “This better be aboveboard.”
“Are you implying something here?”
“Landon?” Jennifer powered over to them, looking like five million dollars. Her dark hair scraped back under a tiara. A green dress, low-cut and figure-hugging. She grabbed her husband’s hand and leaned in. Not even a glance at Chase, not even a glare. “The photographer wants to take our photos now, then I can get out of here.”
“Fine.” Landon towered over his wife, but hugged her tight as he grinned wide.
The big photographer crouched low and clicked his camera.
Landon smiled wider. “What’s the rush, Jen?”
“The nanny.”
“She’s fine.”
Click, smile.
“No, she’s a disaster. I need to get back—”
“Have a drink, Jen. It’s been months since you let your hair down.”
Click, smile.
“Can I get one with all three of you?” The photographer made a bunching motion, urging Chase into the shot on the other side of Jennifer. “Nice big smile, Chase. Perfect. Perfect.”
Click.
“She doesn’t have a handle on Ky’s needs.”
Click.
“Okay, fine. Just don’t make her feel like shit. We’re trusting her with our son’s wellbeing.”
Click.
“Fine.”
“Ma’am, you can go.” The photographer still held up his lens. “Just need a few of the brothers.”
“Thank you.” Jennifer waltzed off into the crowd. Hadn’t even looked at Chase.
“Nice to see you too, Jen.” Chase ground his teeth as he smiled.
Click.
“No need to be such a dick.” Landon did that eyebrows raise their dad always did in photos. Made him seem a lot friendlier than he was.
Click.
“I’m not the dick here.”
“Okay, guys.” The photographer stepped forward. “Chase, can I get some solo shots of you?”
“Sure.” Chase elbowed his brother in the stomach, playfully, but still not exactly the behavior guys in their forties should get up to. Then he posed for the camera, draping his suit jacket over his shoulder.
A man in a suit joined the line to speak to Landon, like kids waiting at a flea-ridden mall to sit on Santa’s knee. He recognized Chase and cut out to walk over instead. Dark hair swept back, shit-eating grin. Yep, Congressman Xander J. Delgado. He even smiled at Chase. “Thanks for your card. Means a lot.”
“Good luck.” Chase blinked at the latest photo. The flash seemed way too bright. “I think it’s high time you stepped up to the senate.”
“Some say it’s a step down from the house of representatives.”
“Congress will take care of itself, but your side faces a tough battle in the senate over the next few years.”
“Thanks. Listen, I’m stoked about your new cancer center. An incredible cause.”
“Don’t mention it.” Chase blinked again as the flash was even brighter.
“Xan the man!” Landon danced over to Xander in jerky movements, like they were back in their frat house at college, each step caught by the flash. He shook Xander’s hand, giving the full alpha-male arm grab, then back pat as they tried to outmuscle each other. Pair of dorks. “Good to see you, bro.”
“And you. It’s been way too long.” Xander smiled, genuine for once. “How’s your son?”
Landon laughed. “Ky’s good. He’s a great kid.”
Chase stared at the photographer. “We done already?”
“Just a couple more.”
Delgado looked around the place. “Jennifer still here?”
Landon’s expression darkened as he gave Chase a sideways look. “She was. Can’t bear to be separated from Ky.”
“I get it.”
“How? You don’t have kids.”
Delgado shrugged. “I’m engaged. Raising someone else’s kid has its own challenges, let me assure you.”
“Seriously?”
The photographer clicked again. “And you’re done. Thanks.”
“No, thank you.” Chase put his jacket back on and walked over to join them, curious as to what they were cooking up.
Landon shrugged. “Ky has really bad colic. Kid barely sleeps. We’re lucky to get him off for an hour every evening, around about now. We had to take on a nanny so Jen can get any sleep at all.”
“Landon?” The photographer seemed mighty pissed now, like he wanted to just get on home. “Some solo shots of you?”
“Sure.” Landon walked over to the stairway leading up to the offices, posing against the banister.
Chase snorted. “Dude wants to bang the camera.”
“Pretty much the only thing he hasn’t.” Delgado laughed. “He’s a changed man nowadays.”
“Ain’t he?” Chase raised his eyebrows. “What are you after, Xander? Campaign donations?”
“Can’t deny it.” Xander tightened his tie a notch. “You know I’m running in the special Senatorial election for Chris Holliday’s old seat. The other team are playing dirty, and I need any dime I can muster.”
Landon stepped between them. “I leave you for one minute…” He was smiling wide, unlike the photographer. “How much you giving him, Chase?”
“Nothing yet.”
Xander stared at him. “You know you don’t have to.”
“Come on, let’s get a beer.” Landon led Xander away.
Chase followed them, wanting to keep an ear on what they were cooking up. Someone bumped into Chase, knocking his shoulder. “Sorry.” Chase recognized him right away.
Boris Zangiev. Barely five six, but the guy could kill with one look. Guy was serious bad news. “Mr. Bartlett, how nice to see you.”
Chase pulled on a smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Zangiev spoke with a slight Russian accent. “Nice to see your dirty little secret hasn’t torn your foundation apart. How Landon ruined your marriage.” He w
alked off with a wink, Landon set in his sights.
Chase stood there, seething. Landon told him?
Zangiev slapped Landon on the back. “Where is your beautiful wife?”
“Jen had to go home. Our baby’s not well.”
“Oh, I hope it’s nothing serious. I was going to wish you both congratulations.” Zangiev took Landon to the side, out of Chase’s earshot.
Delgado put a cold bottle of European pilsner in Chase’s hand. “You hear what happened in the presidential debate?”
“Bits of it. This alcohol-free?”
“Something like that. Need to drink like a hundred to get a buzz on or something.”
“Right.” Chase took a sip of biting beer from the bottle. For once, he was less interested in Delgado’s campaign gossip than in what Landon was talking about to Zangiev. What he might be selling to his brother.
“Tell you, this whole thing is killing me.” Delgado took a long pull of beer. “So much tougher than running for congress. My campaign manager will go ape when she finds out I’ve had a beer before my own fundraiser.”
“Got to let your hair down every so often, dude.” Chase couldn’t help but keep his focus on Landon and Zangiev. They seemed to be arguing, but their voices were low. “Sorry, Xander, I don’t think I can make your thing tonight.”
“I don’t expect you to. It’s just killing me, man.”
“Know the feeling.”
“Yeah, your old man would have had you two up on stage during his rallies, right?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Landon gave a final nod and slapped Zangiev on the back, and the Russian left. Landon came over and took the spare bottle from Delgado. “What a guy.”
Chase leaned in close. “What happened there?”
“Nothing to keep you up at night, little brother.” Landon laughed. “Hold my beer.” He handed it over and got out his cell phone. One of those experimental folding Samsungs that kept on snapping until they finally fixed it. He put it to his ear. “Yello?”
“You still have that box at CenturyLink, Chase?”
“I can’t hear you.” Landon turned away from them, pinning his other ear back with a finger.
“Xander, you sure it’s good optics to be seen in a private box when you’re running for senate in this state?”
Landon turned back. His face had gone white. “I’ll be right there.” He ran through the crowd, bumping and jostling as he went.
Chase handed both beers to Xander and jogged off after him. “Landon?” He grabbed his shoulder. “What’s up?”
Landon turned to him, face full of fury. “Get offa me!”
“What’s going on?”
“That was Jen.” Landon’s Adam’s apple bobbed through his thick beard. “Ky’s been taken.”
Four
Layla
19:02
Layla runs past the comic store, almost knocking a huge guy over. Two big bags of books tumble across the floor. Her backpack drops and rolls. The big guy shouts something at her.
“Sorry.” She sneaks around him, ignoring his yells, and grabs up her backpack, then runs on.
But she can’t see the exit. Carter will be on to her, following her down here, and she’s trapped like a rat in a cage.
No. There. Down the ramp.
Layla hurtles down, her feet slapping off the tiles, and bursts out the door into the freezing air, the sun long past sending any rays of warmth down to the bowels of the old docks. The place stinks of rotting fish and stale cigarette smoke.
She listens hard. No footsteps, no sirens, but hard to hear much over the construction work. A Caterpillar backhoe eats up the old viaduct, the jaws chomping away at both levels of concrete, opening up another stretch of waterfront to connect with downtown. The aquarium across the road is the first new building finished, lit up and open for tourists.
Layla sets off across the road, walking not running, figuring the noise is good cover. But she has no idea where she’s going, she’s just getting away from the courthouse. From them.
Shouldn’t have even thought about going to the courthouse, putting herself under so much danger that she boxed herself in. Letting Carter spot her, letting him know for sure that she’s back in Seattle.
Even so, he just knew she was here, not what she’s here for. Her real purpose.
So stupid to take a risk like that. Being in court to support Mason, but it put her in Carter’s hands. The way things had ended between them, escaping on a private jet to where he couldn’t get at her… The type of guy he was, that wasn’t just going to slide with him. He’d be searching for her everywhere, speaking to Mason and trying to find leads on finding her.
The fact it’d taken so long to process Mason’s arraignment, she should’ve known something was going on. Whether it was Mason playing games or Carter, attempting to draw her out into the open… Well, that had worked.
Layla checks behind and there’s no sign of him chasing. She slows her pace and tries to blend in, walking along Alaska Way with all the tourists. Maybe she’s lost him and his team. There were at least two of them, armed and highly trained.
A man like Carter, he won’t stop until she’s behind bars, until she’s rotting in the same place as Mason. And maybe Megan Holliday deserves for Layla to face justice, just like Carter wants her to. But her work isn’t finished yet; she’s still got more to do. Mason’s answers only gave his half of the story. She needs to find the remaining pieces and take them off the board.
A ferry thunders in across the Sound. Could that work? Maybe she could get a rental over on the other side, then drive to where she needs to be later tonight. She’s got time to spare.
Seems as good as any option, so she powers on toward the old pier buildings, the stores all fixed up now and selling junk to dumb tourists. Her reflection flashes in a shop window. Blonde hair, makeup, slutty dress, and knee-length boots.
She needs to change her appearance, so she slips inside the first store. A huge sports stall takes up almost half the floorspace. She picks up a Mariners ball cap and a green Seahawks jersey. Doesn’t matter if the sweater fits, just that it covers her, and medium would be baggy enough to disguise her figure. Gray track pants too, men’s large. She walks over to the desk and hands the gear to the cashier.
The big guy totals it all up. “Fifty-five bucks, ma’am.”
“Okay.” She hands over three twenties and takes the five back. “Is there somewhere I can change here?”
“Sure. Just through back.”
“Thanks, sir.” So she heads in and swipes the curtain aside. She strips down, stuffing her dress into her backpack, then pulls on the sweater and the track pants. A look in the mirror. Pretty far from perfect, but she’s out of options here because she’s been so stupid. She tugs at the straps on her blonde wig and drops it in the backpack. Her hair’s still long, but always so much thinner than other women’s hair. She ties it into a loose ponytail, snapping two rubber bands on to hold it in place. Another check in the mirror and it’ll have to do for now. She leaves the dressing room and thinks the cashier’s maybe watching her as she leaves the store. Maybe he’ll call it in when she’s gone. She feels even more stupid for taking another risk.
In the doorway, she slips on the cap and pulls the hood over the top and pretends to feel for rain, when really she’s scanning the streets for Carter. No sign of him or any other feds, so she sets off along the last stretch toward the ferry terminal. Across the Sound it’s mostly dark, a million miles from the towers of downtown.
A homeless woman sits back, a cap splayed on top of wet cardboard, a hand-scrawled message reading:
Part of me died in Iraq. Please help.
Layla drops the five into the cap and walks on.
The towers of downtown to her left are all glowing pale blues and yellows. She catches a darker blue and red flash up on First. Is it the cops? Fire, maybe? Or an ambulance? The feds are most likely.
She knows she can’t fo
cus on that, but it doesn’t prevent her running the odds.
Then a thought hits her, the kind of improvised solution she has to specialize in now. She digs into her bag for the dress and holds it out to the homeless woman. “Here. Take this.”
She frowns up at Layla, then at the dress. A smile flashes across her swollen lips. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t mention it.” Layla turns and heads back toward the store. Doubling back might fool him or might not. Might throw Carter off her scent, assuming he catches it again.
Layla waits a few seconds, wondering if getting the ferry is the right move. If Carter catches up with her onboard, she’d be stuck, just left with the option of diving off into deep waters. Ice-cold at this time of year. Of all the things she’s done since leaving Seattle, that kind of swimming isn’t one.
There’s a car rental office across the road, but that takes time and she needs to be gone, now.
The homeless woman is on her feet now, slipping the dress over her coat. A three-hundred-buck gown becomes another layer for her.
The sirens pick up again, coming from both directions, a black Suburban shoots past.
Layla can’t help but follow its path. Ten yards away, Max Carter jumps out onto the sidewalk with an agility a man of his size shouldn’t have. At least six three, maybe two hundred pounds, but he’s fast, racing over the sidewalk, a blur of black suit, white shirt, navy tie.
And he walks right past her, grabbing the poor homeless woman and pushing her up against the wall.
Layla’s dress trick worked. Ignoring the surge of guilt and the adrenalin making her heart hammer, she ducks her head and sets off back the way she came, putting distance between her and Max Carter.
That was way too close. Time for Plan B.
She darts across the road and steps into the car rental office. Takes a few seconds to spot the family restroom. No sign of any security cameras, so she walks in and locks the door behind her.
She lets herself take a breath to recover. Way too careless back at the courthouse, but she can’t dwell on it. Right now, Carter is across the street. He’s on to her and he’ll stop at nothing to take her down. So she needs to change, immediately.
