He began a halfhearted cleanup operation, but after watching him for a few minutes, Eve had had enough. She turned her attention to her father’s medical bag, the zipper pulled open. A haphazard light from the tree shone into the inside.
The glint that caught her eye was surely a zipper. But the leather bag’s construction didn’t appear to have any need for something metal in that spot.
She kneeled to inspect it more closely. Her rough handling of the bag had exposed a weakness in the seam on the inside. She reached in and grabbed the penlight, shining it directly on the spot.
After a moment Ryan was next to her, his interest piqued. He manipulated the bag from the outside so the mysterious bit was more exposed.
“Someone was tracking him. I assume Nicholas,” she mumbled.
“Easier than a tail,” Ryan agreed. “No audio from what I can tell. Don’t touch it, though.” He pulled his phone out and took a picture.
“Who are you sending that to?” Eve sat back, wishing she could send a picture to Mouse. He would’ve had an answer for her in an instant.
“I got a guy who owes me a favor. He’s gonna tell me if there’s a way to reverse track this thing.” Morales typed out a text.
“To find Nicholas.” She held her head in her hands.
“Yup.” He sent the text and regarded her.
“I can’t go with you,” she said after a moment, hoping he remembered where their conversation had begun. “I’m staying in Poughkeepsie, living my life. I’m finding Nicholas. That girl my father thought I was? He was right. For him I was that girl. Part of me still is. But to walk away and let what was done to him be the last word? I can’t do it. He wasn’t a criminal. He wouldn’t hurt a soul. Even if it kills me, I will find Nicholas.” She closed her eyes.
Even here, among the things her father had believed were real, she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t a murderer. Vengeance didn’t just haunt her, it drove her to take her next breath. As a grown woman, she’d coped by hanging on to hate. David. Anna. And now her father. Stopping now wouldn’t help anyone. Beckett wanted her to see things differently; Ryan wanted her to walk away. She wasn’t able to do either just yet.
“I think you want it to kill you,” Ryan told her. “That’s your version of a samurai’s death. But Eve, this whole thing is exploding. I can’t promise that you won’t be on one side, and I’ll be on another. I have a job to do.” Ryan ended his half-assed cleanup attempt.
“If it comes down to me or you?” She lifted her head and looked at him. This man wasn’t her lover, he wasn’t her future, but in her heart he was a friend. “You take that shot. Make it clean. And while you do that, I’ll watch your back. I’ll make sure no one else is taking you down.”
He exhaled and looked at the floor, shaking his head. “Don’t say that. Shit. Fuck. Eve, don’t say that. I think this is me giving up on you. I can’t do it anymore.”
She nodded. “Please do that. Please give up on me.” She willed him to walk away, to cease having any connection to her. It might just keep him alive. “The sooner I finish my business or get taken out, the less of an albatross I’ll be to the people who care about me.”
Ryan sat on the couch, and she moved to sit next to him. “I’m so drunk right now.” Eve laid her head against the back of the couch.
“You staying here?”
“Naw, I can’t. I feel like I’m drowning here. I have to take that tracker and do some work.”
Ryan stood and shook the blue blanket out, glass falling again, before draping it over her. “You’re going to have to sleep it off for a while. You do that, okay? I’ll stay here until you wake up.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
Her last thought before drifting into the whiskey-induced black was that he was still kissing her, when all she’d done was offer him violence—again.
Their Friday night dinner was over, and Blake had settled himself in Cole’s office for the big presentation his brother could barely contain himself about. Beckett sprawled on the floor, drinking his beer almost upside down. Beckett was drinking for a few reasons tonight, Blake guessed. First, it was Friday and he loved Fridays, and second he was probably numbing the pain. Beckett had told Cole and Blake in hushed tones the news about Ted Hartt earlier. They all had questions—some Beckett had answers to, some he didn’t. The violence was close to home. Blake had excused himself, returning with the beer to toast his uncle.
Now Cole seemed intent on making the mood a bit lighter. He pushed his chair out of the way and angled his computer to face them, smiling broadly.
“If this is a slideshow about how awesome my testicles are, I’ll totally understand. You want me to make them bounce for you like a set of tennis balls?” Beckett raised his pelvis and began to pump his hips.
Blake threw a piece of popcorn at his brother, taking a peek upstairs instinctively. The kids were playing with Play-Doh, and fortunately none of their little faces graced the doorway.
Cole glanced around nervously. “Okay, this whole thing sort of came to me in a dream. So if you hate it, just say the word. I’m realizing now that I’m pretty much spending Beck’s money and roping us into a ton of responsibility…”
Beckett sat up and put his elbows on his knees. “Everything I have is yours. You know that, brother.”
Blake looked at his feet. And that’s why Beckett was so easy to love. He trusted Cole and Blake more than himself. He took his vow of brotherhood so very seriously.
“Right,” Cole said. “And it’s an honor. Listen, I know you’ve been buying up property and stuff, and I had my eye on a place—”
“I’ll buy it tomorrow.” Beckett cut him off.
“Wait, it’s a whole lot more than that. Just watch. Then tell me in all honesty what you think.” Cole turned and hit a button on his keyboard.
Blake heard his own composition begin playing, and he smiled at Cole’s thoughtfulness. He knew his brother had bought every single track on his iTunes page, and he pounded his chest gently with his fist in tribute.
Together they watched Cole’s presentation unfold. He wanted to refurbish an abandoned Catholic school into a place for homeless boys to go, a place to run to when they had nowhere else, or when they weren’t safe.
Chills went up Blake’s spine.
A place to work, to earn money, to apprentice in a career. Blake looked at Beckett, who bit his lip and nodded with each new slide. This was Cole’s best sermon in pictures and music. At the very end, Cole had superimposed a name on the old building: Brothers’ Legacy, and their familiar tattoo was mounted close to the front door. The music trailed off, and Beckett took another sip of his beer—right side up this time.
The three were silent after that, and Blake got lost in his memories, wondering what, exactly, it would have felt like to have a place to go. To have looked at his two teenaged brothers and had a place to stay safe with them—a place with no beatings, unlike their last foster home.
Cole coughed. “It’s awful. I’m sorry.”
Beckett stood, and Cole and Blake followed. He held out his arm for their handshake, and all three arms entwined.
“I love it.” Beckett was so quiet, his words were like a prayer. “But I can’t be a part of it. I’ll give you every dime I have to make it happen, though.”
Blake put his other hand on Cole’s shoulder.
Cole shook his head. “I want all three of us to be involved. Blake can teach the kids music. It’s so important. And you—you can be the heavy, help me with behavior and stuff. I know we’ll need professionals to help too—I’m hoping Livia and some of my partners at school can help with that—but I want so much more than your money from you. I want you legit. I want to keep you in this town. If we make you an upstanding citizen, you’ll get to stay. All three or nothing at all.” Cole’s grip tightened.
“I’m in,” was all Blake could think to add. He would follow these two men into a fire. He squeezed as well, helping Cole keep Beckett locked in their grip.
> “This means so much,” Beckett said, shaking his head. “It touches me deep, I’m not gonna lie. I love you fucking bastards. But putting me on that—” he pointed at the computer “—dooms it from day one. No one will trust you with kids, and the cops will have a huge hard-on for it. I can’t do that to you.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s amazing, though. Damn, can you imagine? I woulda grabbed up those kids at Rick’s and we woulda all been safe. If I could turn back time and all that. Shit.” Beckett tried to pull away.
Cole put his arm on Beckett’s other shoulder. “It’s happening right now. There are kids desperate for a place to call home. We can give them a place—a start. We won’t let them crap their pants at eighteen, wondering how to make it in the world. I think you’re perfect to be involved. Bring the cops. We’ll make sure we’re totally on the straight side of the law. I mean, it won’t make money or anything. Is that it?”
Beckett laughed. “No. Not the money. I have enough to light on fire. But I’ve started something that will be tough to end, even though I want to. Even though I’m trying. I still want to do things differently, but things are different than how they were even just a couple weeks ago. Eve’s not going to let this thing with her dad go, and I’m not even sure that’s the end of it. She’s my wife now. It’s my duty to see it through. It would be my duty anyway…” He trailed off, seeming overwhelmed.
Blake asked, “You still you, brother?”
“I am.” Beckett sighed, obviously thinking this was a bad thing.
“Then you can do anything you damn well want to.” Blake smiled. “Let’s build together. If it doesn’t work, then so be it. But how about we try?”
“Really?” Beckett seemed amazed. “You two still want to get mixed up with my crazy ass?”
Cole smiled back. “So much so it’s inked on my skin.”
Blake pounded on Beckett’s shoulder in his joy.
“Dessert’s almost ready!” Kyle called as she came down the stairs. “Are you fuckers having a dance-off again?” she whispered once she saw them.
All three turned and gave her the middle finger in tandem, which they then had to hide creatively when Emme followed her down the stairs. Kyle stepped in front of her niece and turned her by the shoulders. “Let’s let your daddy and uncles finish playing dolls, okay?”
They laughed as Emme protested, saying she wanted to play dolls too. Then before they knew it, each of them was in charge of a Barbie doll and taking orders from Emme’s favorite stuffed frog—who was also king, apparently.
Between the Barbies and dessert and looming bedtimes, Blake didn’t get a chance to ask Beckett about where Eve was at the moment. But it seemed she was alone, at least for the hours Beckett had been here at Cole’s. He was worried about his cousin. He’d tried to call a few times since Beckett had given him the news, but she hadn’t returned his calls.
She was sorely missed. And judging from the times Beckett checked his phone, Blake knew he wasn’t the only one worried about her.
Beckett arrived home that night to find her gone. He wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed. She wasn’t answering her texts.
He was excited to share his brother’s new plan with her, but as he looked around his office, he felt dejection set in. Maybe it was too risky. His damn brothers had never asked for anything, really. Though he’d been desperate to provide for them, they’d made their own way. That Cole wanted to do something and have Beckett’s name on it gave him such pride he could barely stand it.
He sat at his desk and pulled up the property in question on the computer. After doing as much investigating as he could online, he had a sense of the surrounding properties. He already owned two. The school shuttering its doors had certainly dissuaded new buyers in the area. He could surround the school pretty well, staff it with his misfits.
During dessert at Cole’s, the ideas had flown around the table fast and loose. Blake wanted McHugh involved, to get the kids working with cops—keep the communication open. Cole wanted to bring service projects in and have the kids do things in the community as well: provide lunches for the homeless, do clothing drives. Beckett had tossed out the idea of having some foster dogs and cats as well—just one giant building full of hope. Livia had some friends from school and a few professors she wanted to hit up for recommendations on hiring. Maybe she could even work there part time when the kids were old enough.
He fucking loved the ideas—all of them. But not surrounded by his brothers and their relentless optimism, he knew the dream would be squashed and the building made a target if he didn’t get a good handle on the leftover Vitullo nonsense. He’d had Primo in his possession since the fire, and he was supposedly “working” for Beckett now, but no one believed him. He’d just flipped his loyalties like a coin to protect his ass. Beckett had put a tracker in the man, making him a matched set with Sevan and little more than a prisoner. Now Shark was in charge of both Sevan and Primo, which easily doubled his complaining.
To build this for his brothers, he would have to bulldoze any remnants of the Vitullo empire, at least in the northeast. He began jotting down notes. He’d need Spider and the accountant to complete the list of all Rodolfo’s surrounding holdings—warehouses and shit, no doubt. Then he’d either burn them to the ground or buy them, whichever was easiest. And he could send the cops to right where they needed to be after Sevan and Rodolfo’s former men enlightened him about the illegal weapons trade routes through Poughkeepsie that Vitullo’s shadowy business had been using.
It might take months. But the permits and zoning and all that bullshit for Brothers’ Legacy would take time too. Who knows when they’d even be able to pound one nail in the wall, let alone assemble the expert caregivers they’d need to manage the program.
But in his heart, he knew it: he and Eve could do this. Together they could be devious and smart enough to protect this haven. A home. A place to run. A place to be safe. Scholarships. Damn, they could help the kids by giving them scholarships to college!
He wished it wasn’t so easy to dream. He could almost feel his expanding hopes being crushed by any number of circumstances that could arise. His stupid idea of refurbishing Poughkeepsie and helping fuckers had spread to his brothers. And Brothers’ Legacy would be the heart—the beating heart that all his projects could flow to and from. And it would be clean. If he was really, really careful, he could keep it clean, untainted by any of his horrifying past, make it something that would outlive them all.
He had three things to handle, and they were all related: First was finding out what the hell Rodolfo was talking about concerning Eve, which likely included finding her resolution about her father. Finding Nicholas. He couldn’t let an unknown hurt his woman, and Nicholas also seemed as likely to make trouble with the remnants of Vitullo’s empire as anyone. And finally, he needed to flush Vitullo Weapons out of the area completely now that the dragon was dead.
He looked at the clock and messed with his phone. Eleven p.m. now, and Eve was still not answering. He wrote her a note that he was out looking for her and left in the Challenger. He hadn’t wanted to leave her alone today in the first place. But she’d insisted. She hadn’t wanted to go with him to Cole’s. A family event would just hurt too much. He tapped the steering wheel, trying to decide where she would go on her bike. It was titty-fucking cold, and even someone as tough as Eve wasn’t immune to freezing temperatures. He drove by her favorite place at the river. No dice.
While sitting at a red light, it came to him. She would go to her father’s. Of course. He drove a little too fast to get there, and sure enough, he saw her bike. Morales’ truck was also parked nearby. He knew it had to be the asstrap’s vehicle because of the sheer amount of vandalism, which contrasted nicely with the shiny new windshield and front end, which had been repaired after he helped Eve escape her abductors. Dammit if he wasn’t grateful for that. Beckett looked harder as he walked toward the building and yup, that was a pair of panties shellacked to the tailgate. The side
of the truck had a bra and another pair of panties affixed with some sort of permanent clear cement.
He turned his walk into a jog. Fucking Morales. Of course he would be here with her. Beckett hit the front door hard and jogged up the stairs. He tried the doorknob on her dad’s apartment, and it was fucking locked like it fucking would be. He’d backed up, ready to kick in the door when it opened.
Morales stood there, shirtless, shaking his head. “Did ya think to knock? Were you raised in a goddamn barn? I expected your lousy ass hours ago.” He stepped to the side and gestured to the couch.
Eve was covered with a blanket and passed the fuck out. Beckett took in the apartment’s state of disarray. They’d had sex. No way they hadn’t. Wrecking shit was Eve’s goddamn sexual calling card. He looked at Morales with the red of sheer rage.
“You really think she’d cheat on you? Really? Do you even know her at all?” Morales slipped his shirt on and winced when it went over his back. “She drank her weight in whiskey. I’ve got to go. You got her?”
Beckett didn’t humor him with a response. Instead he waved good-bye with his middle finger. “Enjoy your panty wagon, ball gobbler.”
From Morales’ puzzled look, he guessed the douche finger didn’t know his car was wearing drawers. Fine by him. It would make sense soon enough.
As he left, Morales reached into Dr. Hartt’s medical bag and pulled something out, which he took with him. Beckett didn’t even have the energy to ask. He sat at Eve’s feet and took in the destruction in the apartment. Presents were torn open, and the tree was flattened. He rubbed her leg under the soft blue blanket. That he’d spent the evening with his heart soaring while she was crushed could have been one of his most horrible offenses since marrying her. Well, that and telling her that her father was dead. He groaned at the circumstances, in the apartment and beyond.
Her eyes opened at the sound. “Ryan?”
“He left.”
She nodded, closing her eyes again.
“I’m getting you some water and some Tylenol. You’re going to feel like a deflated balloon after this bullshit passes through you.” He collected supplies from the kitchen and bathroom and had to wake her when he returned to the couch.
Saving Poughkeepsie Page 22
