by H. L. Wegley
Jess had just had her birthday, though her parents seemed to ignore that special day. Jess had caught up with Vince. They were both nine-years-old. And, as he frequently did, Vince would try to stump her incredible mind with a new riddle. Jimmy Grant—the neighborhood bully who wasn’t invited—stood with Jess and Vince on the van Gordon’s front lawn.
“Here’s the riddle, Jess. Bet you can’t solve it.” Vince grinned.
Jess rolled her eyes and huffed a blast of air. “Whatever.”
Jimmy grunted out his bad-boy laugh. “So van Gordon’s gonna stump Jamison. This I’ve got to see.”
“Okay,” Vince began. “There was a young man who wanted to marry a farmer’s daughter, but the farmer said he had to solve a riddle first. If he did, he could marry the beautiful daughter.”
“Why don’t you just cut to the math, Vince. That’s where you’re going, isn’t it?” Jess blew out another breath.
Bored? That wouldn’t last long. This was a doozy of a riddle. He would have Jess sweating in another minute. Vince gave her his best attempt at an evil grin.
She stuck out her tongue.
“You need to listen, Jess. It gets complicated.” He paused.
She put her hands on her hips and stared him down.
Okay. She asked for it. “The farmer tells the young man to go out to his orchard. He will pass three gates on the way out. In the orchard, he has to pick enough apples to feed the horses inside each gate. At the first gate, he must leave half the apples he picked and half an apple more. At the second gate, he must leave half the remaining apples and half an apple more. At the third gate, he must leave—”
“I know, half the remaining apples and half an apple more.”
“Uh, yeah. And then he has to have one apple left to give the farmer.”
“And then he has to marry the farmer’s ugly daughter.” Jimmy laughed again and whipped out his pocket knife. “Half an apple? No problem.”
“No. We’re not done yet. Jess, he can’t cut any apples.”
“What?” Jimmy’s voice rose half an octave.
“Can’t cut any apples,” Jess said softly. “Let’s see … three, five, seven, nine … eleven … thirteen.” She paused. “Fifteen apples. That’s it. He picks fifteen and has one left to give the farmer and then marries the beautiful, warrior princess … I mean the farmer’s daughter.”
“Yeah. But, Jess, how did—”
“It’s pretty simple. Since he can’t cut any apples, he starts with an odd number and always has to remove an even number, so he’ll have an odd number left and won’t have to cut an apple the next time. I just had to count up to the first odd number that worked … fifteen.”
“I should have known,” Jimmy said. “She’s a geeky nerd. She’s not the beautiful farmer’s daughter. Maybe she’s one of his pigs.”
Vince took a step toward Jimmy, but Jess had already planted the toe of her shoe on Jimmy’s shin, sending him hopping on one foot, howling and spitting out words Vince and Jess didn’t allow into their vocabularies.
“You’re gonna see what that feels like on your nerdy nose.” Jimmy turned toward Jess with his arms ready to throw punches.
Vince cut him off. “Don’t touch her, James!” Vince taunted him with the formal name Jimmy despised.
“Okay, first, you get it van Gordon. Then she does.” Jimmy balled his fists, but his posture was all wrong for boxing.
Vince planted his right foot in front of Jimmy and threw a straight punch, as his father taught him, with the power coming from his body, through his shoulder and out through his arm.
The blow caught the bully in the center of his face, sending him flat on his back on the lawn. He climbed back to his feet with blood streaming from both nostrils. He bellowed out something that sounded like profanity, then lunged at Vince.
The air exploded from Jimmy’s mouth when Vince’s body punch hit Jimmy’s belly. He fell back onto his rear on the grass, sucking hard but obviously getting no air.
Vince had hit his target, Jimmy’s solar plexus. The fight was over.
“Jimmy, if you ever even look cross-eyed at Jess or do anything to her that I don’t like, somebody will have to carry you away when I’m through with you.” Vince stepped beside Jimmy, hovering over him. “Remember, I warned you.”
Jess grabbed Vince’s arm and pulled him away from Jimmy, who still sat on the grass, making noises that sounded like a frog croaking.
Jess and Vince watched to make sure Jimmy wasn’t going to croak.
He made it to his feet after a few moments. But he puked all over the van Gordon’s lawn, before he ran toward his house with his nose still dripping blood.
Jess hadn’t let go of Vince’s arm. She slid her hand down to clasp his. The look she gave him with those light blue eyes grew soft and warm. “Vince, you can’t keep doing that to every boy who does something you don’t like. By the time we’re in the sixth grade, we won’t have enough guys left for a football team.” She squeezed his hand and her eyes morphed to that dancing, happy look.
He’d learned when Jess said one thing and did another, you trusted what she did more than what she said. And she had just taken his hand for the first time that Vince could remember. Her hand, curled around his, sent a strange, new, warm feeling through Vince’s heart. “Not every boy, Jess. Only the ones who try to hurt you.”
From that time on, he and Jess had taken on the world. With Jess’s brains and his brawn, accompanied by some choice words from Vince’s oversized vocabulary, the world had always lost, until someone came along, unexpectedly, a few years later. It was someone whom Vince would never punch, someone he loved too much to punch, someone else who made Jess’s eyes dance with that happy look. And Vince would never ask a girl like Jess to settle for less than she deserved.
When it became clear she wanted Paul, Vince had bowed out of the competition. He couldn’t and wouldn’t compete with his big brother, especially over a woman who preferred Paul.
That was the beginning of unhappy endings. Correction. It was the start of one long one that had lasted for seven years.
Maybe Jamie was right. But there was no way to fix it. Jess wanted Paul, and his death would only make that worse. Now Jess wouldn’t get the man she wanted, and Vince would never make Jess settle for less, someone like him, a man who always came up short.
Vince gasped. What time was it?
He looked up at the gate. The final four or five passengers in what had been a long line were showing their boarding passes to the agent at the gate. He jumped up to join them.
What kind of look would he see in Jess’s eyes when he arrived at Sea-Tac? With Paul dying, it wouldn’t be that dancing, happy look. Besides, when he left seven years ago, any possibility of that had already evaporated.
* * *
A four-lane traffic jam lay in front of Vince when he walked out through Sea-Tac’s double doors to the passenger pickup area. The mass of vehicles stretched as far as he could see to his left and his right. He hadn’t asked Jess what kind of car she would be driving.
Movement in the third lane from the curb caught his attention. Jess stood beside her car. Their gazes locked, and twelve years of childhood memories rushed at him bringing a choking sensation. That tall, slender girl he had known most of his life would stand out in any crowd.
Vince stifled the impulse to run to her, wrap her up in his arms, and do what he shouldn’t do.
Jess reached the curb and stopped ten feet away. She smiled. “Vincent van Gordon, I see that you still have both your ears.”
The van Gogh insults. For some reason, she was still playing that game. Jessica Jamison lent itself well to some pun-ishment too. “And Jesse James must have dodged Robert Ford.”
The smile faded, and Jess’s long, slender legs closed the distance between them in two quick strides.
Before he could react, she had pulled him into a bear hug and nearly squeezed the breath out of him. “Not Jesse. It's Jess, Vince. Always has been
, always will be.” Her voice broke. Jess pulled an arm free, leaned back and swiped at two streams of tears on her cheeks.
He took in her face, close up. Light blue eyes, framed by gentle waves of long, dark hair. Tear-streaked cheeks, runny nose and all, Jess’s beauty was still breathtaking. That proverbial, girl-next-door kind that can’t be manufactured medically or painted on by a beautician. And Jess seldom painted on anything. But what was even more rare than makeup was to see tears on her cheeks.
Vince slipped his hands behind her shoulders, ready to pull her back into that close embrace, but he stopped when she looked up.
Jess’s eyes widened. “Vince, why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I—”
“Do not park your vehicle except to load or unload passengers!”
Vince lurched away from the noise blasting from an airport security vehicle that had targeted Jess’s car.
The spell, or whatever it was they had both experienced, had been broken.
Jess turned toward her car. “We need to hurry. Just one bag and a laptop? Is that all you’ve got?”
“Yeah.”
They scurried between vehicles to Jess’s car.
He opened the back door and slid his bags into the back seat. “I travel light these days.”
“So I noticed. And Seattle doesn’t seem to be on your itinerary much … these days.”
That was true. But Jess knew why, didn’t she?
Jess’s drive to Virginia Mason Hospital was only marginally less harrowing than Vince’s taxi ride through Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia on his recent book research trip. Her driving speed and aggressive maneuvers certainly minimized conversation. Maybe that was a good thing, because Vince needed to focus on Paul, not all the relational baggage he and Jess had to deal with.
Vince glanced at his watch. Seventeen minutes from the time they pulled away from the Sea-Tac terminal, Jess pulled into a spot in the 9th Avenue parking garage at Virginia Mason. It had to be a record for Seattle, especially approaching from the south in the early afternoon.
He opened the door and slid out.
Jess rushed to the trunk and opened it. “Put your stuff in here. It’ll be out of sight.”
Vince grabbed his bags and set them in the trunk.
She slammed it, took his hand and tugged. “We need to hurry. The Critical Care Unit is across campus on the ninth floor.”
As they entered the CCU, Vince steeled himself for what was coming. He’d seen his brother near death once before, but this time was different. Paul’s death was certain, and Vince had no time to make up for lost time. No time for anything but parting words.
For the first time in months, he prayed, begging God for the right words to say to his big brother.
Following behind a legend like Paul—with all of Paul’s accolades, and with Paul overshadowing Vince—would have split up most sibling relationships. But none of that had mattered until Vince lost Jess. Then it all mattered. But that wasn’t something he could say to the brother he loved. Certainly not now.
Vince would never try to steal Paul’s glory or his girl, even if Vince loved her more than life. And that was something he had demonstrated to himself the day he left Seattle for good.
But, dude, maybe you left Seattle for bad. What are you gonna demonstrate this time?
Chapter 3
I was proud to be the wife of a Hollywood movie producer. But, now, I’m ashamed of you, Trenton Del Valle. I want no part of this, nor will I allow our kids to be around a man who produces pornography.
Emily’s words still stung after eight years. Trent’s wife had taken his two boys and disappeared. But now, Trent sat in the throne room of the Hollywood offices of Mature Media Incorporated (MMI) where, as CEO, he commanded a seven-figure income. He would soon show her that she might have become another Melinda Gates if she hadn’t gotten involved with those Jesus freaks.
Trent drummed his fingers on the imposing wooden desk that dwarfed everything else in his elegant corner office. He had big plans for a big game, and it was kickoff time.
He picked up his cell and pressed the voice search icon. “Virginia Mason Hospital, Seattle, Washington.”
“Here you are, Virginia Mason in Seattle.”
Trent spotted the phone number in the query results and pressed the call icon beside it, then waited.
“Virginia Mason Medical Center, how may I direct your call?”
“I'm calling to find out how my friend, Paul van Gordon, is doing.”
“One minute, please … Mr. van Gordon is in our CCU. Only immediate family may visit.”
“Sorry to hear that, but thanks for the information, ma’am.” Trent ended the call.
Paul van Gordon wouldn’t be around much longer. Whether Vince van Gordon realized it or not, he would soon catch the ball on the goal line. Then came the run back.
Trent hit Lorenzo Russo’s number in his contacts.
“Russo, here. What you want, Trent?”
“Lorenzo, Tony Manetti said you might have some people in the Big Apple, or maybe across the river, who can help me with a little job. I'm willing to pay top dollar for three or four of the right men.”
“Yeah, I can probly help. What you need done?” Russo’s New York City speech murdered the king’s English, but the man was sharp, efficient, good for his word, and nobody pushed Lorenzo Russo around. He was the kind of man Trent could rely on to handle sensitive matters while keeping them confidential.
“I need surveillance and some high-tech spying.”
“You talkin’ about some hackin’?”
“Yes. And, if I give the word, maybe a little muscle. Nothing more than intimidation. Hopefully, nobody gets hurt and nobody calls the cops.”
“My friend, Frankie, has some people who can do all that. When you need them?”
“In about twenty-four hours,” Trent said.
“That’s pretty quick. Where?”
“Near Seattle.”
“That's pretty far. You gotta take whoever's available.”
“I figured that would be the case. Call me when it’s all lined up, and I'll send the advance.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Russo ended the call.
With Russo on it, this shouldn't take long. Trent placed his cell on the desk and scanned the information and list of instructions he’d printed out for the men he planned to hire.
Before he finished reviewing the list, his cell rang, playing New York, New York.
“Hello, Lorenzo.”
“Del Valle, the advance will be fifty Gs. You got three guys, so it’ll cost you three thousand a day to cover expenses. But if you need, you know, more than you asked for, it's gonna go way up. In that case, we gotta renegotiate, dependin’ on specifics.”
“I understand. I'll transfer the advance as soon as we’re done here. Same account number as before?”
“Yeah. Same one. Once we get it, we're all set. Sal Romano will contact you when he arrives in Seattle with his two team members. Mention my name and he’ll start takin’ orders from you.”
“Thanks, Lorenzo.”
If Trent’s sources of information were reliable, the only potential hitch was Paul's little brother, Vince. If he didn't interfere, the cost shouldn't go up. But Vince van Gordon was supposed to be a big, tough guy, a loose cannon with a big mouth and a big vocabulary. And some people who knew him said he had a bad temper. He was also way out of his league when it came to running Virtuality, a company Trent had had his eye on for the past four months. Hopefully, Vince wouldn’t be inclined to take the helm and would simply sell the company.
Regardless, Vince would soon catch the kickoff at the goal line. Then came the run back.
But Vince had no blockers. At this point, he wouldn’t realize he needed any. Maybe a hard hit would make him fumble the ball.
Trent would see how well the special-team guys performed, the hard hitters he’d just hired. That performance would determine if Trent needed only surveill
ance or some strong muscle. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need anything more than that. However, if someone had to die to make Trent’s dream a reality, he would come up with the cash to make it happen, regardless of the cost.
But that would make things so messy.
Chapter 4
When Vince entered Paul’s room in the CCU, his brother’s eyes were focused on the entryway like his gaze had been locked on it for hours, waiting. The determination in those eyes crushed Vince’s heart like a two-ton weight on his chest.
Paul had willed death to wait. He had held on just for Vince.
Paul reached out a hand through the railing. Before Vince could take it, the arm dropped, dangling off the side of the bed.
Vince’s vision blurred with unshed tears when he took his brother's hand, the hand that had shown Vince how to throw a football and scoop up hot grounders on the baseball field.
Paul’s visible muscles flexed, taxed to their limit simply by trying to make his chest rise one more time.
“Vince, you came.” He forced the words out from a body that had few words left in it. Though death was approaching, Paul’s voice remained calm, unlike the room with its beeping equipment, flashing lights, and a nurse hurrying in and out.
“Yeah. I came … I love you, big brother.”
“A weak smile flickered across Paul’s dry cracked lips. “Guess it’s time for the real Paul van Gordon to leave.”
“Tell Mom and Dad that I can’t wait to see them up there.”
“I will, but you need to wait a while. There are people here who need you. I’m going home to a place prepared for me. It’s my time.” Paul stopped and drew several short breaths. “My brain will shut down. But, Vince, I don't exist in my brain. It's only an interface … to the real me.”
Theology? Psychology? “Paul, what do you mean?”
“You don’t need to understand now. Just remember what I said. Soon, you’ll see it for yourself. Got to hurry. Listen … everything I’m leaving behind is yours. And, Vince … don't sell the company.” His voice crescendoed. “Don’t sell it to Patrick or anyone else. You need to run Virtuality. Promise me you will.”
