“Can we help you?” one man asked, breaking away from the small group that was congregated in the waiting area.
Grant. That’s his name.
“I’m Kaleb. Vikkas asked me to meet him here.”
Each of the men glanced at each other, before leveling a gaze on Kaleb as though to inform him that his presence wasn’t desired or appreciated.
“I know who you are,” Grant said, glaring at him. “Your reputation precedes you.”
Kaleb narrowed his gaze on the man. “My … reputation? As an award-winning real estate developer? You know, for building Detroit deserts into metropolises. Is that what you mean?”
Grant moved in closer, nostrils flaring as though he was keeping his temper at bay. “I don’t know about all that, but I do remember you from Macro and who you ran with outside of school. You could be the reason that—”
Kaleb’s eyebrows drew in, his lips twisted in confusion at the crux of the unfinished accusation.
“And then you disappeared.” The man who he remembered as Daron stepped in. “Now you’re here. What are we supposed to think?”
Kaleb never wore a gang jacket to school—affiliations of those kind were strictly forbidden at Macro. But as a kid who was not fully initiated, he wore a great deal of black and gold—colors of Sovereign Kings.
“We’ve been trying to get in touch with Reno all morning because Khalil—” Daron expressed through clenched teeth.
“Why did Vikkas ask you to meet him here?” Grant inquired, holding up a hand and effectively shutting down any information that was about to be shared.
Kaleb could feel his face harden from the unexpected and unnecessary interrogation. “I’d rather not say.”
“Listen,” Daron said, taking the edge off of his tone. “I’m sorry we’re reconnecting under these circumstances, but now we’re in a holding pattern. If you have any information about what happened to Khalil we’d like to know.”
CHAPTER 18
Kaleb would love to confess what he saw at The Castle before coming to the hospital, but Vikkas had advised against it and swore him to secrecy surrounding the crime. He would not break the man’s trust.
“All I know is Khalil was shot,” Grant snapped, closing in on Kaleb’s space.
“I know,” Kaleb said, stepping out of the area he unwillingly shared with his rival and resisting the urge to push him out of his face.
“How do you know?” Daron asked, his tone dropping several pitches as he shot a fixed glare on Kaleb. “That’s a better question.”
“I’d rather not say,” Kaleb responded, standing by the exit door to the private waiting room, hoping Vikkas would make it there soon and put an end to this verbal sparring that seemed to come from a place of pain. He’d give them a little allowance given the circumstances, but when this issue with Khalil’s health was concluded Kaleb was going to deal with these men on his terms.
“That seems to be your response for everything,” Daron spat, crossing the distance and approaching Kaleb.
Kaleb balled his fist at his side prepared to make contact if necessary.
“Where the hell is Reno?” Grant asked Kaleb, giving him a once-over that sent a ripple of anger up his spine. “Didn’t you used to hang with him all the time? Why isn’t he here?”
“We’ve been trying to get in touch with him all morning,” Daron remarked, placing a steadying hand on Grant’s shoulder. “No answer.”
“I’ll get Reno here,” Kaleb assured. “I have other business to tend to, gentlemen. I’ll make sure he gets in touch with one of you.”
Kaleb reached for his phone. Retracing his steps back to the hallway, he dialed Reno’s cell, and it went straight to voicemail. He ended the call and called the safe house Reno owned in hopes that he would answer. More than likely, he was working with a client.
“Thank you for calling The Second Chance at Life Women’s Shelter,” a warm voice answered. “You’re speaking with Skyler Pierson. How may we support you?”
“Hey, Skyler. It’s Kaleb,” he answered, a sense of urgency coloring his tone.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Valentine?” Skyler inquired, a note of tension in her voice.
“I need to speak with Reno.”
“What’s your concern?” Skyler asked, as if she had never met Kaleb before this call.
Kaleb released a weary sigh, realizing that Reno’s gatekeeper was going to block any avenue to his friend at the moment.
“Tell Reno that Kaleb called and I’m at the hospital right now. Some of our old classmates are waiting for him to get here. I have some police business to handle and might not be here when he arrives.”
“Wait one second,” she said. “I’ll go get him.”
Kaleb held on a few moments, grateful that Skyler relented. He couldn’t stop thinking about the one man who recognized him and held such animosity, his fury as tangible as if it were under his skin. The prevailing question is where his anger came from?
“Hey, where are you?”
“Had something come up,” Reno answered. “Instituted an emergency protocol and moved all of the women in the shelter to a safer location. Right now the police are all over the place because three men landed on the business end of some semi-automatics and the morgue.” He took a deep breath. “Where are you?”
“I’m back in Chicago. My flight arrived early. I received a text from Vikkas to come to Northwestern Hospital because Khalil needed to speak with me,” Kaleb explained, regretting that he left Khalil even at Vikkas’s request. “Even in Khalil’s condition, the man is still trying to conduct business. A couple of fellas are here waiting for you to show up,” Kaleb said, turning his back to the men who were watching his every move. “It was pretty intense. One dude said he recognized me from Macro and remembered who I used to run with. He all but accused me of having something to do with what happened to Khalil.
“Man, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Reno replied, sounding as exasperated as Kaleb felt. “Which ones—”
“It doesn’t matter, but I’m angry that they would even accuse me of harming Khalil. I mean, I’m not as close to him as you are, but still.”
“Khalil was a mentor to all of us.” Reno paused, and Kaleb could practically hear the man’s thoughts churning. “He’d never condone how they treated you.”
“It’s all good,” Kaleb assured Reno with a nervous chuckle. “I’ve been treated worse.”
“It’s not all right,” Reno countered. “At any rate, I’m on my way to The Castle.”
“I’m headed to the precinct.”
“No, stay there until I arrive. I need to set some things straight when it comes to you.”
“All right. I’ll be here when you get here,” Kaleb said, ending the call.
He put his focus on the men in the waiting room, who were now looking at him with undisguised suspicion.
“I guess I’ll be here until Reno gets here,” he informed the men as he covered the distance between them. “But I need to make better use of my time. I have phone calls to make.”
CHAPTER 19
Four hours later, Reno drove through the wooded grounds that led to acres of sprawling greenery and onto The Castle property in Wilmette. As many times as he’d seen the place, the lavish estate still filled Reno with awe. The eighteen-hole golf course, the horse stables, the tennis courts, and his favorite—the lake where he and Khalil fished during the summer—were all places of solace. Great memories were rooted there.
Vikkas had texted to say Reno should meet him at The Castle because the police called and wanted to speak with Vikkas about some details of the shooting, but he also wanted a private talk with Reno away from the others. Finally reaching a parking lot that nearly spanned the length of The Castle, Reno frowned at the overwhelming Wilmette Police presence at the typically serene manor. He hopped out of his steel-gray Porsche and rushed toward an entrance covered with yellow caution tape.
“Sir. Who are you?” a man in a dark-colored unif
orm asked, stepping in front of Reno with one hand stuck out to halt any further movements and the other hovering over his service weapon.
“Mariano DeLuca,” he responded, halting in his tracks with a steady focus on the officer’s defensive stance and shooting hand.
“What business do you have here?”
“Where’s Vikkas Germaine?” Reno asked, side-stepping the officer to get a peek inside.
“Young man, don’t make me––”
“Reno, thank God you’re here,” a man in a navy suit and shades said, as he came from behind the yellow tape with two officers in tow. He bypassed the officer who had kept Reno from entering and pulled him into an embrace.
“Vikkas, I’m so glad to see you,” Reno said, recognizing Khalil’s son, even though years had passed since they’d laid eyes on each other. “Can you tell me what’s going on? Is Khalil all right?”
“Before he answers any of your questions, I need to know why the victim was asking for you,” the officer inquired, easing his hand away from the gun and pulling out a notepad and pen before squinting at some unreadable portion of his notes.
“I gave you that information already,” Vikkas countered.
The man’s head snapped up. “In Mr. DeLuca’s own words, please.”
Reno glanced at Vikkas, and he nodded.
“I received a call––”
“About?”
Reno’s jaw clenched at the officer’s snappy tone.
“From?” The officer nudged, seeming miffed at Reno’s silence.
“Kaleb Valentine.”
“From … Detroit?” the officer remarked, flipping through the notepad.
“Yes,” Reno replied, aggravated by the line of questioning.
“So, why are you here?” the officer asked, placing his pointed focus on Vikkas.
“I’m Khalil’s son and his attorney. I don’t need permission to be on the estate because I reside here. One of the detectives said they needed access to the upper rooms.” He gestured to the police milling about. “Don’t you all share information with each other?”
A plain-clothes female officer who was standing off to the side said, “Be sure to stick around.”
“You know where I live, and you know where I’ll be,” Vikkas shot back. “C’mon Reno. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
They turned to make their way toward the parking lot, and Vikkas said, “Hold up. I left something upstairs.”
Vikkas asked the officer who’d been standing guard at the entrance if he could go inside to retrieve his wallet. The officer signaled for another policeman to escort him. A burly officer blocked his entry as Reno tried to follow them, but not before Reno saw the dark stains. Yellow markers with numbers surrounded the splattered blotches.
Who would want to hurt Khalil? He was the most gentle, compassionate and—
Reno shuddered, glancing upward at The Castle’s stone tower.
Khalil had been Reno’s high school mentor who doubled as a stand-in when work prevented his father from being present. Their bond had grown stronger during the first years after he’d graduated from Macro, but Reno had drifted when the demands of the architectural firm he worked for became insurmountable. Then even further once he founded the Second Chance at Life Women’s Shelter. Reno often referred to him as Papa K when they weren’t handling business. Now the life of the man whom he loved and respected was in jeopardy.
A tap on the shoulder drew Reno from his thoughts. “Let’s make tracks,” Vikkas said, sauntering in the direction of the parking lot. “I want to run something by you.”
“I’ll drive,” Reno said, retrieving the keys from his pocket.
Vikkas slid into the passenger’s seat and buckled in. “Northwestern Memorial.”
Reno drove in silence with nothing but the sound of the wind whizzing by to compete with his thoughts. He tried to maintain a positive attitude, but the worst-case scenarios kept creeping in. What if they lost Khalil and he hadn’t so much as called the man in all these years?
“Hey, man, what did you want to talk to me about?” Reno asked, trying to refocus his sad thoughts.
“So, what’s your connection to Kaleb Valentine?”
Reno frowned. “Why are you asking me this?”
“The guys are having a hard time believing that my dad included Kaleb in his plans for all of you. He was an outsider, but apparently, my father saw something worthy in him,” Vikkas replied. “You’re the only one who vibed with Kaleb, but we discussed––”
“Who’s we?”
“Calm down, man,” Vikkas countered, scrolling through messages on his phone. “My father and I discussed some things. You know, he’s getting older, and he wanted to appoint you guys heads of the estate while he was in his right frame of mind. And that includes Kaleb.”
“As it should,” Reno shot back, still miffed that folks wanted to give his boy so much grief. “Kaleb isn’t who y’all think he is, and I’m offended by the insinuation.” Reno flipped on the turn signal and glanced in the side mirror before switching lanes. “I can’t believe Papa K wouldn’t have mentioned it to me first, before he sent you to come for us.”
“He tried, but not a single one of you answered the call to action. So, I sent it personally in an envelope that outlined everything.” Vikkas slid the phone in his suit pocket. “Don’t get in your feelings, Reno. This is business, and it’s about service to others. None of the other guys know anything about the depths of how bad things are. Don’t make me regret confiding in you.”
“Man, look,” Reno snapped. “I don’t even want to discuss this anymore. I want to lay my eyes on Khalil first. Then when he’s able, he can say what he wants in his own words.”
CHAPTER 20
Situated in the front seat of his vehicle, Shaz tore open the envelope and read the two lines requesting his presence at Northwestern Hospital. He stashed it in the glove compartment and said a quick prayer before switching on the engine. He’d been raised in Evanston, and though he’d traveled extensively, he chose to come back home and launch his business, thanks partly to Khalil, who encouraged him to give back to his community. His immediate family still lived in Evanston, among a strong contingent of Jamaicans. That, and the fact that he’d found friends when he first came to the States was the reason his father had chosen to settle there instead of Chicago, where his mother’s relatives had migrated.
Before easing out of the parking space, Shaz took a bite of the roast beef sandwich he’d snagged from the coffee bar on the corner. As he drove, focusing his eyes on the busy roadway, the worry he’d been keeping at bay settled in his stomach and nearly killed his appetite.
He didn’t know how serious Khalil’s injury was, but it might be critical if he was demanding to see him right now. And what about his Macro classmates? Had they been summoned too?
Only when he arrived downtown did Shaz realize he’d been absorbed in thoughts of the time spent at the Macro International Magnet School. He’d been part of a group of rabble-rousers, intent on having a good time while learning. Until they came under Khalil’s influence. Out of the four of them, he’d been closest to Alejandro, or Dro as they eventually started calling him.
Not thinking twice about it, Shaz dialed his number and engaged the Alfa Romeo Stelvio’s hands-free system. “Hey, Dro, did you get a call today about Khalil?”
“I’m on my way to the hospital right now.”
“Is he—” Shaz stared through the windscreen, preparing himself for the worst.
“I haven’t heard anything more. ”
“I’ll be there shortly.”
Shaz pulled into the secure parking facility, wrapped his sandwich, and chased it with a mouthful of orange juice. When he stood outside the Stelvio, he rotated his shoulders and turned his face up to the warmth of the sun. His mother insisted that sitting in an air-conditioned office all day meant he didn’t get enough Vitamin D.
He grinned, realizing Paula Bostwick would be delighted to know she w
as getting inside his head, as she did with all her children. Again, Camilla and her issues came to mind, but Shaz suppressed those thoughts. The seriousness of the hospital visit set in and his smile vanished when he crossed the sidewalk and entered the brightly lit building. Cool air and the scent of disinfectant greeted him as he walked the industrial white tiles and spoke to an Asian nurse at the intake desk. She directed him to the private wing several floors up.
The elevator ride deposited him on more colorful tiles leading to a reception area with an upscale décor and a warm, welcoming feel. An exquisitely made-up nurse, whose nameplate read, Pat Walker, fielded his questions and directed him to a door on her right.
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