by Lisa Jackson
A rich psycho, Jon thought, sweating hard now, his brain on overload. He had to get out, away from these crazies, back to his normal life, the one he hated back in Oregon! He had to get away, but only when VanHorn was off-guard. He had to be patient, he reminded himself as he wiped the perspiration from his brow onto the sleeve of his flannel shirt.
“Yeah,” VanHorn said, leaning back on the bed. “She is one hot lady.”
“Well, she can burn in jail,” Jon said, trying a different tack. “Because my mom won’t let her get to me.”
VanHorn lifted one brow. “It’s a little late for mommy to come to the rescue, isn’t it?”
“She’ll be here,” Jon said firmly. “And so will Daegan,” he added, thinking aloud.
“Daegan.” VanHorn cackled as an evil smile spread across his face. “You mean O’Rourke?”
Jon froze. How did this guy know Daegan?
“He’s the reason I found you, you know. Led me right to your door, though he didn’t mean to. Believe me, he’s no problem. O’Rourke’s an emotional hothead and a loser. He’s not ganna save you, Jon. No one is.”
“You don’t know him,” Jon said. He couldn’t let this slimeball cut down the only decent man he knew.
“Neither do you, I’ll bet.” Neils sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging. “For example, I don’t suppose he told you he was your father.”
Jon’s mouth opened and closed. His throat tightened. “Liar,” he said, but the word came out as a weak denial.
“Think about it, Jon. I got no reason to lie. But O’Rourke, he had plenty.”
His father? His father? Daegan? No. No…no!
And yet, on some level, Jon knew VanHorn was telling the truth. His stomach roiled and his mouth filled with spit.
“Isn’t that a hoot?” VanHorn taunted, letting out that snide cackle. “And the kicker is, your mother was his first cousin. Sick, isn’t it? Bad enough you were a bastard, but throw in the shades of incest and, well, no wonder they put you up for adoption. Just damned lucky you didn’t turn out retarded, isn’t it?”
Again, he let out the perverse laugh that made Jon’s skin crawl as the world seemed to collapse under his feet.
“I didn’t think you’d want to wait on this. Not with the boy involved.” Sandy’s navy down parka cut a wide swath in the night.
“You’ve got that right,” Daegan said, emerging from Robert Sullivan’s stuffy townhome. It was good to see his old friend, better to hear the promising news.
Standing at the bottom of the brown stone stairs, Sandy extended a hand toward Kate to prevent her from slipping on the new dusting of snow on the landing.
Quickly, Daegan introduced Kate to his old friend, then got down to business. “Where do you think they are?”
“In a motel on the other side of town. A dive called the Ivy. A friend of mine who tends bar there thought he spotted someone who fit VanHorn’s description meeting up with a high-class woman who was obviously slumming. I took it from there. Manager says VanHorn is in Room 203, but insists it’s all aboveboard.”
“Jon is here? In Boston?” When Daegan nodded, Kate gasped and covered her mouth with one hand. The light in her whiskey brown eyes was so hopeful, so expectant, that Daegan didn’t want to think about all the things that could go wrong. He couldn’t bear to read more disappointment in those eyes.
They had to save Jon. They would.
“Can you drive us there?” Daegan asked Sandy.
“You got it, and I’ll help you muscle down VanHorn. The guy’s probably armed, and I doubt he’ll be happy to see us.”
“No doubt,” Daegan said, striding down the street to Sandy’s Jeep. No doubt an invasion by the two of them would be the biggest surprise of VanHorn’s career.
He was close…so close.
Again, Jon measured the distance between himself and the window, calculating how long it would take to spring out and trying to remember the configuration of the fire escape stairs to the ground. He was biding his time, waiting for VanHorn to hit the can or doze off.
VanHorn was stretched out on the bed, rambling on about how he was going to spend his first million bucks, something about Vegas showgirls and tuna fishing in the Caribbean. He was vacillating between a Mercedes and a Porsche when three sharp raps sounded on the door.
VanHorn sat up and slid off the bed.
“Neils VanHorn?” a voice—an unfamiliar male voice.
“Who wants to know?”
“Collin Sullivan.”
“Well, what’d’ya know?” He grinned at Jon. “Your uncle. Yep, you got a ton of ’em around here. Maybe Uncle Collie wants to sweeten the pot.”
Opening the door, Neils stood aside and a tall man with thinning blond hair and a long coat swept into the room. “This is the boy?” he asked, no smile on his thin features.
“Bibi’s kid.”
“And Alicia wants you to what? Do away with him?”
Jon’s stomach sank.
VanHorn scowled. “She tell you?”
“No, I just know my sister and recognize her faults,” was his reply as he unwound his scarf. “Once Robert started hunting for the kid—Jon, is it?” he asked without any warmth in his eyes.
Jon nodded.
“Once Robert started looking for him, I knew Alicia would want it stopped. She doesn’t want any competition for Wade, oh, no,” he added, seeing the distress in VanHorn’s features. “I suppose she promised to pay you.”
VanHorn’s eyes slitted. “We have an agreement.”
“A healthy one, I’d assume. Well, I’m here to cancel it. I’ll pay you whatever your time’s been worth and buy this boy a ticket back to his home, wherever that is.”
Jon felt his spirits lift. Could it be that simple?
“No way.” VanHorn wasn’t giving up that easily.
“Why not? You get your money,” Jon voiced. This was all so crazy, he couldn’t believe it.
“How much?” VanHorn wanted to know.
“A fair amount.”
“What’s ‘fair’?”
“I don’t know—twenty-five, or thirty thousand dollars should cover it…”
Van Horn snorted derisively. “Get out of the peanut gallery and into the ball park, would ya? We’re talking millions.”
Collin’s lips pursed. “No one in the family can give you millions.”
“That’s not the way I heard it.”
“Uncuff the boy.”
“Not until I get what’s due me.” VanHorn’s voice had gotten louder.
“You’ll be compensated fairly.”
“Christ, you expect me to believe that?” He reached under the pillow.
“Watch out, he’s got a gun!” Jon shouted as footsteps pounded up the stairs. Another man, a huge beast of a man with gray at his temples and a fierce face, burst into the room.
“What the hell?” VanHorn said, stepping backward, the gun trained on the door.
“Jesus H. Christ, Collin,” the beast roared. “What’re you doing here?” His eyes landed on Jon with pure hatred and then he saw the gun in VanHorn’s hand.
“Isn’t this nice? A family reunion,” Neils said with a smirk. “Jon, meet your great-uncle—no, is it grandfather?—Frank Sullivan.”
Jon had to get out of here now. The big man was out for blood; he could see it in his eyes.
“Let me handle this,” the giant commanded.
“No, Dad—”
But the big man pushed his son against the wall. VanHorn was distracted and Jon couldn’t stand the tension in the room a minute longer. He flung off the loose handcuffs, sprang across the bed, and flung the window open.
Aware of the loaded gun behind him, he didn’t take a minute to look back, but burst through the window and landed with a bone-crunching thud on the fire escape. Propelling himself forward, he rolled down the flight of stairs. Pain exploded in his shoulder.
“What the hell?” VanHorn yelled.
“Hey—wait!”
“That little bastard!”
Jon scrambled wildly, ever downward.
Footsteps. Swearing. The crack of a gunshot. An ear-piercing scream of pain.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh God!” Fear congealing his blood, Jon swung from the ladder to land on the icy back alley somewhere in Boston. He didn’t think about where he was going, where he could run, he just took off, his shoulder throbbing, his feet slipping, traction nearly impossible as he passed men huddled around fires in trash cans, traffic trying to maneuver in the snow. Run, run, run!
The sound of the gunshot tore through the building.
“No!” Kate cried, her heart in her throat as she bolted up the stairs behind Daegan and Sandy. “No!” They couldn’t have killed Jon, they couldn’t have! “Please, God, let him be safe!”
“Keep her with you!” Daegan commanded, throwing a don’t-cross-me look at the tall, red-haired private detective.
“But you might need back-up.”
Ignoring him, Daegan pressed his back against the wall of the corridor, then leaped in through the doorway, assuming a combat stance. For the first time in sixteen years, he was face to face with his father, Frank Sullivan.
“You!” Frank huffed, his lips curled in disgust. Although he was still burly and tall, Frank no longer posed the indomitable threat that had haunted Daegan’s childhood. Having aged noticeably, he seemed grayer and softer, a beast who’d lost his bite.
Daegan straightened, holding his ground. “Where is Jon?” he demanded, scanning the room but seeing only Frank, Collin, and some oily creep.
“He went out the window,” said the worm of a man who looked like he was going to faint dead away. “Just a minute ago, he popped out.”
Daegan scowled. “You must be VanHorn.”
Before the weasel of a man could answer, Collin staggered forward, and Daegan noticed the blood staining the front of his shirt and long coat, dripping to the floor.
“Well, look who dropped in,” Collin said, then fell back on the bed.
“Call an ambulance,” Daegan ordered.
“I’ll—I’ll be fine,” Collin whispered.
“Like hell.” He leveled his eyes at VanHorn. “Call a damned ambulance.”
Frank, shaken by his tone of voice, stared at his legitimate son as if seeing for the first time that he was injured. “Collin?”
VanHorn reached for the receiver just as Kate and Sandy slid through the open door.
Kate’s eyes were round with fear and she glanced desperately around the room. “Where’s Jon?”
“Out the window, I think. I’m going after him.” Daegan motioned to the other men. “You’d better stay and talk to the police.”
“I’m coming with you,” Kate insisted.
“No!” Frank thundered. “There will be no police—”
“Just do it,” Daegan ordered VanHorn. “Now!”
“I won’t stand for it.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Daegan said, rounding on the man who’d spawned him. “When Collin goes to the hospital and he’s got a gunshot wound, the hospital will inform the police. It’s the law.”
“Not if we call my private physician.”
“Dad, give it up,” Collin said, his voice a rasp, his skin the color of chalk.
Kate moved toward the bed. “Let’s see if we can stop the bleeding. I’ll get some towels.” She leveled her gaze at Daegan. “Wait for me and we’ll find Jon!”
VanHorn shouted out the address into the receiver then slammed the phone down. “Okay, the ambulance is on its way. Now, I’m outta here.”
“You’re all staying,” Daegan insisted, then looked at his friend. “Sandy.”
“I’m on it.” Sandy calmly took a gun from his shoulder holster.
Kate hurried back into the room with clean though dingy towels, which she pressed against Collin’s chest. “Hold these,” she instructed VanHorn.
Daegan moved to the window and glanced back at Kate. “After the police arrive, meet me at Robert’s.”
“I said I’m coming with you!”
“For the love of God—”
“Don’t argue with me, Daegan. Jon’s still my son!”
Daegan frowned but eyed his friend. “She’s coming with me. We’ll meet you back at Robert’s town house.”
“Got it,” Sandy agreed.
“I’m not going to go down, O’Rourke! Not like this. Not because of you and your bastard!” Frank glared at his son.
Daegan’s smile was pure venom. “Doesn’t look like you have a choice, now, does it?”
“Give it up, Dad,” Collin croaked. “It’s over.”
“Like hell! I’ll go down fighting, like a man!”
“Jesus!” Collin whispered then shuddered violently on the bed.
“Look at this,” Frank said, motioning to his legitimate son. “This is all your fault. If you would’ve left everything alone—”
“It’s not Daegan’s fault,” Collin whispered.
But Frank had a target in his sights as he rounded on his illegitimate son. Hate and loathing seethed between them and the room was suddenly hot with anger. Frank’s nostrils flared and fury mottled his face. “You should have kept your nose out of this, O’Rourke! It was none of your goddamned business.”
“My son is none of my business? Guess again, Frank. Let’s go, Kate!”
“He wasn’t your son any more than you’re mine.”
Daegan bristled. “That’s where you’re wrong, old man, and where you and I are different, thank God.”
“Daegan—” Collin said weakly from the bed.
“Just take it easy there.”
“Wait! I’m sorry.” Collin was beginning to shake, his teeth chattering.
“Shock,” Kate explained. “Hold on. Don’t talk.”
“No, please, Daegan, you didn’t do it,” Collin admitted, trying to sit up. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Frank’s head snapped as if he suddenly understood what his son was trying to say. “Shut up, Collin!”
“Let him talk,” Daegan said and Frank’s eyes narrowed with a rage that he’d carried since the day of Daegan’s birth.
“You miserable bastard, your mother should have had the abortion like I told her. Then I never would have had to deal with you.” He stepped closer. “You’ve been a burr up my ass for a long time, O’Rourke, and your ma, always trying to trap me. Thinking I’d leave my own wife for her, the foolish woman. Thinking I’d stay with her and her bastard son.” He drew himself up, his chest puffed out proudly over his now prominent belly. “I moved on from Mary Ellen years ago, on to younger fillies.”
“Amazing what you can buy with a little Sullivan cash,” Daegan said, his guts roiling, rage surging through his blood. Still, he held himself back, knowing that there were more urgent matters to pursue. Jon was missing, running scared. Jon was his first priority.
“Let’s get out of here,” Kate said as if sensing a fight of horrific proportions.
“We will.” With all his willpower, Daegan managed to contain his fury. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, a father, a son, and a husband, Sullivan. I feel sorry for your kids and wife, the ones who had to see you every day.”
“You ungrateful shit, I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” Frank vowed and lunged, throwing all his weight at Daegan.
But Daegan was ready. He’d been preparing for this all his adult life. Fists curled, he connected hard with Frank’s belly, then snapped his father’s head back with a sharp left cross to the jaw.
With a thud Frank went down. He staggered to his feet, swung wild, and Daegan threw a combination punch that sent him reeling against a bureau. Wood splintered and Frank slid to the dirty tiles.
A bruise darkened his jaw and blood discolored his lips. Daegan, still standing, hands curled into tight fists, loomed over him. “You want more? Huh? I got more.”
“Go to hell.”
“Been there. Now it’s your turn.”
Frank glare
d up at his bastard son. He tried to stand but his legs wobbled and Daegan towered over him, ready to do more damage.
“I despised you from the day you were born.” Blood stained his teeth.
“Believe me, Dad,” Daegan said with a sarcastic sneer, “the feeling’s mutual.”
“Daegan,” Collin whispered as sirens wailed through the broken window. “Listen please…” He coughed and choked, fighting to stay conscious. “You have to listen…it was me…fifteen years ago, it was me—”
“Don’t,” Daegan whispered, his right hand aching from the blows he’d landed. He didn’t know what kind of deathbed confessional he was about to hear, but suddenly he didn’t care—didn’t want to know any more family secrets.
Collin was desperate and reached forward, clutching Daegan’s sleeve with long white fingers. “Dad and I,” he said in a deep, rattling breath. “We…we killed Stu.”
“Oh, Christ,” Frank moaned.
“What?” Daegan couldn’t believe his ears.
“It’s true, we saw the whole fight, saw you run off to phone the police…and then we got to him and I wanted to call an ambulance but Dad…Dad kicked him in the head hard enough…Oh, dear Jesus, we killed Stu. Forgive me, Stuart. Please, please…I…Stuart I love…” Tears flooded his eyes and he was shaking.
“You let me take the heat for it,” Daegan said, turning dead eyes on his father.
“You deserved it.”
Daegan’s throat worked. The anguish of fifteen years of not knowing, of doubting himself, welled up inside him. “And you’re gonna pay, you miserable son of a bitch,” he said through lips that barely moved. “You’re gonna pay big-time.”
Chapter 24
Run…run…
Feet slipping, Jon sped through narrow alleys and zigzagged across streets that smelled of diesel and sea-water. He needed to find a policeman, but would they believe him? VanHorn said the adoption wasn’t legal, that the police couldn’t help him, and those men were talking about millions of dollars, millions! What could they possibly want with him?
Don’t you get it? Someone wants you dead!
His breath was burning in his lungs, his shoulder hurt, and his legs ached, but still he ran, sure that someone was following him.
