by TJ Nichols
Had Benitez made a mistake killing Connor? If Anders knew it was him, twenty to life would look like luxury. He brushed the thought aside. He wasn’t paid to speculate about what was going on, and he wouldn’t dwell on what had happened.
“Tell your boss that this isn’t over. He took something from me, and I don’t forgive or forget.”
A chill swept over Olivier’s skin, and the hairs on his arms plucked up. That was the second time he’d been told to pass a message to his boss. He nodded but didn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself. That was a first.
“All done.” Anders put the phone down.
Olivier didn’t get up. “The receipt?”
Anders snatched up the phone, all pretenses of manners gone. With a couple of swipes, he showed the screen with the transaction record. Olivier didn’t need to look at the business card to confirm. He’d memorized the details on the way over.
“Your boss should send someone more polite over.”
Olivier let his lips curve in a cold grin. “Perhaps he knows you too well.”
That made the old man flinch. There was obviously a lot of bloody water beneath the bridge that Benitez and Anders were standing on. “Remind him that I know him and that I have insurance.”
CHAPTER FOUR
IN CODY’S cheap but comfy hotel room, he put his takeout coffee on the table and then sat and took out the contents of the envelope again. There wasn’t much. And what was there didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Lily was right. Connor had been falling apart. It was hard to read his brother’s once-neat handwriting. Harder still to make sense of what it meant.
Lily had looked at the printout of the old newspaper clipping and frowned. So had he. What did a long-dead relative, the man who’d been responsible for the rise of the Anders family, have to do with anything?
Then there was the news story about one of his father’s real-estate developments. The current tenants had complained about the amount they were being offered and that they were being threatened.
Another article, this one about the rise of gangsters in suits.
Lily and he assumed that Connor thought his father was one of those gangsters, which wasn’t a great leap.
For Lily it only confirmed her suspicion that his father was responsible for Connor’s death, and Cody had to admit that it didn’t look good. But he also had to remember that his brother was a cokehead.
Maybe Connor saw connections when there were none. Maybe the batch he snorted was more pure than he was used to. Maybe he deliberately took too much and the letter addressed to Cody was the suicide note.
That Connor had included a copy of a page from his will only added to their suspicions that it was a goodbye. Why not leave a letter for Lily, though? Connor had left him an antique wardrobe. Cody shook his head. What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
But he smiled. Maybe Connor was telling him, one last time, to come out of the closet.
He moved on to the letter, which had been folded into neat thirds. Lily hadn’t read the letter because it was addressed to him. Cody had tried, but failed. It wasn’t just the messy writing from a man who used to be meticulous. The words themselves made no sense. It was gibberish. Scrawly gibberish.
But as he stared at it, something started to itch inside his brain. Some of the random letters started to look like words.
He stared at the page a little harder. When they were about ten, they created a cipher after reading about it in a book. It wouldn’t take a computer long to crack it, but they thought themselves so clever. Had Connor written a letter to him in the Vigenère cipher?
He sipped the coffee he’d bought on the way up and then grabbed the hotel’s notepad and drew up the grid so he could decipher the letter.
It must’ve taken his brother a long time to write. It was going to take him just as long to unravel what had been going through his brother’s head. There was no doubt that he’d take the time to read what Connor had written.
It was all he could do now that his brother was gone. He hoped it wasn’t a drug-induced paranoid ramble. His throat ached as he wrote out the key word. They had always used the same one, and Cody had once been the quickest out of the two of them at writing and decoding.
C,
I don’t want to draw you in, but I want you to know what’s going on. I made some mistakes. Now I’m caught. Our father has dealings with a man named Franco Benitez.
Cody stretched his fingers. He wasn’t even halfway there and his coffee was cold. He drank it anyway. Benitez must be one of the gangster businessmen. The article started to make sense. The story about his father’s real-estate development and the bribing of tenants was also linked… in Connor’s mind.
Was their father actually corrupt?
He glanced at the story about their bootlegging ancestor. Maybe it ran in the family.
Or maybe his brother was living in a fantasy brought on by his drug use.
Why hadn’t Lily called when she realized how bad Connor’s problem was?
I’m being blackmailed. I’m sure I’m being watched. If something happens to me, make sure Lily is okay. Tell her to go and see her sister in Canada.
Why hadn’t he gone to the cops? Who was blackmailing him? Cody leaned back. He had to remember that it may not be real, but assuming it was, he had to do something.
I opened a safety-deposit box in your name at your favorite bank. I hope you still sign your name the same way.
Cody’s eyes widened. A box at his favorite bank. He frowned and had to think back to the time when he and Connor were close. There was a bank building with architecture that Cody liked when they were kids. Connor had laughed at him and said that Dad would never let him be an architect. Cody had known even then what he wanted to do, but had told no one. Not even Connor. He’d done his card tricks and learned more elaborate ones, and while he performed for friends and at a talent show at college, he never revealed his desire to actually pursue that dream—not until he announced he was quitting college. If he couldn’t be an architect, there was no way his father would ever approve of him being a magician.
He knew the bank, but he didn’t know the box number and he didn’t have the key.
That meant Lily had it.
Everything I know is there. They all want it. If I hand it over, I’m dead. Lily is dead. I’m doing this to protect her and the baby. This could bring down the Anders family.
Cody was pretty sure he didn’t want whatever was in the box. What was he supposed to do with it? There wasn’t much left to decipher.
I’m sorry. Tell Lily I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to mail this. I knew she’d give it to you if they got to me.
The ink was smudged as though it had gotten wet. Connor had known he was going to be killed, but he hadn’t named his killer.
The blackmailers? Benitez? Their father?
His father was capable of many things, but murder couldn’t be one of them. He used his phone to look up Benitez. Franco Benitez was a businessman who owned nightclubs and restaurants and a limo service, as well as a few other things. He went to church and gave generously to it. On the surface he looked respectable.
Cody stared at the papers. There was an address written on the top of the gangsters-in-suits article. Maybe it wasn’t random. He looked that up too and saw it belonged to a church. Did the letter B near the address mean Benitez?
Connor had expected him to know what to do, but Cody had no idea. He could take the whole thing and go to the police. But Lily had said the police were initially concerned about the tox report but then abruptly wrote it off as an overdose. They might not be trustworthy if someone had paid them to make a murder go away.
He picked up the old article about their ancestor. Their relative had lost two sons in some gangland brawl. A cop had been killed too.
Twins ran in the family. But it was eerie to read about the brutal deaths of twin Anders men. Not that there were many details. The article hinted that ther
e was something unsavory going on and that it wasn’t the first time the police had investigated Anders, but they’d never made anything stick.
Was Connor suggesting that their father was like their ancestor? It made sense when Cody added in what Lily had told him about Connor and Dad fighting. Connor was using drugs, but was his paranoia justified? Was there something going on? He didn’t want to believe that their father was involved in Connor’s death.
Cody pushed the paper away. He didn’t want to be involved. He didn’t want to get the key and get whatever was in the box. If Connor had been killed, then Cody would be painting a target on his back. He wasn’t sure that dodging death was a trick he could perform.
SUNDAY WAS usually the day Olivier got to sleep in and spend the morning doing his thing. It was his official day off, so when Benitez texted him, he knew there was something very wrong.
Though what could go wrong at church? Had the priest who heard confession threatened to go public? Olivier wasn’t sure he could kill a priest.
Benitez’s church was small, expensive, and always very grateful for the donations that enabled them to do their good work. The parishioners knelt in their handmade suits and tried not to scuff the toes of their Italian leather shoes. Olivier put on a suit instead of sweats, though he resented the intrusion of his job on his Sunday. There was a paper to read, a crossword to do, and a run to take.
He wanted to go out for coffee and pretend he had a normal life and was just like everyone else. And he’d planned to have dinner with his sister. They were going to some family-friendly pizza place near her. They were trying to give Dani a normal life. Maybe, between the two of them, they’d succeed. But he doubted it.
Instead he planned to ask Benitez to release Marie and let him work off her debt. Although they all knew that a whore could walk, but a hit man? No. He’d die on the job, and he’d made peace with that. He had to. Marie knew he had, but they’d only talked about it once, when she was pregnant. She wanted to know why he’d chosen that path when he could’ve sold his body instead of his soul.
He hadn’t sold his soul. He’d never taken pleasure in death the way some did—but when he was planning a job, there was a dark edge that made him doubt his sanity. There was a thrill or a hunger in knowing what was to come. It wasn’t pleasure. It was something far darker—a need. He justified it as best he could. If he wasn’t bringing death, someone else would be.
That didn’t make him innocent. Far from it. But he wasn’t his job. Benitez didn’t get to control who he spent his time with or who he had in his bed. There were parts of his life that he would not surrender and that he would protect with his last breath. Dani and Marie were part of that, even though Marie would say she could take care of herself.
Benitez hadn’t sent a car to pick him up, so Olivier hailed a cab. Maybe the issue wasn’t that serious or pressing. The cab quickly traveled the six blocks through easy traffic. A delay would’ve been nice. He prayed for an accident—roadwork, a broken water main, a parade. Anything.
He got nothing.
It was almost funny how traffic was always great when he didn’t want to reach his destination. He paid and got out. There was no sign of Benitez. No doubt he was enjoying the hymns and the readings. Olivier studied the church. For a moment guilt swept through him. He should be in there. He crossed himself and murmured an apology, but he was too far from the Lord’s ears for him to hear or care.
God hadn’t listened when Olivier prayed for his mother.
Benitez had.
He messaged Benitez that he was there and that he’d be across the street at the coffee shop. Maybe he could still do the crossword and have a coffee. Sunday wasn’t lost to him yet. He turned to cross the road and stopped.
Dead men didn’t come back to life.
Connor Anders was most definitely dead. He’d seen the obituary in the paper, even if he hadn’t stayed to witness his death and make sure there was no heartbeat.
So why was Connor sitting at the coffee shop, reading the paper like there was nothing wrong with the world?
His phone buzzed. Is he still there?
Olivier knew exactly who Benitez meant.
He glanced up. Connor had never come to that part of town. He never dressed down in jeans, jacket, and watch cap. It couldn’t be him. It looked like him, and not in a passing-resemblance kind of way.
He crossed the road, determined to discover what the hell was going on.
CHAPTER FIVE
CODY GLANCED up as a man in a black suit walked past him and into the coffee shop. He was the kind of man who dressed well and yet still silently screamed, “More trouble than you can handle.”
He was also good-looking enough to make it hard to look away. His dark hair brushed the collar of his suit, and for half a second, Cody imagined running his fingers through it. He forced his gaze down and tried to focus on the pages of the paper in front of him.
Cody had sat with his coffee and breakfast as people arrived for church, and although he tried to convince himself that he wasn’t going to get involved, he waited for a glimpse of the man Connor had mentioned. He was just looking.
Then he saw Benitez. He was older and grayer than the photo on the website, and he didn’t look threatening. He looked like just another well-dressed, older gentleman going to church. But the eye was easily fooled, even when the brain should know better. Was Benitez the man who’d wanted Connor dead or was he the blackmailer?
Connor hadn’t been clear about anything, except that someone wanted the information he had. Which was in a bank in Cody’s name. Damn. Was Connor trying to get him killed?
The skin on the back of Cody’s neck prickled. He wanted to ignore it, but he couldn’t. Coming to the church made tension crawl over his skin like spiders. His heartbeat hadn’t settled. He wanted to blame the coffee, but he knew what anxiety felt like, even though he hadn’t been in its grip since he was eighteen.
That wasn’t entirely true. It had snuck up on him a few times, but he knew how to shove it into the box where it belonged. Suddenly it had poked its legs out and lifted the lid, and it was strong… or he was weak.
Being back wasn’t doing him any good, nor was obsessing about Connor’s note and his death. But he couldn’t let it go. If Connor’s death wasn’t accidental, it should be investigated properly. He hadn’t told Lily about the box at the bank. Not yet. And she hadn’t mentioned a key either. Maybe it was for the best.
He wasn’t sure why he’d come to the café or what he expected. He wanted to hate Connor for leaving the letter and all those questions. For dumping it on his shoulders and for leaving him to deal with Lily’s worry that it wasn’t over.
Cody hoped it was. Whatever Connor knew was lost with him, or at least that was what his killers would believe. Hopefully.
The prickle became a stab. He was being watched. He turned his head and saw the man in the suit observing him from the counter while he waited for his coffee.
Then the man smiled. His teeth were white against the tan of his skin, and his eyes were dark. Trouble, or temptation? Cody couldn’t afford either.
Should he smile? Look away? He took too long, and the man turned to collect his coffee. The moment was over. Cody should be relieved, yet his heart beat too fast, and he enjoyed the rush the man’s attention had given him. He picked up his cup and drank the last cold mouthful. It was gritty with undissolved sugar, his favorite part. As he took in the last of it, the man strolled toward him.
And Cody sat like a rabbit in headlights.
The man wasn’t any less attractive up close—or when he pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable at Cody’s table. “This seat taken?”
“No.” He managed to keep his voice level.
Guys like The Suit didn’t invite themselves to his table without good reason, especially when Cody looked more scruffy than suave. He hadn’t even bothered to shave. He doubted very much that The Suit had decided he wanted to slum it or that picking up a coffee and a
quickie had been on his Sunday-morning agenda.
It hadn’t been on Cody’s… but damn, The Suit was hot. And he was trouble.
Cody didn’t need any more of that.
“Olivier.” That smile again.
He would not melt or be won over. Resist.
But his lips moved on their own and returned the smile. He was practically broadcasting on all frequencies that he was interested. Damn it. “Cody.”
The word slid off his tongue. He was not there for a vacation fling. He wasn’t even on vacation. Or was he?
Olivier’s smile remained in place, but doubt flickered across his dark-brown eyes. They were almost black. Cody blinked so he wouldn’t be sucked into their depths. He had to remember why he was there and that it wasn’t for pleasure. He was there because of his brother, and the man in the church had something to do with it. Maybe he’d bump into Benitez and see what happened? See if he flinched.
It wasn’t really a plan. What he should do was go to the bank and see what was in the box. That Connor had used his name and forged his signature suggested that he believed it was too dangerous to use his own.
“You look like someone I know.” Olivier’s initial confusion had become a frown, and the lines marred his forehead.
The warning tingle was back and raked its nails down Cody’s neck. Instead of telling the truth or saying something like, you must mean my dead twin, Connor, he shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Oh, I’m not disappointed. Just curious.” Olivier sipped his coffee as though he were well aware of Cody’s interest and who he looked like.
He doubted very much that his brother had ever dabbled with men, but had he crossed paths—or swords—with Olivier? He didn’t want to know.
