“Chelsea,” Ralston said in a very patient tone of voice. “Somehow you and your father have made my father believe that this relationship between the two of us is in our best interest—financially only.”
“But…”
“Ah, ah,” Ralston said with a wag of his finger. “It’s time to listen right now. See, I don’t know what you thought was happening, but the reality is that I am tolerating you. And when you make yourself intolerable, it really makes me rethink my decision to play along with my father’s wishes.”
Analise was dumbfounded. There were so many things she wanted to say right now. But it wasn’t the right time. She had been so wrong! Everything Ralston was saying right now made his intentions clear as a bell. How could she doubt him when he was risking everything by essentially telling Chelsea the truth?
Chelsea, whose lower lip was trembling. The woman looked as though she was about to bust wide open with the desire to speak out.
Ralston very gently reached across the table and touched Ava’s hand. “I will not inflict you or your family onto my mother, Chelsea. Do you understand? You might want the social connections that Ava can provide, but that’s between you and her.”
Ava snorted. “So far, Chelsea, the only thing you’ve made me want to do is spit in your face. I cannot stand you and I cannot stand your mother. If the two of you get married, I won’t even attend the ceremony. That is how dead set against this bullshit union I am.”
Chelsea’s mouth dropped open. Analise wanted to cheer. Maybe she wouldn’t be flying out of Logan International Airport this afternoon after all. Maybe it was time to stay and keep trying to sort this situation out. Maybe—no, she couldn’t go there just yet. Ralston was still wrapped up in this—whatever he was doing. But now she felt like there would eventually be time to straighten things out and make them right.
“We’re going to leave now,” Ralston informed Chelsea. “You’re going to loop your arm through mine as though we’ve worked everything out. If you don’t, then there is no point in my continuing this charade.”
“You wouldn’t,” Chelsea snarled.
Ralston let out a sarcastic chuckle. “I will take Analise’s hand and kiss her in front of this whole restaurant if you give me a reason to. Do you understand?”
Whatever sound Chelsea might have made was strangled when she pressed her lips together in a tight line. There was no way that anyone would think she was a happy woman, but that wasn’t really the point.
Analise watched as Ralston stood up and hauled Chelsea up close to his side. He put his arm around her, anchored her there, and the two of them walked out of the restaurant. Ralston didn’t even stop to grab Chelsea’s mother or to tell her where they were going.
“Oh, that is priceless,” Ava whispered. She pointed discreetly at the mother. “See how Patricia looks like the kid at recess who can’t find someone to play with? She’s just been snubbed in the worst way by her daughter and the supposed future son-in-law that she’s been bragging about.”
“I never realized how all this social crap works,” Analise mused. “It’s like high school. Actually, it’s like the worst parts of high school.”
“You’re not wrong about that,” Ava agreed. “But Ralston has been successfully navigating this world since he was a kid.”
Ava sat back in her seat and sighed. Analise realized that she was looking at a mother that just wanted what was best for her son. “You’re trying to get him to realize that he doesn’t need to pander to these people, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Ava seemed to think for a moment. “Ralston is one of those rare individuals who can move in these social circles without actually having to dance to their tune. He’s handsome, successful, and rich. More importantly, he didn’t get any of that because of his position in Boston society. It was all independent.”
“Self-made man,” Analise agreed. “You know you don’t have to sell me on how great he is.”
“I know,” Ava said warmly. “But sometimes I feel like I have to sell you on the notion of how great the two of you will be together.”
Chapter Twenty
After the brunch disaster, Ralston felt both elated and deflated. It was a bizarre duality. He literally dumped Chelsea at the brownstone she shared with her parents in Beacon Hill before heading back to his house in the city.
He didn’t make it far though. Without even fully understanding why, Ralston swung the steering wheel of his old Camaro toward the curb. He sat there and let the engine idle as he tried to figure out why he felt so conflicted about everything that was to come. Somehow this stupid fundraiser sponsored by Chelsea’s father had become a milestone of sorts in Ralston’s mind.
After this fundraiser, he would have publicly announced—wordlessly, but still—his attachment to Chelsea Ettinger. His father would be satisfied. The plan was for Ralston to start pressing on Stedman for access to his financial records so that Ralston could “see how it works.” Once he had that information, he would be ready to go to the feds. He would be ready to end his father’s association with the mafia and hopefully end the strange financial hold that Stedman had over the rest of the Hyde-Pierson family members too.
Ralston let his head fall forward until his forehead rested against the steering wheel. The rumble of the old, big block engine vibrated against his head. He closed his eyes and let the sounds soothe him. He still felt as though there was something missing, something significant. Why did it feel like it did not matter if he knew what his father was up to or not? It was starting to seem like Ralston would never understand the financial morass of deceit and illegal activity that his father had created.
Frustration created the need for action. Ralston glanced in the rearview mirror and then hit the gas. He swung the wheel to the right and executed a perfectly illegal U-turn in the middle of the road. Speeding down the narrow, old roadway between the old brownstones, Ralston followed the twisting path toward his father’s estate in Brookline. He needed answers. There was only one place to get them.
Ralston had driven roughly ten miles before he realized that someone was following him. The city streets had widened considerably as he left the tangled mass of former footpaths behind. The avenues of Brookline allowed a little more speed and a little more visibility.
“Come on, you bastard,” Ralston muttered as he looked in his rearview mirror.
The black car was appropriately nondescript. Ralston had no weapons on him, and in the back of his mind, he had the memory of the strange and impromptu carjacking that had come on the heels of a similar sort of pseudo car chase. But this might be the breakthrough that Ralston was waiting for.
He gunned the big engine and the old car leaped forward. The restored Camaro was well suited to this terrain. Much more so than the black sedan. In seconds, Ralston had left the smaller car behind.
This was familiar territory to Ralston. He spotted a Y-intersection ahead and took the right fork. Hitting the gas, he sped down the one-way street. He passed several startled-looking motorists in tiny electric or hybrid vehicles. One of them even shook a fist out his half-open window at the big gas guzzler passing him on a one-lane street.
Ralston hit the brakes and turned hard right. He needed to get around the block before the other car. This was his perfect opportunity. Estates, bistros, and light commercial real estate whizzed by. He hit another intersection and ran the stop sign to make a hard left. Another hard right had him flying down yet another one-way street past boutique shops and fancy lofts. This was the heart of Brookline itself. In seconds, he would be back to the main thoroughfare where he was confident his pursuer was still trying desperately to find him.
The wide avenue was dead ahead. Ralston downshifted and gave the Camaro more gas. The big car jumped to respond. It barreled forward with all of the power of a runaway locomotive. In seconds, Ralston saw the little back sedan just pausing at the stop sign ahead. The black car was on the left.
Without pausing one moment to think twice abo
ut his actions, Ralston hit the intersection at seventy miles per hour just as the black car started to accelerate going straight. Ralston’s huge, old muscle car of steel and chrome T-boned the tiny black sedan with such force that the vehicle spun crazily in circles away from the Camaro and finally came to a rest against a lamppost.
Ralston hit the brakes. He worked the steering wheel to keep from spinning and just managed to bring the car to a halt. The front end of his Camaro was crushed, but the engine still ran, and it was still absolutely operable. Obviously, the phrase “they don’t make them like they used to” carried a lot of weight in this equation.
Leaving the engine idling, Ralston threw the car in neutral and pulled the emergency brake. He got out of the Camaro and headed for the black car on the pretext of a motorist not leaving the scene of an accident.
Other drivers were stopping and getting out of their vehicles. They were hesitating for the moment, but Ralston needed to get into the other car before anyone else had a chance. He needed answers.
Yanking open the driver’s door, Ralston was greeted by a big, white, poufy airbag. He shoved it aside and found himself staring into the wide eyes of a young man obviously suffering from shock.
“Who are you?” Ralston demanded. “You were following me. Why?”
“Anton,” the man wheezed. “He told us to keep an eye on you.”
“Why?” Ralston could not understand why a man who claimed to have no interest other than keeping him alive would have him followed now. “Why would you follow me? Why would Anton care?”
“The boss.” The driver was coughing. “The boss doesn’t trust you.”
“Trust me?” Ralston was mystified by this comment. “Why would he fucking trust me? I don’t work for Sokolov.”
The guy started laughing. His hoarse humor turned to a coughing fit, and soon he could not talk. Blood bubbled against his lips, and Ralston realized the kid was badly injured. Sirens blared, and soon the scene was writhing with EMS.
“I saw the whole thing!” A passerby was waving to the police. “That black car didn’t even stop at the stop sign! He just rolled on through!”
Well, that was rather convenient. Ralston went back to his Camaro and tried to puzzle the whole thing out in his head. It made no sense. Why would Sokolov ever trust him anyway? To Ralston’s knowledge, Anton and Sokolov were battling for control of the Bratva. Somehow Stedman Hyde-Pierson had become involved, but that had nothing to do with Ralston.
Unless Sokolov knows that I’m trying to scam my way into my father’s business.
Ralston’s blood turned to ice in his veins. The possibility was chilling on so many levels. He had to watch his step if he wanted to survive this situation and live to the other side.
*
Eating crow was never pleasant. When eating crow involved apologizing for an outburst of sorts and then begging to get a job back, it was that much worse. Analise didn’t beg, as a general rule. Today she was breaking that rule because she was absolutely convinced that she needed to stay in Boston and see this ridiculous Stedman Hyde-Pierson thing through to the end.
“So after telling me that you think this is all bullshit and that I’ve got my head up my ass…”
“I never said that,” Analise told Nash irritably. “Would you stop putting words in my mouth?”
“Just reading between the lines,” he told her with amusement. “The gist of it is still that you want your job back. You want to be back watching Ralston and on my dime. Is that right?”
Ava was standing about five feet away in her kitchen. She was behind the island putting together some kind of incredible pastry confection complete with crème filling and strawberries. It looked scrumptious.
Ava looked up from the strawberries she was placing on top of the masterpiece. “Tell Nash about your excursion to the Sokolov estate.”
Nash gaped at Ava. “What are you talking about?”
“You make it seem like I’m supposed to just pay the bills and not pay any attention to what’s going on.” Ava sent him a pointed glance. “That’s not how I do things. We’ve discussed this.”
Nash was grinding his teeth. How interesting. Analise could see the sides of his jaw leaping around as he made a monumental effort to keep his mouth in check. Wow. She had never seen anything like it. Usually, when Nash went off, it was epic.
“All right,” Nash said in a controlled voice. “Let’s say that you wanted to share with me”—he looked at Ava for approval. She nodded—“what you found at the Sokolov estate. Could you please tell me the details of your unsanctioned mission?”
Okay. That last bit was fair. Her mission had been unsanctioned at best. Analise thought back to her excursion to the weirdly empty house. In very concise terms, she shared with Nash what she had shared with Ava about the Sokolovs hiring young men to pretty much guard nothing.
“And you’re sure that the guards didn’t realize that there was nobody in the study?” Nash’s brows drew together in confusion. “What kind of sense does that make? If they were creating a dummy or a decoy of some sort, you would think that the guards would know. That way they could be truly focused on the real point of the exercise.”
Analise had been thinking about this a lot. “Not if the guards weren’t supposed to know that it was a decoy. Think about it”—she warmed to her topic—“Who is the decoy for? Is the organization not supposed to know that their leader isn’t actually in residence? For all we know, the bastard went back to Russia to protect himself from US laws.”
“Possible,” Nash murmured. He spun around and opened his laptop. “There’s a quick way to find out about that. I can tap a few of my contacts in Russia and see if we can locate him there.”
Ava made a low noise of approval. “He’s from the Moscow region. That should at least narrow it down a little. Surely the authorities over there keep track of Bratva men who are traveling internationally. Right?”
“It would make sense,” Nash agreed. “The FBI organized crime division is supposed to keep track of those movements with the help of Interpol. That’s who I’m calling.”
Somehow this did not make Analise feel better. “I think Ralston is in danger.”
“How so?” Nash was distracted with his email. “Any more than usual, I mean. The guy is up to his eyebrows in some ridiculous and ill-advised plan to pretend to be on his father’s side. So, yes. Being what amounts to a double agent carries a certain amount of risk.”
“More than that,” Analise insisted. “I want permission to go in with him.”
“What?” Nash swung around and stared. “You can’t be serious. There is no way in hell that Stedman Hyde-Pierson would believe that you had turned on me. He mined that field when he paid off my field agents before.”
“I remember the Bridge and Jinx disaster,” Analise said, referring to two former marines that had worked for Nash before being paid off by Stedman to do his bidding and interfere with Nash’s investigation. “But I think I can make it work anyway.”
“She’s right.” This was from Ava. She was still carefully putting crème on the confection sitting on the counter before her. “You underestimate what a woman will do for a man she loves.”
Analise had known that Ava would immediately see Analise’s intentions. “Ava is exactly right,” Analise assured Nash. “I’m going to say that I’m in love with Ralston.”
“Therefore, she’s on his side,” Ava finished. “It will work. I promise you. Stedman believes that women are weak-willed little pawns that can’t think for themselves.”
Nash snorted. “He still believes this after being married to you?”
“Enough to believe that Analise wants to switch sides,” Ava told Nash with a smile that lit up her eyes. “Trust me. Trust Analise. She’s got this.”
Analise had never had someone believe in her on this level. It felt—well, it felt damn good! Now she just had to follow through on her plan.
Chapter Twenty-One
With a clean bil
l of health and a citation for speeding now in his possession, Ralston finally made it to his father’s house. He parked the very damaged Camaro in the driveway and made a mental note to call his mechanic. Fortunately, as long as money was no issue, fixing the car would be a fairly straightforward job.
“My God, boy, what in the hell happened to you?” Stedman said heartily as he exited the house and came down the stairs to meet Ralston. “I always told you that driving those old cars was going to get you into trouble!”
“Funny thing about that.” Ralston kept his voice mild. There was no need to go into this conversation slinging mud. “I was being followed by some little shit in a black sedan.”
“Is that right?” Stedman put his arm around Ralston and started to escort him into the house. “What’s funny about a repair bill like that one?”
“It’s who was following me that I find amusing,” Ralston clarified. “The guy—once I’d totaled his car and stopped him from following anyone but an ambulance—told me that Sokolov himself had sent them to follow me because he doesn’t trust me.”
Stedman’s expression did not change at all. Not one bit. He looked perfectly composed. In fact, if Ralston had not known better, he would be wondering if his father hadn’t had some botox injections to purposefully kill off any telltale expressions. Stedman looked that unconcerned.
“I’m sure it’s all a lot of bullshit,” Stedman finally said dismissively. “Sokolov would have no reason to think that you were trustworthy or not, because you’re my problem and not his.”
“I was thinking about that,” Ralston said as they walked through the big front doors and into the opulent foyer with its sweeping double staircases. “See, I have a theory that Sokolov and you have been working together and that the trust is a little bit shaky these days because of Anton.” Ralston left it at that. There was no need to push his father into talking about his hypothetical and much debated association with Anton. “So, perhaps Sokolov has caught wind of my desire to work with you and has sent someone to essentially test my loyalty.”
Nash Security Solutions Page 43
