“That’s unfortunate.”
“Very much so. Here’s the thing: I need to determine what I’m dealing with. I suspect that Martin is profiting in the drug market.” Wyatt took a breath. “What I need to find out is if Foster is under the feds’ microscope. Are the regulators looking his way? Do they suspect the company of any illegalities?”
“You’re asking a lot,” Jeremy said. “It’s not like I’m privy to their internal memos. But…I do have an idea. I can’t guarantee what I can find out, but I know a guy who works in the department. We’ve had lunch, played golf a few times.”
Wyatt saw possibilities.
“I don’t know if he’ll tell me much, but I might be able to find out if the department is showing an interest in Foster. I can use some cover story about our families being close. Stephen Foster has been ill, and I’m curious if everything is being run properly.”
“That might do it,” Wyatt said. “And Jeremy…I need to know soon.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.”
If Wyatt could get the feds to take Martin down, then Beth wouldn’t take the heat. It was a long shot, but that was the best he had. If the agency was already stalking their prey, then all he’d have to do is help them along. He’d figure out a way; Beth’s life depended on it.
Beth came out showered and dressed, but pale as a ghost. She walked over and sat on the sofa.
Wyatt couldn’t imagine what had happened.
“Jessica called. She leaned on her investigators and they got some scoop from their undercover guys.”
“Undercover?”
“Yeah, she says that the only way to find out what goes on, like at Empire City, is to infiltrate.”
Wyatt was impressed. “So what did she learn?”
“It fits with Rip’s theory. Drug profits would offer Martin a way out, enable him to pay his debts,” Beth said. “But his debts are not to the casino. My uncle borrowed from the mob.”
“That was asinine.”
“Jessica has seen it before. The mob holds the money owed over the gambler’s head as leverage. It’s clear that the debtor can’t come up with the cash, and that’s fine with them. It’s even better, because they gain control of his life…and his business.”
Wyatt was disgusted. “Like forcing Martin to use his shipping company to smuggle their drugs?”
“Yes, and Jessica learned from a reputable source that Uncle Martin has obligated himself to the mob. He’s screwed up bad this time.” Beth’s eyes were wide. “If betrayed, the mob will kill without blinking an eye. And the method they use…” Her horrified look said it all.
There was no way to lessen the severity of the situation.
“It isn’t just that Uncle Martin fears I’ll interfere. I wish that’s all it was,” Beth said. “The mob is pulling the strings, and if he doesn’t come through, there will be retribution.”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“So…my uncle has a motive for murder.” Beth’s skin was ashen. “He’s afraid I’ll reveal what I know and block his chance to cash in, get the mob off his back.” She let out a long breath. “He will kill me to stop that from happening.”
Wyatt went over and put his arms around her. He’d be damned if that was going to happen. The assholes had to get through him first, and they’d pay hell trying. He wouldn’t let them get to Beth; not a chance.
Chapter 15
More than once that night, Beth woke up worried about her father. She hadn’t seen him since her life had hit the skids, and she felt the loss. Growing up, it had been her father who’d encouraged her, loved her, and had faith in her.
She wanted to give back, show him how much she cared. Regret seized her over the things she’d neglected to do sooner. Stephen Foster had been a gem of a father; he’d adored her and supported her decisions, no matter how far afield she went.
Her father hadn’t complained about her radical wardrobe or ideas, and had hired her at the company, despite any protests, including hers. Alzheimer’s had taken him so suddenly. She’d been told that happens, but it hadn’t made it any easier.
At least he was well cared for, but he had to be lonely—at least during the times he was aware of his surroundings. And who knew what he thought? Just because he couldn’t voice it, was unable to find the right words, didn’t mean his emotions weren’t as real as Beth’s.
That morning at breakfast, Beth was overcome with the need to see him. “I’m going to the facility to visit my father.”
Wyatt visibly kept his cool. “It’s not a good idea. If there’s one place your uncle is watching, that’s it.”
“He’s my father,” Beth said. “I want to make sure he’s okay. I realize that he has quality care, but he needs his family.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I’m just asking you to wait.”
Beth shook her head. “A killer is after me. If I delay, maybe I won’t see him again. If something happens to me…this could be my last chance to see my father and tell him how much I love him.”
“Just don’t say goodbye,” Wyatt said. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, so don’t think of this as a last visit.”
“I’ll get ready, so we can go before you talk me out of it.” Beth ached inside. Not a day went by that she didn’t think of her father, but the prospect of visiting was bittersweet. More than anything, she wanted to give him a hug and assure him that she was there. The hard part was going to be witnessing his decline. Each time she’d seen her father, he seemed slightly worse.
While she finished dressing, Wyatt commandeered a vehicle. “I’m not comfortable taking a cab,” he said. “I texted Travis and he came through for us. One of his connections will have a car delivered within thirty minutes.”
It seemed Stealth looked out for the team, and the fact that Wyatt was across the country wasn’t a barrier. Beth had heard Travis offer backup, so she’d assumed he had resources. Apparently, they were even better than she’d guessed. The car was a sage-green Corvette with blacked-out windows.
Beth slid into the car, and Wyatt jogged around to the driver’s side. He hopped in and scooped the keys from the floor mat. He dangled them in front of her eyes. “Travis has a buddy who’s a car buff. The guy is fully retired, spends his time polishing up his vehicles.”
“And he let you borrow it?”
“Yep, he was in a unit with Travis; they go way back.” Wyatt turned the key and revved the engine. “And this ride is bulletproof.” He tapped the dash lovingly.
“You mean the windows?”
“Nope, the body too…can’t be too careful.”
The drive to the outskirts of Jersey City was pleasurable. The car was fun to ride in, and the drive would have been like a date if Beth hadn’t known where they were going. Wyatt left the music off. “This car is distraction enough. I need to be able to hear what’s around us.”
Considering her predicament, Beth wasn’t about to complain about his penchant for situational awareness. She could listen to music after she made it through the crisis. The landscape rolled by, but Beth’s thoughts were on her father. What would she find?
When the beige stucco building came into view, Beth mustered her courage. It broke her heart that her father was sick, but she wasn’t about to abandon him in a time of need. The place had a large porch and was surrounded by a garden. She hoped her father had been able to sit outside sometimes.
Several of the top floors were designated for residents with memory challenges. The ground floor included a large living room with a fireplace, kitchen, and activity rooms. On her father’s floor, there was a breakfast kitchen with a hearth and a smaller living room.
When he’d moved in, Beth had learned about the accommodations. Lots of activities were provided for the residents, including outings such as picnics, library visits, even concerts. But her father hadn’t been capable of participating for a while.
The private nurse Irma greeted them in the hallway. Despite her motherly look, Beth w
as uncomfortable around her. There was no basis for it. The woman was highly qualified, and her conservative appearance gave the impression of dedication to her job.
“It’s nice of you to take the time to visit,” Irma said, then glanced at Wyatt.
“This is Wyatt Mercer. He’s a family friend,” Beth said. “My father will appreciate him coming by with me.”
“Your uncle visited the other day,” the nurse said, in a condescending tone.
Beth wasn’t sure what the implication was. “I’d like to visit more often.” Her uncle had visited ever since her father had moved into the facility. When she’d been on better terms with Martin, he’d often updated her after a visit.
Hearing that her uncle had visited so recently made her skin crawl. Beth didn’t want the man near her father. Yet Uncle Martin had managed to obtain a signature from Stephen when he’d still been capable of signing. It gave Martin medical authority, so he could make crucial decisions. Beth hadn’t liked that arrangement then, and liked it even less now.
The nurse hovered. “It’s time for your father’s medication. I’ll go in with you.”
Beth held her hand up, and Wyatt interceded. “That can wait.” His tone stopped the nurse cold, even though she seemed to be fuming at being told what to do.
“I’ll be right out here in the hall,” Wyatt said, motioning toward a couple of chairs for visitors.
Beth was glad to have a few minutes alone with her father. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was clean and organized. It appeared that the staff paid attention to every detail, with every aspect of living designed to minimize confusion.
Glass-enclosed memory boxes with family photos, jewelry, and a few special trinkets were lined up on the shelves. Beth had been told that seeing personal items helped a resident to find their room. Staff made a point to converse with each resident, in a way designed to trigger memories.
Most importantly, Beth had been assured the staff had been trained to respect a patient with Alzheimer’s, which meant not pressing a resident who was unable to summon the right words. That had been one of the first signs of her father’s decline: he’d begun using the wrong words for things, even though he was very clear about what he meant.
The bathroom door opened and her father came out. He was well groomed, but looked a bit weak, and his expression was blank. Beth went to him and helped him into a chair by the window, unsure if he recognized her. She pulled up a chair beside him and held his hand.
“How are you doing?” When she got no response, Beth kissed the top of his hand. “I came to visit. We can talk for a while.”
Stephen Foster had been a robust, athletic man. He was still handsome, but had lost weight. He appeared more fragile, and his skin was pasty. “I miss you, Dad.”
That seemed to get through. Her father looked into her eyes and mouthed, “Elizabeth.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Yes, it’s me. I’ve come to see you. I love you so much.”
Beth held her father’s gaze. His eyes were expressive, and she sensed he had more to say. Maybe he couldn’t find the words. “We can just sit, if you like. I’m just glad to be with you.”
Turmoil swirled in her father’s expression, and Beth squeezed his hand. “Whatever you want to say, I’m here. You know I’ll understand.”
A spark of hope was visible in the depth of his dark eyes. He lifted Beth’s hand and pressed her palm to his cheek, so she leaned closer. “Drugged,” he said, watching her reaction as if to be sure he’d used the correct word.
“Yes, you have medication to help you,” Beth said. “The nurse has it; I can get her.” Before she could move to get up, her father gripped her hand and shook his head.
Alarmed, Beth waited for him to speak.
“Bad…please…no.” Her father’s eyes drooped, as if he might pass out. His message hadn’t been clear, but he’d been visibly upset.
Her father had memory issues, and difficulty putting the right words together—but he behaved as if he’d been sedated. She touched his shoulder and his eyes opened, but his distress was evident.
Beth remembered the photo albums he kept in the drawer. The doctor had mentioned that good memories could assist her father. She went to the side table, but the top drawer was empty, so she checked the next one down. There she found one of the albums, and lifted it out.
Unlike the rest of his belongings, the album was in disarray. A few pictures had slid out of the sleeves, and some papers stuck out behind the last pages. It looked like her father had frantically flipped through the book, with some intention other than viewing a cherished photo.
Beth sat on the bed and flipped to the back to see what the papers were. Her breath caught and her pulse raced. The papers were notes…in her father’s handwriting. He’d written with effort, and the letters were ill formed, the lines wavy.
She lifted a couple of them out and stared. The messages were ones of desperation. No, bad, drugs were scribbled in haste, as legibility hadn’t been of a concern. Then her heart stopped. The bottom note said only: please Elizabeth.
Beth’s concern escalated. Her father had managed to hide the notes, with the hope that she’d find them. She yanked the drawer all the way out, looking for any other message. A few pills with a powder-blue coating rolled to the front. She scooped up the loose pills and held them in her hand.
Fragments of thought pieced together, like a collage blending into focus. Her father had been drugged, yet somehow he’d dumped a few pills in the drawer to avoid taking them. In his incapacitated state, he wasn’t able to fight back. He certainly couldn’t walk out.
So he’d done the best he’d been able to. In a lucid moment, he’d scribbled notes and stuffed them in the album, hoping that Elizabeth would find them. Surely she was the only one who cared enough to look through the album. But what if she hadn’t?
And how long had this been going on? No wonder her father had seemed worse, too frequently sleeping or passed out. What exactly was the medication he was on?
Beth had to rescue him; she wasn’t sure how bad off he was. But she could hardly just walk out with him. Wyatt might be able to carry him out, but that wouldn’t be good. She had no right to make medical decisions for her father. The authorities would have every right to bring him right back to the facility.
There had to be a way.
Beth kneeled beside her father’s chair and held the notes up. “I read your messages,” she said in a low voice. A glimmer of understanding shone in his eyes. “I’m coming back for you, I swear.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Hang on a little longer. I’ll get you out of here.”
Leaning down, Beth gave her father a big hug. She didn’t want to leave him, but she had to take care of what was going on before the situation got any worse. She stuffed the pills in her pocket and dried her eyes with a tissue. Taking a deep breath, she yanked the door open.
The nurse was at her station with her back toward the hall. It looked like she was on the phone. Wyatt stood up, calm as ever. Beth grabbed his arm. “Get me out of here, fast.”
Wyatt didn’t make a scene or ask what was going on. He swept her down the hall and into the elevator, then stabbed the button for the lobby. His look conveyed that he was prepared for anything.
Beth dared not speak, as she had no idea if the place was bugged or not. Once outside, she dashed to the car with Wyatt beside her. He shoved her in and took the driver’s seat, then locked the doors.
“My father’s been drugged.” Beth couldn’t catch her breath. “I mean…it’s not the right drug. He’s sedated. He wrote these messages.” She held up the scraps of paper.
“Jesus.”
“I stole some of the pills. He stashed them in the drawer.” Beth dug into her pocket and retrieved the blue pills. “I have to do something. I have to help him.”
“Can you kidnap your own father from a medical facility?” Wyatt said.
“I thought of that. It won’t work. He’d be hauled back and d
rugged more. Plus I’d be detained.” Beth banged the back of her head against the seat. “Then how would I help him?”
*****
Wyatt saw her distress, and struggled to come up with an immediate answer. But he was at a loss. His instinct was to go right back in and bring Stephen out. If need be, Wyatt could fight his way out. But that method was doomed, and offered no more than a temporary reprieve.
“There might be a way,” Beth said. “I just had an idea.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“My brother can help. It’s the least he can do,” Beth said. “The company pays the tab at this place. My uncle might think he calls the shots, but money talks. I don’t have a right to make a change in my father’s care, but since Foster is footing the bill, Kyle can make demands.”
“That might work.”
“It has to,” Beth said. “I’m desperate here. I need to get Kyle over here immediately, to stop the nurse from giving my father the wrong medication.”
“Hold that thought,” Wyatt said. When they’d arrived, there had been several other cars in the parking lot, all family-type vehicles. He’d committed the locations to memory. Each was parked where it had been. Only there was a new arrival, and the vehicle didn’t fit—nor did the guys sitting in it.
A smart mobster would have driven a car that didn’t stand out. But so far the gangster recruits had botched job after job, and were set to do so again. Wyatt had heard the cold-air intake when he’d stepped outside. The noise was coming from a souped-up Buick Regal.
It was a model that gangsters considered cool, and whoever was driving the silver one probably thought it made them invincible. But the car stuck out, all revved up and ready to race. Well, he’d see just how fast their ride really was.
“What now?” Beth glanced around.
“Hold tight, honey. There are a couple of idiots interested in us. I need to lose them.” Wyatt put the car in gear and pulled forward toward the exit. He didn’t look their way; he didn’t need to.
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