“What do you propose?” Max asked.
Nico stood, walked to the bar, and poured a finger of Scotch into one of the crystal glasses.
“Let’s do some recon,” Nico said. “I’ll check with my sources at the Bureau, see what they know about Jason’s interview with them. We’ll have the people in Damian’s lab try to hack email and text, see what we can find out about Jason’s long-term plans. Once we have all the information, we’ll be better equipped to make a plan.”
“And in the meantime?” Max asked.
“In the meantime, you and Abby go about your business. Jason isn’t going to make a move yet, not when he’s under the microscope, although that won’t last forever.” Nico set the glass down and walked to the coffee table, then picked up a folder from its glass surface. “With that in mind, I’d like to make a suggestion.”
“What kind of suggestion?”
Nico held out the folder and Max flipped it open. A stat sheet with a picture of Carlos Rodriguez stared up at him. When he looked through the pages behind it, he found more information about Carlos — bank records, known associates, a surprisingly short rap sheet.
“What’s this?” Max asked, looking at Nico.
“A dossier on Rodriguez. It seems the two of you get along rather well.”
Max shrugged. “I guess. But he was vetted during the transition.”
“You’ll need more information if you’re going to consider him as your underboss.”
Max laughed a little. “I thought we agreed I didn’t need an underboss.”
“No,” Nico said. “You said you didn’t need one because you weren’t planning to join the organization. Now that you have, it’s imperative that you have someone at your side that you can trust.”
“I have Abby,” Max said, shutting the folder. “And I trust you.”
Nico nodded. “I appreciate your faith in me, but I’m not here most of the time, and I’ll be here even less once we’ve dealt with Draper. Abby is your woman. I understand that, understand how that brand of trust transcends even the trust among brothers.”
Max could see in Nico’s eyes that he did. He thought of Angel Vitale, her calm presence, the way she seemed to anticipate every one of Nico’s movements, the fire in her eyes when she felt someone was pushing Nico too fast after the shooting.
“But since I trust you don’t want to bring Abby into battle with you, it’s important that you find someone who can occupy that position.” Nico leveled his gaze at Max. “Because you will be going into battle. In our business, that eventuality is inevitable.”
“I don’t like it,” Max said.
He hadn’t worked closely with anyone since his return from Afghanistan, and even there, it had been a challenge. Not because he didn’t respect the men in his unit, but because the betrayal of Jason Draper — his oldest and closest friend — had killed every trusting inclination he had.
Nico smiled. “I know.”
“Is it an order?”
“We can call it that, if it makes you feel better,” Nico said.
“It doesn’t.”
“Would you prefer to choose someone else? Perhaps you have someone in mind.”
“I don’t.” He didn’t have any friends. He didn’t have anyone besides Abby and the people of the Syndicate who had become his business partners.
It wasn’t a point of embarrassment. It was a point of pride.
“As you know, Luca was my underboss,” Nico said. “He had my back when no one else did. Equally important, he had Angel’s back. He was the one person I trusted to protect her as much as I trusted myself, and that is no small thing given the danger inherent in our line of work.”
Max tried to imagine trusting someone else with Abby’s safety.
He couldn’t.
She was the crown jewel of his life: priceless, irreplaceable.
But Nico was right. Joining the Syndicate meant being part of a brotherhood. Max was still getting used to that part, but the last few months had left no doubt about the danger that was an equal part of it.
He wasn’t fooled into believing it would have been different if he hadn’t joined the Syndicate — he would have been looking over his shoulder as long as Jason was alive — but being part of the Syndicate meant that no matter what happened with Jason, Max would be exposed to danger.
And so would Abby.
Nico was right. What if something happened to Max? Who could he count on to protect Abby? Nico, surely. And undoubtedly the rest of the Syndicate leadership would do what they could.
But it wasn’t personal. It didn’t speak of the kind of loyalty that Luca still had for Nico. That was loyalty borne out of trust and friendship.
“I don’t know if I’m capable.” The confession was out of Max’s mouth before he could think about it, and he shuffled on his feet, feeling a rare moment of humility. “I don’t really play well with others.”
Nico smiled and rested a hand on Max’s shoulder. “If Farrell can have an underboss — and he did, his underboss is currently in charge of London — anyone can.”
Max laughed and shook his head.
“Give it some thought,” Nico said. “Let me know if you need more information on Rodriguez, or if there’s someone else you’d like us to vet.”
“Will do. Keep me posted on what you find out about Jason’s position. The sooner we have a plan, the better I’ll feel.”’
“You’ll be the first to know.”
Three
Abby was surprised to find her dad standing outside the building when she pulled up to his apartment complex. She parked and got out of the car, not bothering to pop the trunk. Somewhere in the past three months, she’d stopped bringing groceries and had started going with him to shop instead. It wasn’t the only thing that had changed between them.
Her weekly visits had turned into whenever visits, and it wasn’t uncommon for her to stop by two or three times a week. There was always an excuse — a question he had about the bills he’d started paying now that he had a job, an errand he wanted her help with, another memento he’d come across in the apartment — but deep down she thought he might actually enjoy the time they spent together.
It was satisfying to feel a new bond growing between them, but it was sometimes unsettling too. Abby hadn’t yet broached the subject of the past. At first it had been because he was newly sober, but he’d been sober for three months now, and she knew it was about time to clear the air once and for all.
“Hey,” she said, approaching him. “What are you doing out here?”
He’d gained a little weight, and his coloring was healthier than it had been three months earlier. His eyes were brighter and more alert, and he smelled routinely of Old Spice instead of the alcohol that used to seep from his pores, the scent of a sickness he couldn’t shake.
She still didn’t know exactly what had prompted his sobriety — only that he’d quit drinking when she fled to Mexico — but she was grateful for it.
“Thought I’d drive.” He shuffled a little on his feet, a gesture she knew meant he was either nervous or filled with unspent energy. “Give you a break.”
She smiled. “You want to drive to lunch?”
“Thought I might.”
He’d gotten a job the month before at a ranch twenty miles outside town. Abby had purchased a used truck to get him to and from work, but she’d never actually ridden with him since the day he’d test-driven it.
“Sounds good. Let me get my bag,” she said. “I brought a ledger for your budget.”
He’d insisted on taking over his rent and other expenses — including paying her back for the truck — as soon as he’d gotten his first paycheck. At first, he’d waited to pay the bills until they came marked with a Past Due stamp, but Abby had gently explained that he was spending nearly a hundred dollars in fees that could be avoided if he paid the bills when they were due. She’d been pleasantly surprised when he’d asked her to help him come up with a budget that would keep hi
m on track and maybe even let him save a little.
She returned to her car and pulled her bag out of the passenger seat, then walked with her dad to the truck parked in one of the carports. It was scrupulously clean, a pine tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.
“How’s it running?” she asked him when he started it up.
“Runs just fine,” he said. “Gonna change the oil this weekend.”
She looked over at him as they pulled out of the parking lot. “You know how to do that?”
“I do.”
“Maybe I’ll bring my car to you next time it’s due,” she said.
He glanced over at her as they came to a red light. “I’m happy to do it.”
She smiled, then turned her face to the window as tears stung her eyes. It was such a mundane conversation, a conversation any daughter might have with her father. Just a few months ago, it would have been an impossible one. Now she was torn between being grateful and feeling pathetic for her gratitude. He was her father. She shouldn’t feel grateful that he was finally acting like one.
Somehow it didn’t matter as much as it should. She’d given up ever having closure on their relationship, let alone forging a path to a new one. She was grateful — not that he was being nice to her, but that she had this opportunity. She wouldn’t let him off the hook for what he’d done to her as a child. Not just the inappropriate touching, but the drunkenness and verbal abuse, the poverty and hunger and fear that had been a consequence of his alcoholism.
He would have to answer for it all in order for them to really move on.
But it seemed possible now. Possible that he might offer her an apology. That against all odds, she might be able to accept it.
It was enough for now.
They pulled into the little diner near the apartment that had become their go-to spot for meals. Abby grabbed her bag and they walked inside, waving at the waitress who almost always served them.
They settled into their favorite window booth at the back of the room. An unexpected peace settled over her as she looked at the city through the glass. It was late afternoon, and the sun had already dropped below the mountain line, casting the city in a purple-gray twilight that was nothing more than a heartbeat before it was hidden behind lights.
It felt good to be out, away from the hamster wheel that had been turning in her mind since the news broke that Jason was back. She had no idea what was going to happen, how she and Max could possibly share the city with Jason, and she’d spent the last twenty-four hours trying not to let her anxiety get the better of her, trying to stay calm as much for Max’s sake as for her own.
It all seemed far away in the dingy diner, her father sitting across from her, her city moving toward night on the other side of the window.
“Didn’t get enough of me this morning?”
Abby looked up to see Carol, their waitress, standing over them with her hands in the pockets of her apron. At first Abby was confused, but then she saw the blush creeping up her father’s neck.
“Got the best coffee this side of town,” her father said.
It was a bald-faced lie — the coffee at the Desert Diner was bitter, burned, and stale all at the same time.
Carol rested a hand on his shoulder. “Come for the coffee or come for the pie,” she said. “I’m just glad to see you again."
Abby hid her smile. Carol the Waitress was flirting with her father.
She looked more closely at the woman who had been waiting on them since they found the diner back in June. Carol had brassy red hair, her lips assertively outlined and filled in with hot pink lipstick. When she smiled, wrinkles fanned out around her bright blue eyes. Her figure was full but still pronounced, with a large bosom and pillowy hips.
No wonder her dad was smitten.
“Shall I bring you both coffee while you look at the menu?” Carol asked. “Or do you want the usual?”
Abby smiled up at her, fighting the urge to full-on grin. “I’m fine with coffee and grilled cheese.”
Grilled cheese was Abby’s usual. Her father favored bacon cheeseburgers with onion rings instead of fries. If they came before noon, he asked Carol to have the cook throw on a fried egg as a nod to breakfast.
“The usual sounds good to me,” Abby’s father said.
Carol squeezed his shoulder. “You got it, hon.”
Carol walked away and Abby bit her lip as she pulled out the ledger, along with two pens she’d brought for her father’s budget.
“Might as well go ahead and say it,” her father said.
Abby looked up, trying to maintain an expression of innocence. “Say what?”
“I been comin’ here,” he admitted gruffly. “Without you, I mean.”
She shrugged. “It’s a free country, Dad. It’s a nice place, and it’s close to home.”
“I been comin’ here to talk to Carol,” he said, his neck flushing again.
Abby smiled. “Sounds like Carol doesn’t mind a bit.”
“It’s a fool’s errand,” he muttered.
Abby stopped shuffling everything around on the table. “Why’s that?”
“Can’t see no woman while I’m getting sober,” he said. “Lou says a year.”
Lou was her father’s sponsor, a wizened former blackjack dealer who had helped her dad get the job on the ranch.
They both grew silent when Carol returned with their coffee. They waited while she made small talk and set the two cups on the table along with cream for her father and ketchup for the onion rings she’d be bringing with his burger.
Abby waited until Carol was out of earshot to speak. “No harm in getting to know someone though. As friends, I mean. Right?”
“Guess not,” he said, pouring sugar into his coffee. “Just being careful.”
She reached across the table and rested her hand on his. “That’s good, Dad. Nothing is more important than your recovery, but you’re allowed to be a person, too. It’s okay to have friends.”
He nodded and ducked his head as he poured cream into his cup. Their relationship had become friendly, but closeness was uncharted territory.
She covered for their awkwardness by opening her ledger and pushing one of the pens toward him. She didn’t usually allow herself the luxury of thinking about the future. There were still too many questions, too much uncertainty.
Would Jason come after Max? Would Jason come after her again? Would Max be so consumed with rage and revenge that his heart would harden? Were they capable of being normal? Of having a family and growing old and being like everyone else when for all intents and purposes, neither of them had ever been like anyone else?
She still didn’t know the answers, but for the first time, she could see it: a future with Max and a couple of kids, with Sunday dinners that included her father, sober, maybe with a funny, wise-cracking, kind woman like Carol on his arm.
“You going to give me a hard time?” her father asked.
“What? No! Why would I do that?” she asked.
“You were smiling just then,” he said. “Thought maybe you were going to be a smart-ass.”
She shook her head. “I was thinking about something nice.”
“Good.” She looked up, surprised by the firmness in his voice. “You deserve to think nice things.”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat and smiled.
Four
Max turned off the car and looked through the windshield at the decrepit house. He could hardly see the structure through the vines climbing over the chipped stucco, the dead brush that was encroaching from the surrounding desert.
This suddenly felt like a bad idea.
He was still sitting there when a man, skinny as a stovepipe and wearing a bright purple jacket in spite of the lingering summer heat, appeared in the driveway.
Max stepped from the car. “Zach.”
“Hey, there! Are you ready to do this? It’s so exciting!”
Max wondered if realtors were trained in the
singsong voices that seemed to be a requirement of the job or if people who talked that way were drawn to the business for some reason. He’d met with Zach Bonner countless times over the past two months, had traversed properties from one end of the city to the other — and more than a few outside of it — and he still had to brace himself for the man’s grating perkiness.
Max approached the house, forcing himself to look at it with fresh eyes. When he’d first seen it two weeks before, it had felt perfect, almost magical.
Now it just looked like a mess.
He cursed under his breath.
“Everything all right?” Zach asked, trailing him nervously toward the front of the house.
"Give me a few minutes here.”
“Absolutely! I’ll just get the paperwork ready,” Zach said.
Max looked up as he walked across the front of the house. It had been built in the 1960s but had been unoccupied for nearly five years. Max hadn’t been surprised to hear it in the least.
The place was a nightmare.
It had been beautiful once, that was plain to see. The roofline was varied — steep in some places, flat in others — the traditional red tiles mostly broken or missing. The Spanish-revival style architecture even featured a low turret that offered a soaring ceiling inside the house.
The porch was open, the steps wide and crumbling. A weathered ring hung from a massive wooden door that Max pegged as original to the house. It was one of the things he’d liked about it — the fact that it hadn’t been updated, that so many of the original features were still intact. He could imagine Abby exclaiming over the details, could see her restoring the place to its former glory.
But that had been before.
He walked around the side of the house and looked up as he made his way to the back. The stucco was probably a lost cause. Too much of it had given way under the weight of the climbing vines. And while the house wasn’t exactly small, neither was it big enough for the family he hoped he and Abby would have. Max had already started researching architects, had planned to hand the decisions over to Abby, to give her a blank check and all the resources she would need to build a house worthy of their story, of their happy ending.
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