Redemption (Fateful Justice Book 2)

by Sara Vinduska

  But there was a darkness there too, inside him. A deep, hidden current that sometimes swelled and tried to pull him under. He was destined to fight against it for the rest of his life. It had probably been there all along and he just hadn't realized it was a part of him until the traumatic events of that fateful year. But now that he knew it was there, it would never leave him.

  Most of the time it stayed out of sight, but sometimes he could feel it reach out for him: the dark crushing depression, the sadness, the helplessness, the whys and what ifs, the temptation to just make it all go away. Sometimes the battle he fought against it alone left him exhausted and empty. But it was his alone to fight. And so he'd continue to fight it every day, hoping that somehow, someday, he wouldn't have to fight so hard.

  “Lash.”

  He heard his name and stopped. He’d been so lost in thought he’d nearly walked right by his own apartment building. His manager and friend, Andy Taylor, was waiting for him on the sidewalk.

  “I swear, as many times as I come here, you’d think they’d let me go on up to your place and wait,” Andy said as Lash made his way over.

  “That’s why I chose this place, the security is the best.” Lash finished his coffee, tossed the cup into the trash at the curb. He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that the security hadn’t been enough to prevent attacks that had nearly sent both men to an early grave. “Now tell me why in the hell you’re waiting for me at seven in the morning,” he said, focusing on the present.

  “I’ve got something I want you to take a look at.”

  Lash rolled his eyes and started up the steps.

  As soon as Lash had let them into his apartment, Andy was already opening his battered black leather briefcase. “Now before you read it, I need to tell you a few things.”

  “Uh huh,” Lash said, draining a tall glass of water and starting a pot of coffee. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Just listen. How many Broadway and off-Broadway scripts have you looked at in the last month?”

  Lash rubbed his forehead, sat down at his dining room table. “Too fucking many.”

  “And how many TV and movie roles?”

  “Nothing that was worth a second look.”

  “Well, you can stop looking. I found the perfect part for you.” He handed over the script.

  Lash took it, shooting him a skeptical look and grabbing a mug of coffee.

  For the next hour, Andy drank most of the pot of coffee as he paced back and forth through his friend’s apartment while Lash read the script. Lash needed this, needed to get back in the big time.

  “Well,” he said expectantly when Lash had finished the last page.

  Lash let Andy sweat it out for a full minute then broke out in his trademark lopsided grin. “It’s amazing, the best script I’ve read in a long time.”

  Andy let out his breath. “Good. There is one other thing I have to tell you, though.”

  Lash glared. “I knew you weren’t telling me everything.”

  Andy shrugged. “It’s nothing, really. Nothing you can’t handle anyway.”

  Lash shook his head. “So tell me already.”

  “I know you don’t pay much attention to the news, but does the name Corey Fulcher mean anything to you?”

  Lash cocked his head. “The actor who accidentally killed someone during filming of Guy Sorenson’s latest movie?”

  “The part is for his role.”

  Lash ran a hand through his hair then down his face. “They’re still going forward with the movie?”

  Andy nodded. “Apparently. And they want you.”

  “So, no pressure.”

  Andy grinned, knowing Lash was intrigued enough to take the role. “You need to be on set by the 17th.”

  Lash sighed. “Three weeks?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “Well, I always did love a challenge.”

  5

  Lash watched his bodyguard get the shooting area ready for practice. They'd arrived at his Wyoming ranch the night before. Lash wanted to spend some time there reviewing the script and enjoying the peace and quiet before his life got crazy again. But he hadn’t yet told his head of security what the plan was.

  John Hoyt was still a bit of an enigma to Lash. He respected the hell out of him, but even after all the months they’d worked together, he felt like he barely knew the man. He knew about his background as a Navy SEAL, knew he was a tough son of a bitch. They worked out regularly together, but they never talked about anything personal. He didn’t even know if John had a girlfriend.

  But Lash owed him more than he’d ever be able to repay. Not only had John Hoyt taken a bullet for him, he’d helped bring Lash out of a destructive depression after the woman he was going to marry died. Lash trusted him with his life. He just hoped Hoyt knew that.

  “We’re going to Colorado,” Lash said.

  Hoyt looked up from the gun he was loading. “When?”

  “Two weeks from Monday.”

  Hoyt nodded and fired fifteen shots at the practice target, each bullet hitting exactly where he’d aimed.

  “We should have filming wrapped up in about two to three months tops. I want to keep my security detail small. Security’s already tight on the set.”

  “Rafe’s the only other guy that can fly the jet.” Hoyt started cleaning his gun.

  Lash fired his own gun at the target. He’d never be as accurate a shot as Hoyt, but he hit his target more often than not.

  “You’re getting better,” Hoyt remarked.

  “Rafe, huh? Think he’s ready?”

  Hoyt ran a hand over his close cropped hair and shrugged. “Gotta break him in sometime.”

  Lash nodded. “Make the arrangements.”

  Hoyt smiled as he thought about how excited Rafe would be about the trip. And the kid had come a long way. Hoyt now trusted him with his life, and there were few people he could say that about. Lash Brogan was another one of those people. It was rare in his business, but there were few situations he could imagine himself in that he, Rafe, and Lash wouldn’t be able to get themselves out of.

  Not that there was likely to be any trouble on the set in Colorado, but it was good to be prepared.

  Rafe Braeden allowed himself to smile only after Hoyt had left. Colorado. Not an ideal trip, but finally, he was going to get to do what he’d been hired to do. He was tired of sitting on his ass at the ranch doing nothing. Okay, not nothing, but he was sure as hell tired of the training. He knew how lucky he was to have the job he did, he just wanted a change of pace. He wanted to do something, to go somewhere. See something exciting. What was the point of being a celebrity bodyguard if the celebrity never left the house?

  He’d always wanted to be a cop, but couldn’t join the force until he turned twenty-one, so he became a cadet and worked behind the scenes in administration when he turned eighteen. Most of his family was still in Mexico and he would have been the first person to have a career that didn’t involve manual labor.

  But he never made it to the academy. On his twenty-first birthday, he got into a fight. His opponent died and he ended up behind bars.

  He spent one very long year behind bars, but he’d emerged a new man, finally ready to make something of his life. His dream of being a cop was crushed, but an unexpected opportunity presented itself, through his estranged grandfather who was working for Lash Brogan as a gardener. Brogan happened to mention to Rafe’s grandfather that he was looking for a new bodyguard.

  He and Brogan hadn’t exactly gotten off to a good start. Lash had hired Rafe when he’d been in the middle of his addiction to pain killers and hadn’t even remembered the conversation. He still didn’t.

  Then Brogan had found out about the prison time.

  They’d made some progress in the year since then. If they hadn’t, Lash wouldn’t have kept him on. He refused to have anyone working for him that he didn’t trust completely. Rafe knew the actor had learned that lesson the hard way.

  And Raf
e knew he had his faults. At times he was combative, defensive, aggressive, argumentative, and easily provoked to fight. He was small, but made up for it by being wiry and tough and he had the scars to prove it.

  Like Lash, Rafe owed John Hoyt his life. And it had been his own damned fault, of course.

  About a year ago, he and Hoyt had gone out to a local bar. A group of rough looking guys were there and Rafe had made the mistake of hitting on one of their girlfriends. The details were a little murky due to the large quantity of beer he’d consumed, but he remembered Hoyt trying to diffuse the situation, then leading him out the back door.

  At the end of the alley, four of the guys had intercepted them, odds both he and Hoyt were more than comfortable with. And it had been a good old-fashioned bar fight they were easily winning. Until one of the guys landed a lucky elbow shot to Rafe’s throat. And that had left Rafe down for the count, on his hands and knees, trying to breathe.

  He remembered fighting against Hoyt in his desperation to get air, then Hoyt had held him down and grabbed the knife Rafe kept in an ankle holster. On the edge of passing out due to lack of oxygen, Rafe had realized exactly what Hoyt intended to do.

  And Hoyt had done a damned fine job. The emergency tracheotomy had saved Rafe’s life, leaving a barely noticeable white scar at the base of his throat.

  And after that night, he’d trusted Hoyt’s judgement without question. They made a good team. And Rafe was more than ready to prove it.

  6

  “An all-liquid diet does not mean you can drink beer and whiskey every day,” Hoyt said, as he walked into the library of the main house and sat down in the chair across from the couch Lash was sprawled on.

  “You’re no fun.” Lash scowled at him, handing over the unopened Guinness.

  “At least I’m not eating junk food in front of you.”

  “Yeah, you’re so considerate. Thanks for that.”

  Hoyt looked at his watch. “You should get some sleep; we have a six mile run in the morning.”

  “Can’t wait,” Lash said.

  “No more beer. Drink a protein shake instead.”

  Lash didn’t drink the protein shake. The things tasted like shit. He did turn in early, though. Having a former Navy SEAL as your coach tended to make you take your workouts more seriously. So did having to drop fifteen pounds in less than a month. But the sacrifices would be worth it if this role turned out to be as good as he thought it was going to be.

  The first time he’d won an Academy Award, he’d missed the whole damned night thanks to the unfortunate timing of his kidnappers. This could be the role that earned him his next nomination. And he’d be damned sure he did everything he could to make it onto the stage to receive the award in person this time.

  Before leaving for Colorado, Lash had one last errand he needed to run. He left early in the morning and drove straight to Cheyenne to see Corey Fulcher. He didn’t bring Hoyt or Rafe. This was one stop he wanted to make on his own. He didn’t know all the details of what had happened on the set, and though Corey had been found not guilty of a crime, the event had to have been hard on him. Lash felt sympathy for his fellow actor. He also figured it was the only way to find out exactly what kind of situation he was walking into.

  He’d never worked with Corey, but he was familiar with the other man’s work. Corey was an up and comer and Lash hoped he’d get over what happened because he saw enormous potential in the other man’s work.

  He parked in the circular driveway. As expected, there were security guards stationed around his house. Lash was quickly ushered inside.

  Corey greeted him promptly and looked about as bad as Lash had expected. He was holding it together, but barely. He also looked like he’d aged about five years.

  Killing someone had a way of doing that to a person.

  “Can I get you something to drink? I don’t have whiskey, but I do have plenty of wine,” Corey said, ushering Lash into his living room.

  “Wine is good.”

  Corey came back a few minutes later with a bottle of Cabernet and two glasses. Lash wasn’t a wine expert but he could tell just by looking at the bottle that it was expensive. He took a sip. It was also very good.

  “My mother grew up on a winery, so I learned to appreciate wine at a very early age,” Corey said with a shrug.

  Lash nodded in understanding. His own love of good Irish whiskey was well known.

  “So,” Corey said, leaning back in his chair. “Is this a social visit to see if I’ve completely lost it, or are you here to find out what I know?”

  Lash laughed, his respect for the other man growing. “Okay, straight to the point then. I guess it’s a little of both. Unfortunately, I happen to know first hand what it’s like to take a life. I didn’t handle it very well.” He paused, “Actually, that’s an understatement. I nearly let the aftermath destroy me and I don’t want to see that happen to someone else, so I want you to know that if you need someone to talk to about what happened, I’m here.”

  Corey studied him. “I appreciate it, I do. And I’m not handling it all that well, but I’m getting help. I know it’ll take time, but I’m just taking it one day at a time. That’s all I can do.”

  “Good,” Lash said. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about what happened and maybe even can’t, since it’s an ongoing investigation, but is there anything you can tell me? Anyone I should be on the lookout for?”

  Corey took a drink then sat his glass down on the end table, rubbed his forehead. “I honestly don’t know. The security, the extras, the prop guys, they’re all top notch. I can’t think of anyone who would’ve wanted Sutton dead or me out of the picture. It just makes no sense to me and that’s the hardest part, the not knowing why. I mean, was I a target or just an easy guy to take the fall? Or was the whole thing just a fluke, an accident?” Corey took a long drink. “I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.”

  “I’m sure it’ll all get worked out. I hate getting a part under these circumstances,” Lash said, finishing his own glass of wine and standing up.

  “Watch yourself,” Corey said, walking him to the front door.

  “I will and call me anytime if you need anything.”

  Corey finished his glass of wine and poured another as soon as he heard the door shut. He’d never met Lash Brogan before and had expected to feel intense dislike for the man taking over his role, but he didn’t. Corey took a drink. He hoped Lash wouldn’t become another casualty of whatever was happening on the set. Because as much as he hoped it wasn’t true, his gut told him there would be more tragedy on the set of Redemption.

  Lash drove straight to Hoyt’s house at the edge of the ranch after leaving Corey’s. Hoyt didn’t look all that surprised to see him, but even if he was surprised, the man wouldn’t have shown it. “I went to see Corey Fulcher,” Lash said, getting right to the point. He stretched and cracked his back. It had been a hell of a long day in the car.

  “Oh?” Hoyt said, again showing no surprise.

  “He didn’t say it directly, but I don’t think he believes the shooting was accidental.”

  “He have any idea as to who would have wanted Eric Sutton dead?”

  Lash shook his head. “He’s pretty messed up about it.”

  “You still going through with this?” Hoyt asked.

  “Hell yes, things just got a lot more interesting.”

  Hoyt smiled, but his eyes were serious. “You just have to make my job difficult, don’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t want you to get bored,” Lash said with a lopsided grin.

  As many times as Lash had flown in his private jet, it never got old. As they approached the Cessna Citation X the next afternoon, he turned towards Hoyt. “One of these days, you’re going to have to let me fly this thing.”

  “But then you couldn’t lounge in the back, drinking whiskey, and being pampered like a proper movie star,” Hoyt answered with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

  “Tell me again why I pay
you?” Lash asked as he followed Hoyt and Rafe up the stairs and into the plane.

  “Tell me again why I put up with your shit?” Hoyt said over his shoulder as he entered the cockpit.

  Rafe went over to the bar, poured a healthy glass of Jameson. “Your whiskey, sir,” he said, handing the glass over with a slight bow before turning towards the cockpit.

  “Fuckers,” Lash said, settling himself into the leather seat.

  As soon as they reached cruising altitude, Lash got up to pour himself another drink, then pulled out the latest version of the script to start studying. The writers had made some major changes and he needed to get up to speed asap.

  He couldn’t afford to worry about Corey Fulcher or the unpleasant circumstances under which he’d gotten the part. He had to focus on becoming his character.

  Redemption was a film about thieves, bank robbers, betrayal, friendship, and ultimately redemption. His character was a bank robber being pursued by his childhood best friend who was now a cop. His character was also having an affair with his old friend’s mom.

  Lash smiled. He was going to have fun with this role.

  7

  Lash looked around at his new home away from home. It consisted of rows of trailers and temporary buildings set up in the middle of nowhere. Even in the early evening, it was fucking hot outside. He was tired and groggy from the flight and drive to the set, but it wasn’t like he could say no to a meeting with the movie’s director and the actor who held the other leading role. So he sucked it up, slammed one of Hoyt’s energy smoothies and paused for a few deep breaths in front of the trailer that served as a conference room. Feeling more alert and grounded, he opened the door.

  Lash was familiar with Guy Sorenson’s work, though he’d never worked directly with the director before. Guy was known for his unique and beautifully shot, slightly dark action movies. He had the reputation of being sensitive and in tune with the actors’ emotions and what each of them needed as an individual to make their performance the best it could be.