Swept away with the romance of it all, Vanessa moved the mouse to wake up her screen. “What did this man look like?”
“Tall, lanky, brown leather jacket, jeans, and a hat. Short hair, mid-forties. Just came down and left not half an hour ago.”
“That would be Mr. Bethel. He arrived two weeks ago, paid in cash, and keeps to himself. Never even smiles or waves at any of the staff and always has the ‘do not disturb’ sign out. He comes to get sheets and towels himself, then leaves the dirty ones out in the hall. Management is getting a little concerned what the state of his room is.”
“I’d be happy to report back on it for you.”
Vanessa pursed her lips and opened a drawer, pulling out a key card. Clicking several times on the computer, she placed it into a machine and then handed it to Murphy. “I’ll call the room if he comes back. Six-nineteen. Be quick about it, and whatever you do, don’t mess anything up.”
“I won’t.” Murphy leaned over the counter and planted a smacking kiss right on her mouth. “You’re a lifesaver. Pick a day for the Vive trip and I’ll make sure Beckett knows.”
****
From across the street, Ryan watched the scene with ire, his face flushing red with anger as his two brothers got on the elevator. Cursing his bad luck, he pulled the cap down lower over his eyes and withdrew his wallet, counting the bills to make sure he had enough to get him to Boston and one more identity. Disappearing into the throng of people, he sighed and shook his head.
Things were going to end one way or the other, and they’d have to end soon.
****
Murphy opened the door and flipped on the light, not at all surprised to see the room was ruthlessly neat. The bed was made, not a speck of dust adorned any surface, and not one thing was out of place. Scowling, he jerked open the closet.
“Definitely Ryan. No one else is capable of living this neatly.”
Caleb chuckled and went to the dresser, pulling on the latex gloves before beginning to rifle through things. “You only say so because you are a constant slob.” He opened the top drawer and pulled out the toiletries case, dumping it out onto the dresser. “What do you think the odds are Ryan still keeps everything exactly like he did when he was nineteen and we were torturing him by messing with his shit?”
Murphy gestured to the color-coordinated shirts. “I’d say pretty damn good.” He methodically went through the pockets of the garments, not surprised when he found nothing of interest. “Dammit, there has to be something.”
Caleb struck gold in the bottom drawer, pulling it open and revealing a leather duffel bag. Hefting it, he placed the bag on the dresser and unzipped it, whistling when piles of money were revealed.
“Holy shit.”
Murphy elbowed his brother out of the way. “Hot damn, that’s a lot of cash.” He stuck his hands in the bag. “Hey! Here we go.”
Pulling out a manila envelope, he dumped the contents onto the dresser and flipped open the passport to look at the photo and name.
“Wilson Bethel. Age forty-six, address listed as Brooklyn. He’s changed his hair and eye color. Contact lenses, I’m sure. There’s no surgery for that unless it’s new.”
Caleb snorted. “I think we’d have heard about something like that.” He rifled through the rest of the papers. “Resume, diplomas—damn, everything you’d need to completely start over. This is insane.”
Murphy pulled out his cell phone and took pictures of everything. “Let’s call Sheriff Rogers and get out of here. I think we should go down to Brooklyn and see what’s in the apartment listed as his address.”
Caleb frowned, the expression putting furrows between his eyebrows. “Probably another wife and a couple kids.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if we found another set or two.” Murphy dialed the phone and pressed it to his ear. “Clint? This is Murphy McKenzie. Ryan was staying at Weston’s on the Harbor. I saw him when I was coming out of a shop across the street. I’m standing in his room right now. There are piles of cash and a passport for Wilson Bethel, a man who happens to be wearing my brother’s face.”
Chapter 21
Ryan unlocked the door to the studio in Boston and stepped inside, his head swiveling from side to side, checking for anything out of the ordinary. Seeing nothing, he dropped his keys into the bowl next to the door and turned the deadbolt behind him. Moving through the space to the safe bolted to the far wall, he spun the combination lock and opened the door, withdrawing a thick envelope from inside.
Opening it, he checked to make sure everything was as it should be; flipping through the driver’s license, credit cards, passport, birth certificate, social security card, transcripts, and employment history. Satisfied everything was in order, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and removed the cards bearing the name Wilson Bethel, replacing them with ones reading Nicholas Stults.
Methodically, he fed every card and document with the compromised identity down the shredder sitting in the kitchen area before wandering into the bedroom in order to pack a new duffel bag, glad the casual jeans and ball caps of Wilson Bethel were being traded for the sleek suits and ties of Nick Stults. After all, there were certain appearances that needed to be kept up when one was masquerading as a wealthy investment banker.
Working his way into the bathroom, he deftly removed green colored contacts and replaced them, darkening his own blue irises to a muddy brown. Opening the medicine cabinet, he withdrew a box of hair dye and expertly mixed it, intending to color the horrific ginger of his current dye-job to a rich brown streaked with gray. A distinguished look for a distinguished identity.
Ryan liked the identities with wealth and status the best. He’d been saving Nick Stults to be the identity he maintained forever and hoped he wouldn’t be forced to discard it. Scowling at the thought, he cursed Beckett and all three of his brothers.
Jason Robbins was nothing but trouble. The moment Ryan had gotten word Jason had been released, he’d been on his way to the prison to get him, only to arrive and find him already being picked up by Raul Malatoa. Admittedly a misstep, not arranging for Robbins to be killed in prison, but he hadn’t wanted to output the capital it would take to order a hit inside a federal prison.
Most of his money was tied up in drugs, and he hadn’t wanted to move any of the bricks for at least ten years. The cash he had was enough to lay down several identities, just in case, and to live comfortably while he waited, but it was not enough he had felt comfortable spending a quarter million on a murder. So he’d gambled on being able to get to Robbins himself and had lost.
It would not be a fatal flaw. His face set in a hard scowl and hair dye gleaming in his hair, Ryan looked in the mirror, studying his own face. It couldn’t be a fatal flaw.
Beckett Hale had been a waitress and haircutter when he met her. He wouldn’t let any dim-witted, southern nobody catch up to him. Kicking himself for ever becoming so wrapped up in a good piece of ass that he’d married the woman and given her his name, he ruthlessly rubbed the dye into his scalp.
His brothers weren’t dumb, and that was a problem. Jax was hot-headed and irrational, Murphy was stubborn and short-sighted, but Caleb—Caleb was whip smart, intuitive, and focused. The combination of the three was a dangerous one. Sheer luck had put Caleb and Murphy where he was exiting the hotel, but now they knew for sure he had been on the Harbor, their resolve to find him would only be redoubled. Unfortunately for them, if he couldn’t figure out another way to get the Malatoas off his trail, his brothers would likely find him at some point.
After all, he’d left the drugs where they would be safest. In plain sight. With Beckett. And sooner or later, he was going to go get them.
****
Beckett rubbed her hands over her eyes, pressing her thumbs against her orbital bones. “What are you saying, Clint?”
Clint Rogers flipped his notebook closed. “The name Ryan’s been using is Wilson Bethel. The social security number on everything belongs to a man who died tw
enty years ago. The identity Ryan crafted is of a construction manager from Iowa. There’s a business address in Brooklyn is no more than an empty loft. We suspect he just used it for a place to get mail. The FBI is going through the bank accounts now, and we’re trying to trace the money left in the room, but I think we all know it’s going to lead straight back to the Malatoa cartel.”
“That goes without saying at this point. I’m beginning to think my whole life leads straight back to the Malatoa cartel.” Beckett chuckled wryly. “Have you been able to trace him once he left?”
Clint nodded. “We were. We have footage of him getting into a cab on the Harbor. From there we were able to pick him back up at the airport in Bangor. Footage shows he got on a plane for Boston. From there we trailed the cab back to an apartment. By the time police got there, he was gone, and we have no footage of him coming out of the building, so we know there’s either an exit with no surveillance or he changed his appearance again.”
Murphy snorted. “Probably both. So he could be anywhere and using any name.”
“He could, but it stands to reason he’s going to come back. Ryan has something here he wants to accomplish, and it looks to me like you and Caleb scared him off yesterday. My money’s on him coming back to finish whatever it is he was after.”
“We don’t even know what that is.” Beckett surged to her feet and paced the living room, her heeled boots clicking on the wood. “Why is he here? Why isn’t he on some beach in Aruba with another eighteen year old crawling all over him? That would make sense. Him coming here to knock out Murphy and spy on us doesn’t!”
Clint cleared his throat. “Beckett, sit down. There’s something we need to discuss.”
Sensing the serious tenor in the Sheriff’s voice, Beckett perched on the arm of the couch. “What is it?”
“Ryan has several warrants out for his arrest now we know he’s alive. Some for the assault on Murphy and the break-in here, and others are federal for the drug smuggling, falsifying a death, identity theft, embezzlement, so on and so forth. When he’s arrested, he’s facing the rest of his life in federal prison.”
Beckett nodded. “I think we all figured that out. The goal was never for him to get off scot-free, it was for us to get the cartel away from here and keep the kids safe. I don’t care what happens to Ryan, and I don’t care how callous it sounds.”
“It doesn’t sound callous.” Jax spoke for the first time from the chair near the door. “It sounds smart. That’s how we feel about it.”
Caleb nodded in commiseration. “Absolutely. He deserves the cage.”
Clint frowned deeply. “Frankly, we may be left wanting on that. The DEA has taken an interest in the case because of the ties to the cartel. Unfortunately for us, it’s looking like Ryan is a small-fry to the feds. They plan to offer him a deal if he’s willing to help bring the cartel down. It’s possible he could get away with everything on the federal level. We’d still be able to prosecute him for the crimes here, and we would, but we’d be looking at a year or two maximum.”
Murphy reached over and clutched Beckett’s hand in his own. With hard eyes, he faced the Sheriff. “Are you telling me he’s going to walk? After all this? After bringing all this down on our heads, he’s going to get to walk away scot-free?”
“It seems that way, yes.” Clint sighed. “I don’t like it. I wish I could tell you something else was going to happen, but right now it’s looking like the best we’ll get is state charges on what he’s done here. He’s valuable. They’ll do almost anything to bring down the Malatoa cartel.”
Beckett smiled tightly. “I wish I was surprised. It feels like Ryan’s been a dozen steps ahead this whole time. Kicking my ass at a game I didn’t even know I was playing.” She shoved her hair back from her face. “What happens if he gets a year? And then he’s out? He can just come back here, set up shop, and insist on being a parent?”
Caleb’s eyes flashed. “He’s not a parent. We have to be able to keep him from doing that.”
Clint held up his hands. “Fortunately for me, I’m no lawyer. I don’t know what can and can’t be done.” He stood and headed to the door, adjusting his utility belt. “Keep me informed if you find anything else out. I’ll be in touch if I hear anything.”
Beckett followed Clint to the door, hugging the sheriff and locking the door behind him. Leaning against the door, she surveyed the three men in her living room. “What the hell do we do now?”
Caleb stood and went to the kitchen. “All we can do. We wait for Savi to get home from work, and we have dinner. My turn to cook tonight, so we can either have sandwiches or spaghetti.”
Murphy scowled. “Order pizza. You’re no good at cooking.”
Jax nodded somberly. “I’m with Murph. Pizza.”
Beckett looked between the three brothers, marveling at their ability to switch topics. Shaking her head, she started for the stairs, only to have her hand snagged by Murphy as she walked by. He pulled her down into his lap, holding her against his chest. As Caleb and Jax argued over the merits of pizza versus spaghetti, Murphy stared at Beckett, his expression serious.
“It’ll all be okay. We’re all in it together, and we’ll figure it out. We can’t focus on it all the time, though. You’re right with what you said. It seems as if all roads lead back to Ryan and the cartel. That’s no way for any of us to live.”
Beckett rested her head on his chest, his heartbeat soothing beneath her ear. “I just want it over. I don’t even care if it sounds cruel, but I’d prefer it if he’d been dead. I’d come to terms with it. I’d moved on from that part of my life. We’d dealt with the Lyla situation and everything was going good, and now it’s all this. This isn’t the life I wanted for myself. I want a simple life. Raise my kids, run my salon, and come home to you at night. That’s what I want.”
He rubbed his cheek on her hair. “And that’s what we’ll have. We just have to get through this first.”
“I wish it was that easy.” She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to keep tears at bay. Tightening her hand on his shirt, she rubbed her cheek against his chest before speaking again, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t have Rhys and Harlow here, Christmas is just around the corner, and I feel like we’re no closer to finding Ryan than we were at the very beginning of everything.”
“We’ll get there. Try not to worry about it so much.”
Scoffing, Beckett slipped off his lap and started for the kitchen to start dinner, effectively ending all debate about Italian food. “That’s easier said than done.”
The door swung open and Savi entered, her hair pulled back into a severe tail and her clothes covered in a thin coating of flour. Dried icing adorned one side of her lapel, and chocolate stained one thigh of her pants. Kicking off her shoes, she juggled her purse, coat, and keys as the heels went flying. Nimbly, Murphy caught one of the pumps as it whizzed by his head and tossed it toward the hall closet.
“Have you ever thought about being a kicker?” Caleb asked the question mildly, clearly testing to see if her mood was as bad as it appeared to be.
Savi glanced up and blew breath upward to remove hair from her eyes. “I’m planning to enter the draft in the spring. I think the Ravens will have a lot of interest in my legs. And besides, I look hot in purple and black spandex.” With no inflection to her voice at all, she continued. “Then again, I prefer Boston to Baltimore, so maybe the Patriots need a kicker. Silver isn’t my favorite color—it would make my ass look big, but I look good in blue so it might work.”
A grin moved slowly over Jax’s face. “Personally, I think you’d be a shoo-in for the Niners. That way, for home games, you can play in a red and gold bikini and make the other team forget why they’re there.”
“Sold!” Savi hung up her coat and unwound the scarf from her throat. “San Francisco it is.” Her gaze moving toward the kitchen, she fisted her hands on her hips. “Beckett McKenzie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Her eyebr
ows lifting, Beckett poked her head out of the kitchen. “Cooking dinner.”
“Exactly. It’s Caleb’s turn. Says so on the chart.”
“Caleb can’t cook, and I don’t want pizza.” She sighed. “The only one of the three good in the kitchen is Jax, and he pretends he’s not so he gets out of it.”
Jax held up his hands. “I know not of what you speak. I could burn water.”
Murphy snorted and headed into the kitchen to help. “I’m passable. I’ll take the turn tonight.” He slipped his arms around Beckett. “I can manage pork chops and potatoes. Why don’t you go upstairs, take a shower, get changed, and relax for the evening. I’ll herd my brothers to the basement to watch the game, and you and Savi can do whatever it is women do up here.”
Savi swore from the living room. “Screw that. I want to watch the game, too. Monday Night Football is the best game of the week. It’s got to make up for the stinker on last night.”
Beckett laughed. “Looks like it’s football and beer in the McKenzie—Montgomery house tonight.”
Chapter 22
Beckett sat at her desk inside Vive, staring blankly at her computer screen. The spreadsheets could have just as easily been Greek as English for all the attention she managed to pay them. When a knock sounded on the door followed immediately by Halle pushing it open and stepping inside, she turned her focus away from the computer and onto her assistant manager.
“Afternoon. What can I do for you?”
Halle dropped into one of the chairs and slipped her feet from her heels, digging her toes into the carpet. “I just needed a mental health break. I’ve been running herd on staff all day, and my brain is bleeding into my skull. Slowly, it’s turning to mush. How about you?”
Beckett grinned. “I passed mush an hour ago. I’m working on the profitability reports for this quarter so I can update the prospectus. Even with a Thanksgiving opening, the café has increased profit margins by fifteen percent in the last month. Assuming that will drop once the novelty wears off, we could still be looking at a seven percent increase. That puts us into the safe zone. I know we talked about your raise and such, and now I’ve got a feel for how things are going, and assuming we don’t lose our asses on all the part-time positions we’re hiring, I’ll be able to bump you starting in January.”
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