"One-two-one-two," she parroted.
Easy enough to remember. Dixon punched in the code and thanked her. The glittering pink case slipped into his pocket. "You, phone, travel, now." He pointed to the phone on her desk and spun on his heel.
"Sir what about the rest of your party?" She shouted down the hall after him.
Dixon turned in the elevator and pushed the button to the lobby. "They can join me tomorrow morning as planned." He watched her until the door closed. As soon as it did, he unlocked the phone and sent a text. An immediate reply later and he dropped the blinged-out phone into his coat again. He closed his eyes and breathed, "Hang on. I'm on my way."
Chapter 18
Dixon waited for the uniformed man to open his limo's door at the hotel. He pulled his cashmere coat collar up and nodded his thanks. The doorman frowned. "I'm sorry sir, I didn't see you leave earlier.” The man looked at the limo and his frown deepened. “This isn't one of our cars."
Dixon smiled and winked at the confused doorman. "I must have snuck out when you were helping someone else. I had to pick up some luggage that was lost."
"Senator Simmons, someone from the hotel could have done that for you, sir. The concierge and manager would be extremely upset if he knew you were chasing misplaced luggage."
Dixon laughed off the comment. "Well I will let him help me now. It seems I have lost my key to my room."
The doorman beamed. "That won't be a problem, sir." He lifted a hand and the man at the concierge desk flew across the ornate foyer. "Senator Simmons needs assistance getting into his suite."
At the doorman's words, the young man's face lit up. "Of course! I'll accompany you up, sir." He waited for Dixon to palm the doorman a tip and give him instructions for the delivery of his luggage. Dixon pulled out his work phone and stared at the screen as if the face held the answers to the universe. The concierge hit the button for the floor his suite was on. Dixon glanced at the number and went back to staring at the phone. When the doors opened, he followed the young man down the hall and waited for him to open the door. "I'll have a new key sent up immediately, Senator Simmons."
Dixon finally moved his attention from his phone, smiled and palmed the young man a hefty tip. "Thank you. I appreciate your professionalism."
"It is our pleasure, sir."
Dixon waited until the man departed before he slid the deadbolt and threw the privacy bar that would prohibit even those with a key to enter. He turned and breathed in the opulence of the room. White furniture, dark woods with gold trim and dark blue curtains made the sitting room more fitting for the White House than a hotel room.
"About fucking time."
Dixon swiveled and smiled. "Drake."
"I missed the fuck out of you." Drake stalked across the room and pulled him into a rib-crushing hug.
"No more than I missed you." He pushed his brother away and held him at arm’s length. "You're okay?"
"Fit as a fiddle." Drake quipped.
Dixon laughed, "What the fuck does that even mean?"
"I have no idea, but we can look it up." They laughed and hugged again.
Dixon finally pulled away. "Look at you, all dressed up in Saville Row." Drake wore a black suit, crisp white shirt, and red power tie. The man looked every inch a senator.
"Well, you know my brother has been appointed a Senator of New York, and could you please explain the fuck out of that, because I'm lost?" Drake took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a white, suede leather, wingback chair.
Dixon shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over the matching chair. "It is a long story. You swept the suite?"
Drake pulled up short. "Of course I fucking swept the room. What did you think happened while you were gone, that I'd lost my mind?"
Dixon smiled at his brother's banter as he dropped into a chair. "Who knows what you've been up to while I've been working."
"Right. Like I’ve been sitting on my ass doing nothing."
"See, at least you admit it."
"Fuck you."
"Nah, I'd just lie there."
"Ass."
"Jerk."
A matching smile spread across Drake's face. "So, tell me what the fuck is going on."
Dixon unbuttoned his suit jacket and leaned forward. "Our sperm donor is dead." He watched for any reaction from Drake. The man blinked and then looked away before he nodded. "How?"
"Officially he was blown up in a tragic accident when a gas line blew."
Drake lifted an eyebrow. "Unofficially?"
"The fucker put a bullet through his brain when he was confronted with the fact that I was going to destroy his grand plans." Dixon leaned back in the seat and shook his head. His brother's stare locked on him, demanding information without him speaking a word. "He fucked up every plan Jason and I had to infiltrate Stratus. We wanted to be able to get in and work our way through the organization. Hell, at least that was the original plan. I've been flying by the seat of my pants without any aid from Guardian for so long, I lost sight of the original goal."
"Which means?" Drake's query was so like his brother. Logical, step-by-step. He was always the steadying factor on every occasion. Unlike himself.
Dixon shrugged. "I've managed to get to the top of Stratus, perhaps even to The Fates."
"Excuse me?" Drake leaned forward.
Dixon sighed and scrubbed his face. "The Fates are an organization that has been a rumor and innuendo for as long as–"
"Stratus." Drake finished his sentence for him.
Dixon nodded. "Originally the intent was to find a way in using Daddy dearest as a vehicle to examine New York’s underbelly for a path into the organization."
Drake loosened his tie and sat back. "Go on."
"He was already in bed with half the criminals in New York. While dealing with his..." Dixon closed his eyes as images of what he'd recently lived through flashed through his mind, "…antics, he led me to believe he had a business partner."
"Stratus?"
"That's what I assumed. I mean who else would have the guts to try to put a collar on a rabid dog?" Dixon motioned to the bar. "Pour us one?"
"Or twenty?" Drake lifted out of the chair and headed to the stocked bar.
"One for now. We have a fuck-ton of work to do."
Drake turned and looked over his shoulder. "I'm listening."
Dixon nodded, almost to himself. "Anyway, I did his bidding and was finally pulled into the legit business, or so I thought." He cleared his throat and accepted the three fingers of dark liquor from his brother. He took a sip of the bourbon and waited for Drake to sit down again.
"How fucked up did it get?" Drake's quiet question held a litany of unused words. Words Dixon didn't need to hear to know the true meaning of the inquiry.
His hands were shaking, and he didn't try to hide it from his brother. It wouldn't do any good. Drake could read him like a printed page. The large print edition. Dixon swallowed past the lump in his throat. "He'd only gotten worse, D. I cut ties with all his illegal businesses the day he died. It was a feeding frenzy on the street. He was a sick motherfucker." Dixon closed his eyes. "We have a half brother. He's maybe ten years old, and the bastard was going to 'groom' him if I didn't work out."
Drake blinked at him as Dixon's words registered. "Tell me the kid's safe."
"Yeah, the mom is good to him." At least that is what Smith and Joy had told him. Smith had volunteered the information, and he'd asked Joy to confirm it. "The bastard's will that was locked in a bank downtown provided for her and the kid. I didn't contact them. I couldn't give Stratus that target."
"That means you did give them a target."
"I offered in a roundabout way. I felt I needed to sweeten the pot, so I offered up Guardian, but before they could ask for the information, I pushed the envelope." Dixon took another sip of his drink and watched the micromovements of his brother's expression as he digested the words.
"What happened?" Drake asked after a moment.
/> "They wanted my vote on a bill."
"And of course, you voted opposite the way they wanted you to vote."
Dixon flicked his eyes to his brother.
"You contrary asshole." Drake laughed and shook his head. "They flipped their fucking lid, didn't they?"
"You could say that. They had a plant. Smithson Young. He worked for them and for dear old Dad. I kept him on. I had an idea he could be involved, but fuck, I was hoping he wasn't."
"Hindsight. Always 20/20. What happened? Did he threaten you?" Drake took a sip of his drink at the same time Dixon did, mirroring his actions almost exactly. They both smiled when their glasses lowered. This...this is what he missed so damn much. His brother was the other half of who he was.
"Yes. I'd sent Joy to track him–"
"Who?"
"Joy. She's a hired killer who I crossed paths with as soon as the old man pulled me into the thick of his shit. He sent me to kill this guy, and she was already there." Dixon stared over his brother's shoulder and relived seeing her for the first time.
"Joy is..." Drake prompted.
Dixon swung his eyes to his brother. "Essential." The single word conveyed a myriad of thoughts and emotions.
Drake blinked and nodded, "Noted. Continue."
"Stratus has her."
"You spoke with her?"
"Yes, and I arranged a swap. Her life for my vote."
"Do you believe she's alive now?"
"I do. I spoke with her…" Dixon glanced down at his watch, "…four hours ago."
"Did she sound okay?"
"She actually sounded pissed off. Other than telling me to listen to a song, she sounded normal."
Drake lifted an eyebrow. "Normal is pissed off?"
"For her? Yeah." Dixon would laugh at his brother's expression, but none of this was funny.
Drake nodded. "Explain the not normal part then."
"The song? It was from this movie, Paint Your Wagon. Some damn song about rain being called Tess."
"Why would she want you to listen to that?"
"Beats the fuck out of me. But she was specific that I needed to listen to it."
"I brought the clean computer you wanted. We can log on, it has Guardian's security protocols. Nobody is going to track it. We can find it online." Drake shrugged and shook his head before he took another sip of his liquor.
Dixon mimicked his movements and then asked, "The movie or the song?"
"Both?" Drake offered.
"Let's do it."
A knock at the door jarred Dixon before he remembered the concierge was going to bring him another key. Drake stood quickly and slipped into the bedroom as he went to open the door.
They say reaction is a conditioned response to repeated stimuli. That was bullshit. His reaction was fueled by immediate hatred and anger. His right fist found Smith's jaw in an uppercut a split second before his left hit a hooked punch to the man's ribs. He grabbed the bastard's collar and threw him into the suite before he slammed the door shut. The click of a weapon at his right didn't stop him from dropping down and placing both hands around the bastard's neck. He squeezed. "You motherfucking son of a bitch." Spittle flew out of his mouth as Smithson pawed at his arms.
Smith sputtered something unintelligible, then gasped out,"...where she is..."
"D, I think he's trying to tell you he knows where she is." Drake's voice, calm and reassuring, said from somewhere over his shoulder.
"No, he works for Stratus, I don't trust him."
"Noted. So, how about we hear what he has to say and then we kill him." Drake's relaxed, casual remark drew Smithson's eyes away from Dixon and over his shoulder. If it was possible, when he saw Drake, the man's eyes bugged out even further. Dixon released the man and was off him in a second, not giving the bastard time to recover and strike at him. He'd been in too many fights to trust anyone was as incapacitated as they appeared.
Drake leveled his weapon at the man and smiled. "We are going to do this nice and easy. You are going to crawl to the middle of that empty space, and then you are going to sit on your ass and put your hands on top of your head. Any deviation from that plan and you get a bullet through the brain. Understand?"
Smith coughed and gasped for air but nodded his head as he rolled to all fours. He slowly made his way to the middle of the empty space and ass-planted. He immediately lifted his hands to his head and linked his fingers together.
Dixon pulled his eyes from the bastard and noticed Drake had his computer in one hand and his weapon leveled on the bastard with the other.
"Talk or die." Dixon barked the command. He was done. The bastard was the vehicle they used to trap Joy, and by the sound of their conversation earlier, they'd hurt her too. For that, Smithson Young would pay and pay dearly.
"I had no choice."
"Bullshit! We all have choices, just because you don't like the options doesn't give you the right to put another human being's life on the line!" Dixon damn near screamed the words at the man.
"D, dude, bring it down a decibel or two or let me do the talking. We don't need security up here." Drake handed him the computer and walked in front of Smith.
"Now, between the two of us," Drake motioned between Dixon and himself, "I'm usually considered the calmer one. But you see, I haven't seen my brother in months, and that has really pissed me off." He placed the barrel of the weapon against Smith's forehead. "I suggest you talk and say the words that will salvage your sorry ass. 'I had no choice' isn't among any of those words. Got it?"
The man nodded, and Drake smiled, tapping his forehead with the gun. "Speak."
"They were going to kill me. They called me and told me I needed to come to them, or they'd hurt you. I did. I left right after I talked to you. I took a cab to the airport and rented a car. I drove to Virginia, following the directions they sent to my phone. When I arrived at the warehouse, they jumped me. They...they'd found out I hadn't told them about Ms. Nguyen and the fact that you and she are together. They wouldn't listen to me, I tried to talk to them, but that's when Ms. Nguyen came through the warehouse door." Smithson shook his head. "She acted like I'd asked her to come. She fought, hard. Sir, she is hell on wheels. She took on six men before one of them hit her with a shovel. She still didn't go down. I think they hurt her after that. They forgot about me and took her. I could hear her fighting."
"She tried to get you out of there?"
"Yes, sir. She didn't have to do that. They released me. They believed that I'd tricked her into following me. They told me to come back and keep an eye on you after I made the call earlier."
"And they assumed I wouldn't kill you?"
"I think they assumed I wouldn't make contact." Smithson lowered his eyes. "Or they assumed I'd go back to New York and hide."
Drake lifted his eyes to Dixon for a second before Dixon asked, "Why did you make contact with me?" It would have been simple to disappear.
"They know about the kid."
"The kid?" Drake asked.
Smithson lifted his eyes and looked up at Dixon. "Your brother."
"Right. How would they know about him?"
"I don't know, I only heard bits and pieces. They are pissed that you aren't compliant."
"Obviously." Drake drawled and cut his eyes to Dixon.
He met his brother's gaze and cocked his head a fraction of an inch. Really?
The smallest tug of the corner of Drake's lip said. Yes really, dickhead. He could hear the words as clearly as if the man had spoken them.
Smithson dropped his eyes again. "The boy is innocent. They can't hurt him."
Dixon returned his attention to Smithson. "Why would I believe you?"
"You and Ms. Nguyen are the only ones who have ever given me a chance. My entire life, people have treated me like shit because I look...like this. Stupid. I didn't lie to you."
"Yes, you did, each and every minute you didn't tell me Stratus had their hooks in you." Dixon sighed, "What was on the tapes you deleted? You deleted
two nights, yet you only slept with her once. What else did you delete?" Dixon crossed his arms and watched the man.
Smithson licked his lips. "There was a woman. She came to me the next day. She had pictures and audio recordings. She told me that your father had given them the tapes in exchange for three hundred thousand dollars. She kept her back to the cameras and whispered. But sir, she turned quickly and left when your father came back unexpectedly. I know the camera caught her face on video. So did she. In exchange for the destruction of the file with her face on it, they promised they would leave me alone."
"Only they didn't."
"No."
Drake asked, "Did you make a copy of the files?"
"No, sir."
"And you assumed they would just what...behave like humans?" Drake prompted.
Smithson glanced at the man before he dropped his eyes and nodded.
All the facets of Smithson Young fell into place. The man was intelligent, and he genuinely trusted people until they proved they couldn't be. His father and the women from Stratus who'd abused his trust were probably just the top of the list of the people who'd treated this man like shit.
"Where are they holding her?" His twin wasn't going to let up.
"A warehouse in Virginia. The woman I talked to that day at your father's? She was there. I saw her when I was supposed to be leaving. She was getting out of a limo and going into the house." Smithson glanced over at Dixon. "There were two limos there. A third passed me when I was leaving. I can take you there."
"I'm afraid not, big guy. You can give us directions to the warehouse, but you're not going to be there." Drake glanced at Dixon confirming they were on the same page. Of course they were. That was a given. But what to do with Smithson was another story. A series of ideas clicked in his mind.
"I've got an idea on a way forward. I need your directions." Dixon still wasn't sure how involved in Stratus Smith actually was. He'd wait and talk to Drake after they took care of the man.
"On my phone." Smithson nodded to his jacket pocket. "I thought your twin was dead." The big man looked from Drake to him.
“To quote Mark Twain, ‘Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated,’" Drake drawled, and they both laughed. "I'm going to take your clothes, Smith. You’re going to strip down to your boxers, then you're going to go into that room after my brother takes out the phone and you are going to stay in the room. If you come out, I'll kill you." Dixon leveled his gaze at the big man. "Don't think for a moment I won't."
Dixon Page 20
