by J. A. Huss
“I said OK.” Now she’s got me on the defensive and I don’t like it. “I’m sure they’re all very nice girls. Maybe you can… bring them over for lunch one day? Hmm? My treat?”
Lily considers if she should relent and forgive me or dig in her heels. But we’re not fighting sisters. We’ve always been close. So she smiles and says, “That would be great. I’m sure they’d love to meet you for real. I mean, you’re kinda famous, right?”
“No,” I say, laughing. “No. Do not tell them what I do, Lily. You will ruin your chances at that scholarship for sure.”
“What?” she asks innocently. “You’re just an eccentric photographer.”
I laugh again. “Right. Stick to the story and you’re fine.”
“Thanks,” Lily says, leaning up to kiss my cheek. “I’ll call you later. I gotta get back. We were having a riveting conversation about proton pumps and ion channels.”
“Riveting,” I say. She smiles one more time, then turns away and disappears into the crowd of people lining up inside to get coffee.
Chapter Seventeen - OLIVER
It’s still dark out when I leave the garage and start heading south towards the airport to pick up Nolan and Ivy. Apparently Mac was right earlier at dinner. The media put two and two together and came up with five guilty Misters.
I find this whole thing suspicious for many reasons. One, why now? The news of Claudette’s death two weeks ago was never secret. Nolan’s name was already on the news. Hell, I think they even got a soundbite of Ivy snapping at some cop for asking about devil worship.
Devil worship? Do people still call it that?
Second, where did they get the evidence that Allen/Brutus was even connected to Claudette? We didn’t know that. So how did the media find out? In an era where people see everything and no one looks too close, you’re telling me some journalist got a bug up her ass to go sifting through info—non-existent data as far as I’m concerned—and then felt this was a good story right now? Really? Us? Does this country still hate us so much?
There are only a few cars on the road right now. It’s four forty-eight AM, so the other cars around me are probably people who commute to Denver and are trying to miss the traffic. I enter the freeway and join them, heading towards Denver International Airport.
Apparently Nolan and Ivy got to Colorado about an hour ago. The local Fort Collins airport has a noise abatement rule from dusk to dawn, so the jet had to land at DIA.
An hour later I pull into the parking garage on the arrivals level where Ivy and Nolan are sitting on a bench, both wearing sunglasses, looking like a couple of movie stars trying to be inconspicuous. They don’t scream California. Not at all.
As soon as Nolan sees my nineteen sixty-nine black and blue Camaro he jumps up and heads in my direction, dragging two suitcases behind him.
I put the car in park, then pop the trunk and get out.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Shrike. You can’t drive a real car to come pick us up? What is this? Two spare tires in the trunk?”
I scratch my chin. “Yeah,” I say. “I could’ve planned that better. We’ll just throw one suitcase in there and the rest in the back seat. Ivy can sit up front with me.” I wink at her.
She gives me a tired smile as she manages their two carry-on bags. She’s only a few months pregnant. Not even showing yet. But Belle and Jasmine have five kids between them. I know if she looks that tired, she feels a thousand times worse. All she wants is a bed right now.
Nolan helps her into the car while I deal with the luggage and then I hold the driver’s seat forward for him so he can squeeze into the tiny back seat.
I get in and check his mood in my rear-view mirror. Nope. He’s pissed. “If you had waited a couple more hours you could’ve landed the jet in Fort Collins,” I say.
“If we had waited a couple more hours,” Ivy says, her head leaning against the window and her eyes closed, “we might be under arrest right now.”
“Yeah? What the fuck happened?”
“You didn’t catch the news?” Nolan asks, grabbing on to the seats so he can lean his head into the front with us.
“Not really. I turned it on for a second before I left. But I was busy last night.”
“Well, let me fill you in,” Nolan says. “The media somehow figured out that Claudette was the long-time girlfriend of Allen.”
“The rock star,” Ivy clarifies, like I need help keeping up.
“When did that happen?” I ask Nolan. “I mean, did you know she was dating that asshole?”
“What do you think?” Nolan snaps. He’s not the most pleasant guy when he’s irritable. But then again, neither am I. Actually, now that I think about it, none of us are. Mac is pretty even-tempered. But the rest of us? All assholes.
“Anyway.” Ivy picks up the story with a long sigh. “We came out of the cabanas for a nice dinner at the restaurant yesterday evening, expecting to have a quiet date night after all that bullshit that came with cleaning up the fire, and there were hundreds of people in the lobby. I swear, Oliver, they were like cockroaches. They swarmed us.”
“They knocked her down,” Nolan says through a clenched jaw.
“Fuck,” I say.
“Naturally Nolan dealt with that the way most men would,” Ivy adds.
“I punched that cameraman in the face,” Nolan says, smiling.
Ivy throws up her hands. “And voilà, we have cops at the resort. They almost arrested him right then and there.”
“Just so happens,” Nolan continues, “I was meeting with my lawyers earlier in the day about my dad’s assets. It turns out Claudette had filed some motion contesting the will. But now that she’s dead—”
“Long story short,” Ivy interrupts, “he didn’t go to jail. But we figured we should get the fuck outta Dodge while our luck holds.”
Fucking Ivy. Get the fuck outta Dodge. I kinda like her.
“Hmm,” I say, thinking all this through the way I probably should’ve last night.
“Right,” Ivy and Nolan say together.
“So… this Silver Society thing,” I say. “We can safely assume Allen-slash-Brutus is part of it?”
“Not only that,” Ivy says. “I talked to my parents. Didn’t tell them any real details, you know. But just kinda quizzed them about Boring Richard and what he was up to before he… um, died.” She shoots me a nervous glance. I didn’t kill Boring Richard. Nolan did. I only killed Claudette’s driver. So I give her a nod to keep going. “And they said he was dating a tall blonde woman too.”
“I thought you guys told us he was dating an equally boring girl from college?”
“That’s what I thought,” Ivy says. “But not true. I think he was dating Claudette.”
“How does a cunt like Claudette get two boyfriends? What do you think, Nolan?”
He huffs out a breath. “Impossible to know, now. But it’s a good theory. Who knows the depths of her secret life?”
“Maybe your mom?” I ask, just trying to be helpful.
“That’s what I said!” Ivy exclaims. “I figure your mother knows a whole lot more than she ever told you. We need to have a talk with her.”
“No,” Nolan says. “I’m not dragging her into it.”
“She’s already in it, Nolan,” Ivy says.
I get the feeling they’ve been having this same fight on repeat for a while now.
“And your mother too,” Ivy says.
“Mine?” I say, looking over at her for a second.
“She has to know more than she’s told you and Ariel. In fact, Ariel is sure of it. We’re just trying to figure out the best way to approach everyone. But once we do, we know—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say. “My parents aren’t getting dragged into this. Fuck that.” I cannot even imagine bringing this shit up to them. Not after everything that happened with Rory.
“My mom’s out too.” Nolan sits back, collapsing into the middle hump seat in back, sandwiched between the suitcase and th
e carry-ons. “And Mac has no parents,” Nolan says.
“That’s not true,” Ivy says. “Ellie says he’s got a whole step-family.”
“Oh, yeah.” I laugh. “There is no fucking way in hell Mac would ever ask his”—I take my hands off the steering wheel to make air quotes—“‘adopted family’ to get to the bottom of this.”
“We’ll see about that.” Ivy says, undeterred. “Victoria is already working on the Conrads. So we’ll have that little detail taken care of soon.”
“What?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at Nolan.
He shrugs and throws up his hands. “It’s your sister’s fault. Ariel and Tori are planning something, man. And you already know Tori has it out for Weston’s parents. He’s gonna be pissed when he finds this out.”
“Jesus Christ. So everyone’s parents but…” I stop talking as I think.
“But Paxton’s,” Ivy offers in her sweet helpful manner. “We all know Mariel Hawthorne is involved. I think that’s very clear at this point. Cindy already told all us girls about the little trip to the racetrack.”
Fuck. “He’s not going to be easy to deal with if you guys bring this up, Delaney.”
“It’s not me, man. I already told you. The girls. This is all them. And it’s your goddamned sister meddling in Mister business. She has no right, Oliver. None.”
“She has every right,” Ivy says. “Something happened to your other sister, right?”
“Not this again,” I say, wishing this fucking car ride was already over. “I told you guys, that’s history.”
“History matters, Oliver,” Ivy says. “And we’re gonna get to the bottom of this and take care of business.”
Damn, fucking Ivy is all over our shit this morning. I pegged her as the quiet, meek type. Apparently I missed the memo when she turned into a badass.
We’re quiet for about twenty minutes after that. There’s almost no traffic going north this time of day, but it’s a long boring drive.
I’m just about to think Ivy went to sleep, she’s been so still and quiet, when she asks, in her not-so-meek voice, “So who’s coming back from your past, Oliver?”
“Ivy,” Nolan says in a low voice from the back seat.
“What?” she snaps, turning around in her seat so she can look at him. “What? I think we have every right to ask.”
“I told you to let me handle it.” Nolan practically growls his words.
“So handle it. Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Damn, Delaney. Your wife is like a fucking pitbull this morning.”
“Victoria is one hundred percent right,” Ivy says.
Both Nolan and I groan. Loudly.
“Well, she is. She’s been telling you guys for a month that Weston’s parents have to be involved. And now we find out that Paxton’s mother is involved too? Tori and I have children to think about. We can’t afford to let this fester.” Ivy straightens up in her seat. Cracks her knuckles. Cracks her knuckles! “Like I said, we’re gonna take care of business. So tell us, Oliver. Who is your special someone who just happened to reappear in your life out of nowhere?”
“No. One,” I say, enunciating each word. “There is nothing weird going on in my life. It’s as boring as it ever was.”
“Hm,” Ivy says, crossing her arms. She’s practically calling me a liar.
“Well,” Nolan says, leaning into the front seat again. “Are you sure? Because West says you were checking your watch last night. Like you had somewhere to be.”
“And Ariel said West caught you jerking off at your desk yesterday morning.”
“Ivy,” Nolan cautions.
“What? It’s true, right? And Ariel says that’s not normal. She says—in fact, everyone says—that Oliver is some kind of celibate priest. Now all of a sudden he gets handed some delete files and he’s jerking off at work? Who was in that stack, Oliver?”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Ivy,” Nolan warns a second time.
But Ivy is on some kind of pregnant, hormonal witch hunt. And I’m the witch. “You might as well come clean. Because Ariel is all over that stack of delete papers. She’s gonna find out who got you all hot and bothered yesterday. And when she does—”
“There’s no one,” I repeat. “I mean it. Just fucking drop it, OK?”
Ivy turns her head and stares out the window for the next twenty miles. I’m thanking my lucky stars that this car-ride is just about over when I finally make it to the Fort Collins off ramp and start heading west towards town.
“Where are you guys staying?” I finally ask, breaking the silent treatment Ivy is throwing.
“Ariel’s,” Nolan says. Ivy ignores me and I’m OK with that. “I guess she has some big-ass house in downtown.”
“Yeah,” I say. That’s just great. They are all a two-minute car ride from my garage. I’m gonna have to let Katya know we need to lie low until they leave town again. I mean, how long can they possibly stay? Two days? Three tops?
We are all quiet the rest of the drive back into the neighborhood. Ivy gets interested in the quaint downtown, but she doesn’t say anything else.
When I pull up in front of the Milkshake Mansion, she claps her hands together in glee.
“What the fuck is that?” Nolan asks, craning his neck towards the window so he can see the monstrous Santa Claus in the front yard.
I roll my eyes as I cut the engine. “Don’t ask, man. It’s a long story.”
We all pile out of the car. Nolan wrestles with the suitcases in the back seat while I get the last one out of the trunk. And then we open the picket-fence gate and walk up the path to the massive front porch. It takes us another minute to force the luggage into compliance at the top of the stairs.
I raise my hand to knock on the door, but it opens before I can even make contact.
Ariel is there, coffee cup in hand. Still in her Denver Broncos pajamas, smiling like she ate a canary.
“What?” I ask, pushing past her as I drag a suitcase behind me.
And then I see why she’s smiling.
Because Katya is sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee cup in her hand too. She smiles at me.
“Your friend stopped by, Oliver. Says she’s an old friend. Says the two of you just hooked up for the first time in many years last night. Says you have quite a history together.”
I look at Ivy. Then Nolan.
I am fucking busted.
Chapter Eighteen - KATYA
I stare at Oliver. This is the moment of truth. “Hey,” I say, unsure how he’s gonna react to me being here at his sister’s house.
“What the f—” He scrubs a hand down his face and takes a breath before starting again. “What are you doing here, Kat?”
I set my coffee cup down and stand up from the table. “After you left I had to go home. My sister comes by in the mornings and we have coffee…”
“Katya?” Oliver asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Anyway, I was sitting there in the coffee shop just shooting the shit with her, and the news came on.” I look at all the men standing there. Mr. Perfect and Ellie. The newly arrived Mr. Romantic and Ivy. Mr. Corporate and Victoria, who scares the shit out of me, if I’m being honest. Because she’s looking at me like I’m bad news, man. Bad news. And Mr. Mysterious and Oliver’s baby sister, Cindy.
They are all here. Just like they’re supposed to be.
“And some news show had footage of this mob shootout back in Brooklyn about a month ago. And then they were flashing images of you—” I point to Mr. Romantic. “Your hotel or whatever, out in California. And they linked that to some shooting on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“Fuck,” Mysterious says, wiping a hand down his face and walking over to the bar.. We all watch him grab a bottle off the top shelf and pour himself a drink.
“And I’m starting to get the feeling that all these things are connected.”
“Why do you care?” Ariel asks. “Not to be a bitch—
” But let’s be real here, Ariel Shrike is a major bitch. She’s definitely part of the leadership of whatever these people have going on. “But why would you suddenly appear in my brother’s life after…” She looks at Oliver. “How many years, Oliver?”
“Four,” he says. His tone is low and sad.
“Four years?” Ariel asks. “And you come back, all this shit is going down, and now you’ve suddenly decided that you have all the answers. I find it highly suspicious.”
“I agree,” Victoria says.
“What the fuck is happening?” Ivy asks. “Is she one of them?”
“One of who?” I ask.
“Don’t play coy with us,” Ellie says. “Why are you here and what do you want?”
“You guys,” Oliver says, interrupting.
But Mr. Corporate puts up a hand and looks straight at Oliver. “Let her talk, Oliver. I have a feeling I know where this is going.”
I squint my eyes at him.
“I know you,” he says to me. “I’ve seen your face before.”
He cannot possibly remember…
“You were…”
“Holy fuck,” Victoria Arias says. And I see the recognition in her eyes. “You were there,” she says, pointing at me. “You were there at Hederman’s Bar having lunch when that whole thing went down with Lucio Gori Junior.”
“I never had a chance to thank you,” I say, looking Victoria Arias straight in the face.
“Thank me for what?” she snaps.
“For getting rid of the asshole who did this to my neck.” And then I pull the collar of my hoodie down and reveal the scar across my throat.
Chapter Nineteen - OLIVER
She’s lying. I’m not sure about which part of that story rings false, exactly. But Kat is lying. I join Pax over at the bar and he hands me the drink he was just about to pour down his throat, and makes another one.
I down it in one gulp.
She’s lying. She’s fucking lying.
“What?” Ellie and Ivy are on their feet, trying to get a closer look. I glance over at Corporate and I read him like a book. He’s staring at her like… like she’s lying. He notices me and shakes his head.
