One Last Breath

  Now Liam was on his way to meet with his father, checking in because Geoff chafed if he wasn’t kept abreast of every detail of all the Bastian businesses. Normally, Liam dreaded these meetings. His father’s seething anger was just below the surface at all times, but today Liam figured he could handle the old man. He felt better than he had in a while. Rory could run away from here to eternity for all he cared. He would divorce her in absentia and get on with his life.

  Time to move on.

  As he neared the house, he spotted a dark green Mercedes SUV parked across the drive in such a way that no other car was able to get past it. “Great.” His sister’s wheels. He glanced at his watch and frowned. It was pretty early in the day for Viv to be here. Liam was the early riser in the family. Viv tended to roll out of bed sometime after ten.

  Usually.

  Before he could even climb from the Tahoe, Vivian herself came flying out the front door, as if she’d been waiting for him. “There you are!” she cried, stopping about a yard in front of him. She was in black running gear with a teal stripe up the side of her leggings, her blond-brown hair banded into a ponytail, her blue eyes full of accusations, her mouth sullen. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “We?”

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “At work,” he said, stepping around her and striding toward the house.

  She hurried to catch up to him. “I mean before this morning, asshole. You were out there looking for her. That’s what Derek said, and I, of course, defended you, and said ‘Oh, no. Liam’s too smart for that.’ But look who was wrong. And then Dad went off on his usual tirade about her.”

  “You mean Mom.” Stella was the one who’d struggled most with Liam’s choice in marrying Rory. The one who had pointed out that she had to be a gold digger.

  “No, I mean Dad. You know how he is.” Her face was earnest, her lips compressed.

  Liam didn’t answer. Yes, he knew how his father was. Geoff Bastian acted like he had little to no interest in his children’s romantic affairs. He let Stella play the heavy, which left him able to complain about all the drama, but in truth he was often more ironfisted than his wife when it came to family matters. He just handled himself differently. Liam had also learned that all his father’s proclamations about Liam taking over the company had been just to hear himself talk, until the shooting. Then he hadn’t been able to scramble around construction sites any longer in the same way, so he’d allowed Liam to finally take the reins. But that didn’t mean Geoff had given up control. He used Liam for his eyes and ears, and to a lesser extent Derek, who professed loud and long that he didn’t want any part of running Bastian-Flavel Construction, that he just preferred his paycheck with no strings attached.

  “When the workday’s over, so am I,” Derek had said on many occasions, which Geoff tried to ignore, though Liam could see it stuck in the old man’s craw. Geoff’s relationship with his eldest son was full of dark swirls and eddies that Liam had spent the better part of his life trying not to get sucked into. Who knew how deep or muddy those fast currents ran?

  “So?” Vivian asked now, bringing him back to the moment.

  “So?” he repeated, lost.

  “You didn’t find her. Obviously. So what are you going to do now?”

  He hadn’t expected everyone including Viv to know all about his trip north before he had a chance to tell the tale himself, but he supposed the family grapevine was twisted and fast-growing enough that it had been bound to pick up the news and spread it.

  Vivian grew impatient waiting for his answer and now stood in front of him on the brick steps, as if in so doing she could block his entrance to the family home. As if. “Liam, dear brother, you know I love you, but you’ve made this one really massive mistake, and you seem bound and determined to ignore fixing it. Time to get over it. Past time, actually. She’s gone, and good riddance. Divorce her already.” Then, as if she realized how harsh she sounded, Viv amended her words. “Hey, I liked her, you know I liked her, but she was a doe in the headlights when it came to our family. And mother’s right about her family. Thugs, thieves, and criminals, every one.”

  Liam grimaced. They’d all learned a lot about the Stemples in the wake of Rory’s disappearance after the wedding debacle. There was a lot Rory had held back, and it irked him to have his sister remind him of that fact.

  “Excuse me,” he said, gently pushing her aside. It wasn’t often that Vivian offered her advice, but when she did he never heeded it, and he didn’t feel like letting her know that he’d already decided to give up the search for Rory.

  “You know I’m living here now,” she said, following him inside the foyer. He glanced at her, seeing the shifting spots of light across her face from the huge crystal chandelier hanging high above their heads.

  “You and Javier?” he asked.

  “Me and Landon and Estella. No Javier. Just me and the kids. We’re in the south wing.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t want to go there.

  “Javier and I are separated, as you well know. Why do you even ask?”

  “You and Javier separate all the time, get back together, separate again. I can’t keep up with where you are in the cycle.” He headed through the foyer toward the back of the house and the den, where he figured his father would be. Through a bank of windows, he caught a glimpse of the swimming pool, sparkling blue beneath morning sunlight, and beyond, past a thin row of spotty hedges, Portland spread out along the shores of the Willamette River, as he turned down the short hallway to the den. Stella, in shorts and a boat-necked T-shirt, was seated beneath an umbrella, head and shoulders shaded, long legs stretched out on a chaise longue in the sunlight, as if she hoped they would tan. She was drinking coffee and looking sourly at the view, as if whatever she saw displeased her.

  Vivian’s footsteps clattered after him. “When did you get to be such a bastard? Javier and I have separated exactly twice . . . except for this time.”

  “So, that’s three,” he threw over his shoulder.

  “Fine! Three!”

  Her angry tone made him slow down.

  “We’re divorcing. We really are this time,” she said in a small voice.

  This from the woman who had so callously suggested he fill out the paperwork and end his marriage to Rory? Feeling a bit of a heel, he turned to see that her face was troubled, actually fighting tears. “Okay. Sorry.”

  She flapped a hand at him. “It’s all right. There’s apparently. . . someone else.”

  “Oh.”

  She blinked bravely, showing some of that Bastian spirit. Clearing her throat, she admitted, “Javier’s fighting me for custody, can you believe that? Even though he’s the one with the affair, he still makes all the money . . . and he knows people. He could win, Liam.”

  “You’re the mother. You win.”

  “It’s supposed to work that way, but what if he . . . has something on me.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Some lie.” She avoided her brother’s eyes. “And . . . and what if he makes it stick.”

  This was a new wrinkle. “Is there something to have on you?” he asked, peering at her closely, hearing something she wasn’t quite saying.

  “No. Good God. No . . .”

  “Vivian.”

  “No, Liam. Except for the DUIs, but that was two years ago, just after I had Estella. The kids weren’t in the car. It was just me, and I’d only had a couple of drinks. I don’t even drink anymore. Not much, anyway.”

  “That you, Liam?” Geoff bellowed from inside the den.

  His insides tightened as they always did when he knew the old man was in one of his foul moods, which these days was more often than not. “Yeah,” he called back.

  Vivian grabbed him by the arm and pulled him aside. She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, “I need an income of my own, Liam. I’ve been taking care of the kids. I haven’t been focused on a career, and it’s going to hurt me.”

  ?
??You’re still their mother—”

  “Stop that. It’s not enough.”

  “Yes, it is. It counts for a lot. You’re being paranoid, Viv.”

  “I need a job. That’s all. I want to work for the company.”

  “You?” he said before he could stop himself. The last thing he wanted was another relative on the payroll. Derek and his flakiness was more than enough, and although Vivian was more stable than their eldest sibling, she’d never really held a job.

  “Yes, me,” she snapped, inching her pointed chin upward, as if daring him to deny her some kind of birthright.

  He couldn’t imagine what she would do, but it was a moot point anyway. “Dad’s the one to make that decision,” he told her.

  “He put you in charge.”

  More like he didn’t put Derek in charge. Liam knew his father hadn’t wanted any of them to hold the reins, and that he’d chosen his middle child because Liam was more responsible than his older brother. Also, Liam was Stella’s child, whereas Derek was the product of Geoff’s marriage to his first wife, Karen. If the old man had chosen Derek for a position of authority, Stella would have had a fit, would have seen it as a personal slight against her. That’s just how twisted she was; always thinking every decision, every idea, every joke, every anything was about her.

  “Still, Dad makes those kinds of decisions. You know that.”

  “But you have influence. I need this job, Liam. Make sure he understands that.”

  “Talk to him yourself.”

  Her snort was answer enough, as she stood back on her heels. The truth was Geoff Bastian was old-fashioned and a bit misogynistic. He’d never considered Vivian for a job within Bastian-Flavel because she was a woman, and a woman’s job wasn’t in construction. Not that he’d said as much aloud, but his actions spoke louder than words. And the lack of diversity in all the Bastian-Flavel administrative positions said something about Geoff’s feelings about that, as well. Geoff Bastian was a product of his generation, and he was slow to accept that the world had changed.

  “Okay. Fine. I’ll tell him you want a job. But you’ll have to hammer out the details.”

  “Or not. That’s what you’re inferring.”

  “Just deal with him, okay. I’ll bring it up, but it’s up to you to close the deal.” With that he continued down the hallway and left Vivian staring after him.

  “Close that,” his father said, making a shooing motion as soon as Liam entered the den. Liam softly shut the dark paneled door and turned toward his father, who was seated behind a large walnut desk covered by today’s newspaper. Rimless reading glasses were perched on the end of his nose, and he still wore the neck brace he’d earned by insisting on going to the Hallifax renovation site and toppling out of his chair, nearly down the stairs. It had been Liam who’d scrambled past his shocked brother and saved Geoff. Even so, there was no talking him out of visiting the various Bastian-Flavel Construction work sites from time to time.

  “So, you went after her, huh?” his father said as he folded the pages of the Oregonian. “To Canada. That’s where you’ve been.”

  “Among other places. How did you know?”

  “That PI? The one Van Horne used? What was his name?”

  “Jacoby,” Liam said, feeling himself tighten up.

  “Yeah, him.”

  “He wouldn’t have told you.”

  Geoffrey shook his head, his scalp showing in his thinning hair. Obviously the old man was in an argumentative mood. No big surprise. He slowly removed his glasses, folded them and laid them on the paper.

  Liam said, “Jacoby signed a confidentiality agreement.”

  “Well, he did tell me.”

  “Then he’s in breach of contract, because there’s a discretion clause. One that he pointed out to me. His own personal credo.”

  “Okay.” Geoffrey frowned, as if second-guessing himself. “Maybe I heard it somewhere else.” That seemed a bald-faced lie. “What do you care, anyway? The point is, you’re still chasing after her.”

  Liam’s cell phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket. Normally he would let it go to voice mail when he was in a meeting, but he could feel his temper rising and almost welcomed the distraction.

  “Don’t answer that,” Geoff said sharply.

  Liam stared at the name in surprise. Mickelson. He’d entered the name in his contact list, but he and the detective hadn’t been in touch much since Mickelson left Seattle PD. Ignoring his father, he answered, “Liam Bastian.”

  “Mr. Bastian, it’s Roger Mickelson.” Then without preamble said, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s been on the news. Pete DeGrere was murdered yesterday afternoon, just after his release from prison.”

  DeGrere? Dead? “What? Dead?” Sweet Jesus! “No. I, um, didn’t know he’d been released or that . . .” Liam’s mind was racing and he turned his back on his father, who was watching him from the wheelchair at his desk.

  “What is it?” Geoff demanded, his eyes narrowing on his son. “Who’s dead?”

  Liam didn’t answer. Needed to concentrate.

  Mickelson was still talking, “I’ve got my own detective agency, and I haven’t yet spoken to the authorities about DeGrere since his death, but I still believe he was involved with the attack on your wedding.”

  “I remember.” Now that the initial shock had passed, Liam had a million questions. “So, what happened? Where was he? Who did it?” He was killed yesterday afternoon? While Liam had been searching for Rory? Coincidence?

  “Happened at a strip club not far from Sea-Tac, only hours after his release from prison. Attacked in the parking lot. That’s about all I know.”

  “Man.” Liam exhaled. He didn’t care a whit for DeGrere, had never met the man, but if he was somehow connected to the attack that had killed Rory’s brother, wounded him, and put Geoff in a wheelchair, then this was maybe connected. “You think his death is related to the sniper attack at the wedding?”

  “That’s the theory I’m going on.”

  And Rory, Liam thought. Jesus. He’d flushed Rory out of Point Roberts and now Pete DeGrere was dead. Was that coincidence? Had to be. Because DeGrere’s release date had nothing to do with Liam’s trip to Point Roberts.

  “Whose death?” Geoff demanded again as he backed up his chair and rolled it around the corner of his desk.

  “You think there’s a link between the two events? Two . . . homicides?”

  “Yes.”

  “You still think DeGrere was the shooter.”

  “DeGrere? That little shit? Is he dead?” Geoffrey demanded loudly, though he’d rammed his wheelchair within inches of his son, nearly toppling a lamp that was positioned near the French doors that opened to the back patio and the pool area beyond. “What the hell are you talking about? Who’s dead? For the love of Christ, put your damned phone on speaker!”

  “I’m doing some follow up. Just wanted to let you know about DeGrere.”

  “Has someone hired you?” Liam asked.

  Mickelson paused. “Sometimes a case gets under your skin, y’know? This one did that.”

  Liam believed him. The guy sounded sincere. More interested in getting to the truth than Liam’s own damned family. The very victims. How was that for ironic.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Mickelson promised.

  “Good.”

  Just the slightest pause, then, “And you let me know if you hear from that ex-wife of yours.”

  Wife, Liam thought as Mickelson hung up, she’s still my wife.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Geoff was glaring up at him, a position he detested, Liam knew. It made the old man feel smaller, less powerful to be relegated to a sitting position. He wheeled back to his spot behind the desk, reclaiming his place of dominance. “Who was that?” he demanded.

  Liam explained about ex-police detective Roger Mickelson and Pete DeGrere’s murder.

  His father didn’t waste time on false sympathy. “From what I remember, they all
said DeGrere was a low-life thug. What happened?” He unfolded the paper again as if he hadn’t just heard that the man who had probably put him in a wheelchair, wounded others, and ended a man’s life, had been killed himself. “He could barely have been out of prison.”

  “He was attacked within hours of his release.”

  Behind his rimless glasses, Geoffrey’s old eyes glittered. “Is this detective on the case?” he asked, scanning the business section.

  “Yeah, somewhat.”

  “Somewhat?”

  “Like I said, he’s in private practice. I’d really like to talk to the Seattle police.”

  “Huh.” Geoffrey snorted, then dropped his attention to the newspaper.

  Liam studied him for a moment, certain his father was just feigning interest. “Jacoby didn’t tell you where I was, so how did you know?”

  Geoffrey kept on reading.

  “Dad?”

  “All right, your brother told me.” He finally looked up again.

  “Derek didn’t know—”

  “He deduced it. Derek saw Jacoby’s bill. Gas receipts. Charged to the company. They go through fast these days. From Vancouver, B.C.”

  “Not that fast.”

  The old man didn’t miss a beat, continued spinning his tale. “So he figured you were chasing after your missing wife.”

  Liam realized his brother hadn’t seen the receipts go through the company books. No, there wasn’t enough time for that despite the speed of Internet banking. No, he must have seen the PI’s bill that had been in his suit-coat pocket. The suit coat that he hadn’t taken on his own trip to Canada and Point Roberts, but was still hanging in his office. “Derek looked at my personal mail.”

  Geoffrey let out a huff of disgust and gave up the lie. Instead of deception, he went on the attack. Typical. “Don’t look so goddamn affronted. We all wondered where the hell you blasted off to.”

  “You got him to do it,” Liam realized with sudden clarity. “You told him to find out and he lifted the bill from my coat pocket. And you told Vivian and probably Mom, too, that I was off chasing Rory.”

  Geoff lifted his chin and once again pushed the paper aside. This time he didn’t bother folding the pages. His expression was perturbed, bordering on anger. “Next time maybe you’ll realize you just can’t take off from the job without telling anyone where you’re going.”