Surviving Ice

  SEBASTIAN

  “How long ago did the APBs go out?” I speed past a slow driver.

  “A good hour,” Bobby says.

  I knew these guys would have someone in the SFPD in their pockets. “She’s safe?”

  “Yep. Mad as a snake, but nothing we can’t handle,” Bobby promises. “What are you up to?”

  “This and that.”

  “Right. Well, if you can get ‘this and that’ done before she bites me again, that’d be great.”

  Despite everything, I smile. “Thanks, man.” It’s been a long time since I’ve relied on anyone but myself, and here I am relying on a bunch of criminals. “Just . . . take care of her.” I hang up and toss the phone into the console in time to pull up to my parents’ house.

  And take a deep breath. I had a feeling I’d be visiting again, sooner rather than later.

  My dad answers the door with a frown. “Twice in two days.”

  “I know.” I lock eyes with him, swallowing my fear that he’ll say he won’t help me. Besides Ivy, he’s the only one I trust. “I need your help and I don’t have a lot of time to explain.”

  He looks over his shoulder and then steps out, shutting the door behind him.

  I pull a phone and a slip of paper out of my pocket. “There is a sensitive video on this phone that I want you to have a copy of. Don’t watch it. And on the paper is the information for a safety-deposit box in Zurich. It has you marked as next of kin, should anything ever happen to me.” I hand it to him. “I need you to make sure these two things are safe. And use the contents, if something happens to me.”

  His frown turns to understanding. “I don’t want to know what this is about, do I?” His voice has taken on that stern, no-nonsense tone that has given me both comfort and fear all my life.

  I shake my head. “Not unless you don’t hear back from me.”

  He nods and, with a moment’s hesitation, adds, “Be safe.”

  “I will be,” I promise, though I can’t be sure that my next stop won’t guarantee a bullet in my head.

  “You found me.” Bentley fingers a vine, empty of fruit and ready for winter’s slumber. “I didn’t expect you here so soon.”

  “Your wife gave me directions.” With a smile and a bat of her eyelashes, all while the cold metal of my gun pressed against my back and I considered using her as leverage.

  Bentley doesn’t seem at all concerned by my presence. He doesn’t seem intent on anything but the grapes, and the western skies, where the sun is slow to set. “There’s something therapeutic about this place after it’s been harvested. Have you ever seen grapevines in the winter?”

  “No. Not that I’ve noticed, anyway.”

  “Well, I guess they’re like any plant. They look dead, incapable of ever coming back to life. Of ever producing anything again. And yet they do, year after year, as long as you protect their roots.”

  It seems like such a casual conversation. If I weren’t on edge, I might enjoy it.

  But I don’t have time to waste here. “Why’d you lie to me?”

  He pauses, a dried leaf against his palm. “What was I going to tell you? That I lost control of some of my operatives? That the last boy scout was going to sink Alliance because of it?” He sounds defeated.

  “So you did know what was going on over there. What Scalero was doing.”

  His silence answers me.

  “When did it become about money, John? Don’t you have enough of that?”

  “It’s not about the money!” he fires back, his anger flaring. Finally. But he tempers it just as quickly. “You know as well as I do what happens to human instincts when they’ve succumbed to that world over there. To that kind of life.”

  “No, not everyone loses themselves like that.” We all lose something, but basic decency . . . no. Not most of us, anyway. I’d love to say that all the stories of soldiers going off course are wrong, but that would be a lie.

  Some people would say that I went off course long ago.

  “If you knew what was going on, why didn’t you stop it?”

  He sighs. “I didn’t know until it was too late.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Weary eyes settle on me. Bentley looks like he’s aged years since I saw him last. “Believe what you want, but it’s true. Alliance has grown beyond anything I ever expected,” he admits. “It’s beyond anything I want. I’ve been in talks with investors for over a year now. People who want to buy me out and take over. They have all kinds of ideas for running internal affairs and managing people. They’ll be good for the company’s future. Talks stalled for a while during the investigation into the civilian shooting in Kandahar, but they’re back on now, and people are ready to sign. Had that videotape surfaced, everything would have fallen apart.”

  “So it is about the money.”

  “To the investors, it’s all about the money. If they can’t get contracts, there’s no point buying Alliance. They want the expertise and connections I’ve established. The good parts. There are a lot of good parts, still, Sebastian. You are a good part.”

  “I’m not a part of Alliance.”

  He smiles. “No, you’re not. You could be, though.”

  He’s trying to offer me an olive branch. I don’t want it. “You used me. Lied right to my face. You and I, we don’t do that to each other.”

  “You would never have agreed to this assignment otherwise. I needed that videotape and you’re the best at what you do. You always have been. Even now, when I’m guessing you’re about to fuck me over.” Bentley reaches into his pocket and I immediately move to grab my gun. He pulls out a loose cigarette and lighter, his hands raised as if to prove his innocence. “So, what’s your plan here, exactly?”

  “You know about the APBs on Scalero and Porter.”

  He nods, the end of his cigarette burning brighter with his inhale.

  “Your guys are about to get nailed for murder, with a witness.”

  “With no line of sight on the actual murder.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t consider her to be a threat?”

  He exhales, smoke sailing out his nostrils and into the crisp air. “I didn’t say that.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  His lips purse. “I never thought a woman would be the death of our friendship.”

  “She isn’t. But you lying to me is.” I’m not used to being in this position with Bentley—the one in control of the situation. That’s what I feel like I finally have here—control of this fucking disastrous situation. “Are they after her yet?” Now would be the ideal time to make Ivy disappear, before she’s able to listen to Scalero’s deep midwestern accent or see the burn scar covering the back of his hand, or study Porter’s profile, and confirm on a recorded lineup that, yes, these are the two men who killed a Medal of Honor veteran and her uncle. Once that official statement is made, getting rid of her won’t help them any.

  “No.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “How would that look, the witness turning up dead hours after an APB goes out? Give me some credit.” He pauses to take another drag. “They’re in a secure location for the moment.”

  “They need to answer for what they’ve done, Bentley. Tell me you know that.”

  “I do. That’s why I called you the other day, but you refused to take the assignment and hung up on me.”

  Scalero and Porter were my next assignment? “You mean I was going to be tasked with getting rid of those two so your ass is covered completely?” I chuckle, though none of this is funny. He must take me for an idiot.

  He turns to meet my eyes, his hard and gray. “And what exactly is your plan, then, coming here? Is it any different?”

  When I don’t answer—because getting rid of those two is exactly my plan—he continues. “Despite what you think, I don’t want anything to happen to you. I wouldn’t be standing here today if it weren’t for you. And you and I have saved tens of thousands of lives together. Maybe more. Wha
t I have built here? Fuck the media. Alliance is a powerful organization that does incredible things. Yes, I make a lot of money because of it. Yes, there are . . . hiccups . . . Bad seeds, like those two. But I won’t let them tear down my legacy to this country. I need Scalero and Porter dealt with before they can hurt anyone else. I wish I’d figured that out sooner. Save everyone a headache.”

  “They do need to go. But they also need to answer for what they’ve done.”

  I reach for my phone and Bentley’s eyes widen in a flash of panic. Holding the screen out for him, I press Play on the video. Royce’s voice breaks into the quiet peace of the vineyard, and understanding fills Bentley’s eyes.

  “I made copies of the video. Several. You’ll never track them all down before they’re released, I can promise you that.” In this case, I’m bluffing. My dad has the only copy, and I’m sure he went straight to the bank to secure it in his safety-deposit box. “So if you’re lying to me and they’re out there looking for Ivy, you might want to stop them now.”

  He doesn’t make a move for his phone. “What exactly do you want from me?”

  “You’re going to tell me where Mario Scalero and Ricky Porter are right now.”

  “There’s no need for the theatrics.” He gestures to the ended video. “We want the same thing.”

  I don’t think he understands, exactly. But he will.

  “Give me their location, and I’ll do the right thing.”

  He sighs. “And then?”

  “And then I’m going to walk away, and this arrangement of ours is over.” I can’t do this and live a normal life. “You’re going to forget about me, you’re going to forget about Ivy, and everyone wins.”

  “It’s not that simple, Sebastian.”

  “It is. Because if you don’t, and if for some reason something should happen to either Ivy or me, then everything I’ve done for you over the past five years will fall into big hands. Names, dates, locations, purposes. Everything.” While I may not have listened to my father’s warning when Bentley first invited me to work for him, I did hear it. And it ate at me, an insipid voice that grew louder and louder, until I couldn’t completely ignore it. And so I began documenting critical details, figuring that if something ever happened to me, my father could see firsthand that I was doing good, that his disappointing son was making a difference, was saving lives. Maybe he would finally approve of me.

  Never did I think I’d be using that information as leverage against Bentley, and yet here I am, doing exactly that.

  Bentley’s eyes narrow. He thinks I’ve betrayed him. He’s right, but I don’t really have a choice.

  “As long as nothing happens to either of us, that information will never see the light of day,” I promise.

  “How can I believe—”

  “Because unlike you, I can be trusted.”

  Bentley chews the inside of his mouth. He’s always been good at knowing when he’s cornered, with no way out. It rarely happens. “I’m not going to walk away from this unscathed, am I?”

  “No. But you’ll walk away because you finally did the right thing.” I meet his gaze. “Where are they?”

  He grits his teeth.

  FORTY-FIVE

  IVY

  “This isn’t exactly like the picture!”

  “No, it’s better.” I start pulling apart my tattoo machine to clean it.

  “She’s right,” Ren, a twentysomething-year-old blond guy with a giant smile and a bad habit of flirting with anything female, says¸ winking at me.

  Bobby studies the rottweiler riding a bike in the mirror, then glares at me.

  I stop what I’m doing to fold my arms over my chest and stand my ground. “Am I wrong?”

  “No,” he grudgingly admits.

  “Well, then.” I glance at the clock on the wall. Two a.m. “How much longer?”

  He shrugs. “There’s a bed in the back that you can use for the night.”

  With crusted semen from God only knows how many of these guys? “I’m fine.” I’ve seen two guys stroll out from the dark, dingy hall that leads to the unknown part of the clubhouse since I’ve been here.

  The same stupid, sated grin on their faces, the same hooker on their arms.

  “Okay. Ain’t gonna fight with you.”

  “Finally . . .” I mutter, earning his snort.

  “Oh, look who it is . . . perfect timing.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the flip phone. I dive for it, but he’s too tall, twisting out of the way to answer. “Yup . . . yup . . . all good.”

  I drill into Bobby’s face with my impatient glare, making him uncomfortable enough to finally mutter, “Jesus, talk to her. She’s drivin’ me nuts.” He thrusts the phone into my waiting hands.

  As annoyed and confused as I am right now, I also miss Sebastian. I’ve gone from being with the man all day, every day, to being locked up in a smelly biker clubhouse with vague, random phone calls and no information to sustain me.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.” Sebastian’s voice is low and soft, as if he’s trying to keep quiet. I can’t hear anything in the background. “Are they treating you well?”

  “Yeah, fine. Where are you?” What are you doing? Is it one of those things that people won’t approve of?

  Silence answers me.

  “Will I approve of this?”

  After a long moment. “Yes. At least, I hope so.” I hear the sorrow in his voice, the worry.

  “Just tell me I won’t be held hostage by these bikers for much longer.”

  Bobby grumbles something unintelligible behind me.

  “I’ve gotta go. I just needed to hear your voice.”

  “You’re safe, right?” Will he end up with another bullet in his leg? Or worse?

  “See you soon, Ivy.”

  The phone goes dead, leaving me with an odd, inexplicable sense of dread.

  I try to slide the phone into my pocket, but Bobby snatches it out of my hand. He settles onto his stool and takes a swig of his beer, nodding at my drink. “Now that you’re done working on me, I’ll let you have a drink.”

  “Let me?” I roll my eyes. “Whiskey, neat.”

  The middle-aged Mexican playing bartender pours me a shot of Wild Turkey—I cringe, but he merely shrugs and says that’s all they’ve got—and I slam it back, earning Bobby’s laugh. “You know, you’re your uncle’s niece, that’s for sure. I can see why Ned was so happy to have you around.” He heaves a sigh. “He used to sit in that very seat after a game. Just for one or two, though.”

  “He never was a big drinker.” I haven’t felt that painful ball in my throat for some time now, but it flares up at the mention of Ned. Probably because I don’t have Sebastian to distract me. “Why did Sebastian send you to get me?” Why would Sebastian want me locked up here, behind walls and chain-metal fence and security? It’s obviously to keep me safe, but from whom?

  “He had something he needed to do.”

  “Bobby.”

  He avoids answering by taking another swig of his beer.

  “You’ve basically kidnapped me. I think you could at least tell me why.”

  “Can’t. Promised your guy.”

  “So you’re more loyal to him than to me?”

  “No, I was loyal to Ned. That’s why I’m doin’ this.” He purses his lips, as if he just said more than he wanted.

  “So this is about Ned.” I pause, as puzzle pieces begin clicking into place. I still don’t have any answer, really. But I think I’ve figured out one. “Sebastian knows who killed Ned, doesn’t he?”

  After a moment, Bobby offers only a nod and then a shrug. “Told you there was something off about him.”

  “Yes, you did.” And I dismissed it because I was too busy falling hard for the guy. It’s odd, but Bobby’s confirmation is somehow anticlimactic for me. I think my subconscious had already accepted it along with everything else about Sebastian that I can’t explain.

  I tap the counter with my empty shot glass,
waiting for another round, as I run through all kinds of questions in my head. Did Sebastian know before he met me, or did he find out at some point after? Who does he work for? Why the hell did he let me tattoo half his torso with my design?

  But more worrying to me than anything else right now . . . Does he really care about me, or has this all been some big scam?

  Because that will crush me.

  All these thoughts are going on under the mask of calm that I’ve mastered as I throw back my drink.

  Bobby watches me warily, as if he expects me to suddenly explode.

  “What?” I ask, and I realize my voice is way too steady.

  “I figured you’d take that news a little harder.”

  I divert the subject away from me and my feelings. “If you think there’s something wrong with him, then why are you helping him?”

  Bobby considers that for a long moment. “Because I don’t think he means you any harm.”

  And yet he’ll probably break my heart into a million tiny pieces.

  “Look, you two can hash all that out when you see him again. I don’t get involved in this shit. If you want uncomplicated, come sit on my lap. Otherwise, drink, ink, sleep . . . or shut up.”

  Exactly the kind of answer I’d expect from a guy like Bobby. I wave my empty shot glass at the guy behind the bar, who promptly fills it again.

  “To Ned,” Bobby says.

  I clink my glass against his. “To Ned.”

  FORTY-SIX

  SEBASTIAN

  The dilapidated trailer shows no signs of life—no lights, no sound. Apparently this is Ricky’s uncle’s property. Ricky dropped a trailer on it last year. He likes to come out here for weekends and shoot targets.

  It took just over four hours for me to get to this middle-of-nowhere location, just outside Reno, Nevada. If I couldn’t see the nose of an old Chevy pickup tucked behind the trailer, I’d think Bentley had sent me here on a wild-goose chase to get me away from San Francisco and Ivy. Had I not already secured her safety, I would have dragged him here with me just to be sure.

  As it is, this could be a trap.

  I move quietly and slowly in the dark until I find a sizable rock to hide behind. From there, I settle in, using night-vision binoculars that I swiped from Bentley’s stash.