I pulled on his hand. “Take me with you.”
He shook his head. “I can’t. It’s not safe for you, in Vegas.”
I followed him to the door, my anxiety growing. “Can’t you just surround me with guards and lock me away somewhere?”
He stopped and turned to face me. “I don’t trust my guys. I don’t trust anyone right now except for this group.”
He jabbed a finger in the direction of the poker game, which had fallen silent. “I know you’re safe here. And that’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.”
I frowned, and he pulled me to him. “It won’t be much longer, I promise. We’re closing in on Gwen’s father. I have a plan.”
“It was definitely her father?” I was afraid to ask if he was wrong. Afraid to think about the fact that there might be someone else out there that might want me—or Gwen—dead.
His face tightened. “Yes.” His voice grew strained. “He all but admitted it to me, before he found out he had Gwen killed by accident.” He leaned forward and kissed me, a quick hard brush of lips that didn’t ease my panic.
I reluctantly let go as he moved away. “I…” I wanted to say so many things. I wanted to thank him for coming. I wanted to tell him that I would be fine without him, even though it felt like a lie. I watched him lace up his shoes and ached at the pain that lined his face. He had so much on him right now. Gwen’s death. My safety. I straightened my shoulders and fought to keep the weakness out of my voice. “I don’t want you to worry about me.” I moved off the bed. “I’m fine here. Bored stiff. I feel guilty. But…” my voice warbled slightly. “I’m fine. Just focus on your stuff.”
He stood and stepped forward, meeting me in the middle of the dark room. The bathroom lamp lit his features, and I could see the way his gaze searched mine. “I hate abandoning you out here, but it’s for your own—”
I stopped him with a kiss. “I know. And I’m fine. I just wish…” Emotions welled and I struggled to tamper them down. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “About her.”
His mouth crumbled a little, the edge of his lips breaking before he pinned them together and brusquely nodded. “It wasn’t us, Bell. Her father… he did this. Not us. Don’t let yourself take on that burden.”
I nodded tightly, and his face softened.
“It’s hard for me, because I imagine, if it had been you, how differently I would feel. And that makes me feel as if I’m disrespecting her—” He broke off the sentence with a swear. “It’s just hell, what you and I are in right now. But, I love you. Miss you.”
He pulled me forward and planted a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”
He opened the bedroom door, gave me one final look, and walked out.
Nine
I laid in Laurent’s bed and listened to an engine start, heard the squeal of a belt as it reversed, then left. I rolled onto one side and thought about this disaster. It was like that puzzle that we worked on together, a pile of undone pieces that had to be sorted through and put into place. Only … it felt as if a timer was running, a countdown of sorts, Dario’s hands furiously picking through pieces and snapping them into place, and not quick enough to beat the clock.
What would happen when it hit zero, and the puzzle was incomplete? Would Hawk go free? Would he find and kill me?
I listened as the engine rumble grew softer, and had the sudden, panicked urge to sprint out the front door and chase him down. I got up and found my phone. Scrolled through to the number that Dario had called me from last night. I hit the green phone icon, and it connected.
“Hey.”
I crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over me, curling into a ball on my side. “Hey.”
“I’ll have to ditch this phone when I get on the plane.”
The thought of him being unreachable, of more days of silence and unknowing… I crushed my feelings into a tiny ball and swallowed them, trying to find some inner strength. “How long do you think it’ll take for them to arrest Gwen’s dad?”
He sighed, and there was the sound of wind in the background, static on the line. “I’m battling with the feds over what they’re doing now—which is trying to lure him into leading us to the professional who killed her—or finding something minor to arrest him for. Then, once he’s in custody, they’re hoping to search his homes and find something that’s gonna lock him away forever.”
“So, a hit man?” The words sounded cartoonish when coming from my lips. “He hired someone like that?”
“That’s my best guess. He would never have mistaken Gwen for you. And he wouldn’t have shot from behind. He would have wanted to confront you before pulling the trigger. He would have wanted you to know exactly why he was doing it. That’s just the sort of man he is.”
He spoke about it so matter-of-factly, and it was almost enough to insulate the impact of the words, of the real-life situation that almost occurred. I rolled onto my back and stared up at the dark blades of Laurent’s ceiling fan. I searched for a new topic. “You said they might arrest him for something minor. Like what?”
“White collar crimes. We haven’t exactly dotted every i in the last ten years. I’ve given the FBI access to our financials, plus they can dig through anything with Gwen’s name on it. Their forensic accountants should find plenty to work with.”
“But that would implicate you, also. Right?”
“Yes. They’ve agreed to grant me some immunity, and are going to first focus on the bank accounts that he and Gwen shared. But there’s a risk I will be charged as well. Legitimately charged—not the fake arrest. I didn’t—“
His voice broke off, and I filled in the gap. I didn’t kill Gwen.
“I know you didn’t.” It seemed like an important statement to make. And I believed it.
“I’ve got to go.” He paused, and the next words came out haltingly. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whispered the words, and they felt as flimsy as tissue.
Did our love, at that point, even matter? Had it all been for nothing given that our world, our future, had been obliterated? The feds were digging into Hawk, and from that research, Dario might be arrested. He might go to jail. He’d lost his best friend. His empire had lost their matriarch. Would Dario eventually associate loving me with this tragedy? Would he resent me for it?
I rolled onto one side and hugged one of Laurent’s pillows. I wanted to be on my parents’ couch watching television with Dad while I worked on schoolwork. I wanted my mom to come sit with me and brush my hair like she did when I was a kid. I wanted her hugs, and the assurances that everything was going to be okay. I gripped the pillow tighter and fought the loneliness, the desperate urge to call them.
* * *
LAS VEGAS PD
At 2 am, a meeting was held between the feds and the police chief. In the day since Dario Capece’s ‘arrest’, Robert Hawk hadn’t led them anywhere. There had been no suspicious calls, and no leads to whom he had hired for the hit. The FBI was getting itchy, and their forensic accounting team had uncovered enough bribery and mail fraud evidence to build a solid case. A terse discussion was had, dicks were pulled out and measured, and then a decision was made.
At 4 am, the team sat quietly, their backs against the walls of the vehicle, and listened to their captain. The cramped compartment smelled faintly of body odor, and the van bounced over a pothole, jostling them in their places.
Captain Dowdey finished his orders as the van came to a stop before the Vegas mansion. Gripping the paperwork firmly in one hand, he said a silent prayer and stepped out of the vehicle.
Sometimes it was easy. Sometimes you knocked on a door, and they opened it up and smiled at you—a smile that deflated when the arrest warrant was flashed, their shoulders sagging, body obediently turning to allow you to snap on the cuffs.
Most of the time, it wasn’t easy. Assholes crawled out windows and ran. Sometimes a mentally-unhinged individual locked himself in a back bedroom with an automatic rifle, intent on
killing as many uniforms as possible before going down.
Captain Dowdey climbed up the front steps and rapped on the door. Behind him, his men lifted their muzzles in preparation. As he waited, he hoped that this would be one of the easy ones.
After a moment, the man himself opened the door, dressed to impress, despite the early hour. He stepped forward and the dawn light illuminated his suit, one that must have put him back at least ten grand.
Dowdey shifted in his cheap pants, his Danner boots creaking in protest, and put on his best smile. “Mr. Hawk, I apologize for the early visit, but we are here to place you under arrest.”
“Ah.” Hawk adjusted the line of his suit. “And what, may I ask, are you arresting me for?”
“Bribery of a public official. Eight counts.” He resisted the urge to extend the arrest warrant, the gesture too similar to that of a child showing off a shiny toy.
“Bribery?” The man widened his eyes theatrically. “Now, that’s a federal crime. But you…” He waved a finger in the direction of the man. “You’re a local badge. And, what is your name?”
From behind the captain, Agent King stepped forward. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Hawk. We’re here too.”
The captain spoke up. “And I’m Captain Dowdey.”
The older man smiled, a gesture void of threat, as if they were two men waiting in line, discussing sports stats. “Ah yes. James Dowdey, right? You’ve got that lovely new bride…” His voice dropped off as he tucked his hands into his pocket and looked up at the ceiling, his face scrunching in thought. “Jennifer. James and Jennifer. Cute. Congratulations. There’s nothing more valuable to a man than his family.”
The friendly smile didn’t slip; the threat easily missed if one wasn’t looking for it. They’d found the bribery records in the bank statements. The intimidation … the coercion… that had been harder to prove in the last twenty-four hours. It was there; it was just impossible to get any officer to admit to it. As Hawk so clearly pointed out, there was little more valuable to a man than his family.
The Captain cleared his throat and stepped forward, keeping an eye on the two armed men who stood behind Hawk. They didn’t move, their hands still and visible, and he nodded to them as he pulled on Hawk’s shoulder, turning him away and grabbing one wrist as delicately as he could manage. The urge to wrench his arm from his socket, to painfully twist the joint and get the old man down on one knee … he let out a slow breath and focused on pulling his cuffs out and snapping one on.
He began to recite the Miranda rights.
* * *
THE CRAZY
In the bookstore, they had thought she was crazy. Funny how they were the ones who were actually chained up. Maybe not in a concrete cell, like she had been, but metaphorically speaking, they were chained by their jobs, their debts. Their dogged pursuits of money and material things. They didn’t understand, couldn’t understand the base principals that guided them.
She understood. That sort of clarity was realized when everything was taken away from you. When your life disappears, you realize the stupid things about it that you missed. Those stupid things showed your weaknesses. Robert had exposed all of hers. Shown her the triviality of them all. Released her from her shackles and given her a new life. A new purpose.
She’d gone back once. He’d opened the door to the warehouse and placed the car key in her hand. Told her to return to her old life and see what she had missed.
His timing, as always, had been impeccable. It had been Christmas day. She’d walked into her mother’s house and seen the signs everywhere. Materialism, dripping from the gift boxes and shopping bags. Gluttony, in the full table, sugary desserts and fat-ladened dishes. Insecurity, always present, her mother’s latest boyfriend as weak and uninteresting as all the others had been.
There had been lots of hugs. Tears. Words that meant nothing from a woman who had taught her nothing, nothing her entire life.
“Are you okay?” A stranger touched her arm and she snapped back to the present.
“I’m fine.” She stepped away, bumping into a woman, the downtown street crowded, people everywhere. Rats, that’s what they all were. Rats in mazes. Running around oblivious to their lack of purpose.
She spied a crosswalk and walked toward it, her eyes skipping over the buildings, looking for a place to hunker down for a few hours and hide. An electronics store caught her eye, the front display full of television screens, a name jumping out at her from the ticker on the bottom.
HAWK arrested. It was just a fleeting moment, the font whizzing by, replaced by useless sports updates and a hurricane warning somewhere in Florida. She stayed in place, her nose to the glass, waiting for the reel to return, and when it finally did, she inhaled sharply at what it said.
ON CHARGES OF BRIBERY, CASINO MOGUL ROBERT HAWK HAS BEEN ARRESTED.
Fucking rats.
* * *
BELL
“Come ya.”
Something poked at my calf and the sheet, which was tangled around me, tugged.
“Get up. Day’s a wasting.”
I rolled over and blinked at Laurent, taking in the plaid shirt and khakis—an interesting departure from his standard attire of fishing shirts and jeans. “Why are you all dressed up?”
He smacked my leg and nodded to the bathroom. “Allons. We running out of time.”
I sat up slowly, rubbing a sore spot on the side of my neck. “Running out of time for what?”
“Church. It’s Sunday, lazy bones.”
Church. The concept was so unexpected that I dropped my hand from my neck and turned to him. “Church? You’re going to church?”
He shook his head, his large hands coming to rest on his hips. “No, not me. We. Now go on and get washed up. We leaving in fifteen minutes.”
I didn’t move. “You want me to go to church?”
He grinned, his face creasing around the gesture. “Don’t worry, chere. You won’t catch fire.”
Catching fire hadn’t exactly been my concern. I slowly stood, grateful that Dario had had the sense to dress me before leaving. “Why do I have to come? Can’t I just stay here?”
From behind me, the bed beckoned. It’d be so easy to turn back around, crawl into the sheets, and go back to sleep. And during sleep, I didn’t have to think about Gwen, or Hawk, or anything. I started to get back on the bed, and Laurent caught my waist with a hand the size of a baseball glove.
“Ah, ah, ah. You going to church, because I’m not leaving you here. Boss man’s orders.”
I groaned, and any warm and fuzzies that may have accumulated during Dario’s pillow talk last night, vanished. “I don’t really go to church.”
He chuckled. “You don’t say. The little thing with the married man?” He wagged a finger at me as if I was a child. “Maybe you should. Be a lot less of a mess you in.”
I glared at him. “That sentence doesn’t even make sense.”
He clapped his hands, and the unexpected crack caused me to jump. “Now! Git or I be bringing Septime in here.”
I got. I could hear the shift of the living room floor as she moved and could imagine her striding in here, shoving me into the bathroom, and stripping me like a disobedient toddler.
I delicately trudged into the bathroom and turned on the shower, the red and orange number, hanging on a hook off the wall, caught my eye. I carefully lifted it, eyeing the dress, a size small, a clear indicator that it was for me.
“There’s a dress for you, hanging on the hook.”
“I found it.” I held it up against me, grimacing at the length, which ended right around my calves. It looked like the sort of thing an Amish wife would wear—if she liked gaudy colors and lace-trimmed collars. “Where did you get this?”
“It was my Momma’s.”
Great. Good thing I hadn’t insulted it. I gingerly hung it back on the hook and tried to imagine a size small woman who had birthed both Laurent and Septime. Poor thing. I hope they had the good drugs back then. A na
tural birth … I shuddered at the thought.
A fist pounded on the door and I glared in the direction of it.
“Be patient!”
“We leaving in ten minutes. If I need to, I’ll send Septime in after ya.”
Ten minutes. Ten minutes to shower and put on a dress that would make me the laughing stock of church.
Church. A place I hadn’t been in a dozen years. A place I probably didn’t belong within ten miles of.
I pulled off the sweatshirt and cursed Dario’s name to hell.
Ten
ROBERT HAWK
Some men, like some women, were designed for cages. They had the mentality that needed the rules and structure, yearned for the simple rewards of food and silence.
He was not that man, and the fact that he was in handcuffs right now was unacceptable. Especially given all of the money he paid to this department. Over a million dollars, last year alone, in discreet white envelopes, cash changing hands as regularly as whore abortions. A million dollars and he was in the back of this disgusting car, on a seat frequented by drug users and losers.
He shifted against the vinyl and contained his temper, swallowing all that he wanted to say. He watched the city move past, still wakening, the tourists not yet out, the worker bees in motion, and clenched his jaw shut.
Some men were designed for cages. He was designed to be the one who put them there, who punished the weak and disciplined their sins.
Gwen’s death was Dario’s sin. Had he not bedded that skank, brought her to The Majestic, flaunted her under Gwen’s nose—Hawk wouldn’t have had to act. He wouldn’t have needed to involve Claudia. And Gwen … Gwen wouldn’t have even been there, no doubt trying to understand Dario’s deceit, trying to save her marriage, trying to—
He bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted blood. A waste, that’s what it all was. A waste of bending over backward to give Gwen everything. A waste of training and testing Claudia, only to have her fail in the most unforgivable of ways. A waste of investing time and energy into Dario, a man who had stabbed him in the back after all that he had given him.