Chapter Six
Nick followed Rafe through the front door of the Boudreau ranch, instantly feeling the warmth that seemed to exude from the very walls. In this house, this home, he could feel the love and the sense of peace held within the solid structure, right down to the foundation. It was more than bricks and mortar, more than four walls and a roof. It was the men and women who had resided within it over the years, and he couldn’t help but wonder how different his life might have been if he’d been allowed to stay. Been raised in this place, by Douglas and Ms. Patti. One thing was certain, when he finally settled down—if that day ever happened—he’d never settle for less than what he saw and felt right here.
“Nick!” Ms. Patti flew through the opening from the kitchen, her arms open. Within seconds, she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight. He folded his arms around the petite woman, returning the hug. How long had it been since somebody spontaneously hugged him?
“Sweetheart, let the man breathe,” Douglas followed his wife slowly from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
“I can’t help it. I’m just so happy he’s home again.” Stepping back, she looked up, meeting his gaze. “We’ve missed you.”
For a second, he couldn’t speak, the words lodged in his throat. “I missed you too.”
Gesturing toward the living room, Douglas said, “Come in, son, make yourself comfortable. Food will be ready in a minute.” Douglas directed his stare at Rafe. “Anybody else coming for lunch?”
Rafe shook his head. “Chance needed to get to the office and meet with a client whose case is going to court on Monday. Tessa is dropping Beth at her house and she’ll be here in a bit. Camilla and Heath might drop by later, but it’ll be after we eat. Speaking of eating, what are we having?”
Douglas laughed. “Your momma had to work this morning, so we’re having lasagna. She put a couple of them in the freezer the last time she made some. It’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes. Nica will finish up the salad, if she ever gets off the phone and comes downstairs. I swear, that gal should just have the phone implanted into her head, as much as she’s on it.”
“I heard that,” Nica complained, bounding down the stairs. “I’m not on the phone that much. Sheesh.” She stopped at the foot of the stairs, her gaze colliding with Nick’s. “Hi, Nick. Nice to have you here.”
“Thanks.”
Nick studied the young woman. He’d seen her a couple of times in the last few months, but they’d barely spoken more than a couple of words. The last time he been in town, she’d been at AM, trying to finish up and prepare for her upcoming graduation. Things had changed a lot with the pretty blonde. She had been just a little tyke when he’d lived at the Big House. In his memories, she raced around the corrals and barn area, speeding a mile a minute, her blonde pigtails flying behind her, with a bright, gap-toothed smile, because she’d lost one of her front teeth. Veronica Boudreau, fondly known as Nica by her family, the only biological child of Douglas and Ms. Patti, their miracle baby, after being told they’d never have a child.
“Don’t I rate a hello, brat?”
Nica shifted her gaze to Rafe, and Nick caught the smirk on the other man’s lips. “Not with that attitude, big brother.”
Rafe streaked past him, grabbing Nica in his arms, and blowing raspberries on her neck. She shrieked with laughter, beating uselessly on his shoulders.
“Lemme go, you big ox.”
Laughing, Rafe released her. It was obvious to Nick the love between them. Though they didn’t share blood, the bond and affection was clearly evident. A pang of envy crept in, and he quashed it, burying it deep inside. He might not have been raised within this family, but once he’d been found by Calvin, they’d developed their own family, albeit different than the one shared by the Boudreaus. Calvin didn’t show his affection the way the Boudreaus did, but Nick knew the man cared for him. He’d been a father to him for a long time, as well as his boss. Dang if he didn’t miss the old goat right now.
“I’m going to go check on lunch. Back in a minute. Nick, don’t you be running off again.” Ms. Patti’s words were said teasingly, but Nick knew she was dead serious. Not that he could blame her. It seemed like every time he showed up at the Big House, he got called away or somebody got shot.
“Let’s move to the living room. Give us a chance to talk, and you can fill me in on what you’ve found out about the shooter.”
Douglas led the way, with Rafe and Nick trailing behind. Easing his long length onto the sofa, Nick looked around, noting the changes. While the walls and floor were the same, there were other things that were different. The mantle over the fireplace held pictures of each of the boys—now men, some with families of their own—as well as pictures of Nica. A young girl of about six or maybe seven holding a newborn infant sat smack in the middle of all the photos. Nick easily figured this must be Brody’s stepdaughter and his new son. On the end of the row of photos, he took in the pictures of two grown adult men and wondered who they could be.
“That’s Brian McKenna and Gage Newsome, two of Momma’s Lost Boys. Like you. The ones who didn’t end up lasting here at the ranch, though they wanted to. Over the last year, they’ve reconnected with the family and are back in the fold.” Rafe grinned. “You know Momma. Once you’re in her heart, you’re always a part of our ever-growing brood.”
“Lost Boys, huh? Makes us sound like Peter Pan rejects or something.”
Rafe made a choking sound, like he was biting back his laugh. “Seems fitting, doesn’t it? Mind you, we all know how lucky we were, and still are, to be raised by Dad and Momma. But there were a few of you, ones who should have been able to stay, who wanted to live here, but got ripped away or put back into the system.” Rafe glanced toward his father, before he continued. “Momma started calling y’all her Lost Boys, and the name stuck.”
“There wasn’t a day that went by where we didn’t think about you. You and Brian and Gage. We fought to keep you.” Douglas’ deep voice held so much sincerity, the hurt underlying his words struck Nick square in the chest. “I promise you, we did everything. When DPS came and took you, we looked into why. Patricia and I have a friend, a social worker who has referred a few of our sons here over the years.” Douglas smiled at Rafe, and Nick caught his almost imperceptible nod.
“Mrs. A.” Fondness accompanied Rafe’s response. He obviously had a soft spot for the former social worker.
“Yes. She checked into your case, Nick, utilizing connections we didn’t have when you vanished. She did her best to help find you too. When you first left the Big House, we were told you would be sent back to live with your mother, under supervision. A couple of months later, Mrs. A called me. Said you’d disappeared without a trace. Your mother claimed you’d run away, that you’d be back when you got hungry enough or scared enough of being homeless. I contacted the local police department, spoke with the officer assigned to your case. Mrs. A went a different route, talking to her contacts on the streets, because she knew you were special to me and Patricia. Knew you had people who cared about what happened to you. The deeper she dug, the more she was convinced you hadn’t run away, because she knew if you had, you’d have somehow managed to make it back to Shiloh Springs. To us. The police, of course, disagreed with her assessment.”
Nick easily read the disgust on Douglas’ face at that moment. Clearly Douglas hadn’t been happy with the police and whoever had been in charge of his case. Not that he blamed him. No cops had shown up looking for him. Not that they’d have found him, because he was shipped out of Texas pretty quickly.
After my mother sold me.
He fought back the shudder at the remembered despair the memory brought with it. The heartbreak of knowing his mother hadn’t loved him, hadn’t cared for him at all, except as a source of getting enough money to keep her high for a little while. Last he’d heard, she’d died of an overdose not long after that.
He hadn’t mourned her loss.
Before he could say anything, the phone in his pocket vibrated. He’d put it on silent mode because the time he spent with the Boudreaus was precious. A small pocket of time where he wanted no interruptions. Ignoring the call, he started to lean back when the text alert signal on the phone went off. Whoever it was wasn’t going to give up until he answered.
“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” he told Douglas, when he saw Grant Calvin’s face pop up on the screen.
“Go ahead. Lunch will be ready when you’re finished.” With that, Douglas rose and headed for the kitchen, Rafe following close behind, leaving Nick alone in the living room. Shaking his head, he hit the redial button, returning Calvin’s call.
“Are you avoiding my calls?”
“Hello to you, too. And no, I’m not avoiding your calls. I’m busy. You remember, trying to track down the person who took a shot at me and hit Antonio Boudreau instead?”
“Which is why I’m calling, dingo breath. I’ve got news.”
Nick’s spine straightened and he scooted to the edge of the sofa, his whole body going to attention. “Tell me.”
“I did a little checking into our friend Brashear’s activities since he’s a guest of Australia’s finest penal system. The only person who’s been to see him has been his attorney—or rather his team of attorneys—since the bloody arse has enough money he can afford to have multiple legal sharks constantly circling the waters, waiting for any hint of blood in the water. Nobody else has even asked to see him.”
“Tell me he doesn’t have access to any kind of communication with the outside world. No e-mail, phone, snail mail.”
“He’s locked down tight,” Calvin’s gruff voice brooked no argument. “Man can’t even sneeze without me knowing about it. I’ve checked out every member of his legal team because I don’t trust anybody. Lawyers, bah, the whole lot of them are suspect. I haven’t been able to find anything suspicious—yet. None of them are living above their means. No sudden deposits of large amounts, no small amounts either. No Bitcoin, no cryptocurrency, no offshore accounts. Unless they’re dealing with something I can’t track, like precious gems, he’s not our guy.”
Nick rolled his shoulders, heard the audible crackle in his neck. His gut had told him Brashear wasn’t his guy, but there’d been a small chance he could’ve been wrong. Heck, he’d almost hoped he was, because then he could have tied things up quick and easy, had an answer and a reason for somebody taking a potshot at him.
“What about Simon Norville? Last I checked, he still has visitor privileges. Gets family visits. Two sisters and one brother are on the visitor logs. He could have hired somebody. Man hates my guts.”
He heard Calvin’s long sigh. “According to the warden, Norville’s been a model prisoner. Never rocks the boat or initiates trouble. Bugger’s got everybody snowed, thinking he’s a little milquetoast, but we both know he’s got the mind of a bloody genius. I have been assured, however, that he still has no access to computers or cellphones, nothing where he’d have access to the internet.”
Nick rolled his eyes at that. “Right. And I believe I’m a little green man dancing around in a tutu. We both know cell phones get smuggled inside practically every day. For every illegal phone the guards confiscate, there are half a dozen more available to the inmates for the right price. One simple phone call or e-mail on a burner phone, and Norville could have access to anything he wanted. He had any visitors lately?”
“You mean besides the Sheilas lining up to see him? The man’s got a bloody fan club. He’s become some kind of online celebrity ever since his arrest. They’ve made him into this Robin Hood of the internet, and we’re the horrible monsters who keep him from doing his good work of stealing from big corporations and spreading the wealth to the little guys. Can you believe this wanker? Making folks believe he’s sharing his ill-gotten gains with everybody and keeping none of the money for himself.”
Nick drew in a long breath, his mind trying to process the fact that women, and probably some men too, were buying the baloney Norville pedaled. There had been a mountain of evidence against him, accumulated over months of painstaking computer work and interviews before they’d been able to track the illegal transactions back to him. The man was smart, he’d give him that. Brilliant, in fact. He’d been illegally funneling money from large corporations and transferring it to charitable accounts. Programs that were meant to help those people who needed it most. Too bad those charities didn’t actually exist but were an elaborate scheme set up by Norville. He ended up bilking corporations of hundreds of millions of dollars.
“What’s your gut telling you, Calvin? Do you think it’s him?”
“Everything I’ve been able to uncover says he’s not our guy. At least on the surface. Could have been Fleming, but the man’s trying to rebuild his reputation with the Hollywood crowd, and he’s keeping his nose clean. Well, other than the cocaine he’s snorting almost daily, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
Nick laughed. He was well aware of Fleming’s nose candy addiction. As much as he tried to hide it, the truth was bound to come out sooner or later. Too many paparazzi and tabloid reporters still dogged his heels, trying to catch him around kids again.
“I’ve discounted Brashear too. He’s locked down tight. I spoke with one of the guards there yesterday, and they said he’s all bluster and no bite. For now, I’m crossing him off my list. He’s a wannabe kingpin but he’s a tiny fish compared to some of the sharks he’s locked up with.” Nick spoke softly, though he wasn’t afraid of anybody overhearing. He knew he’d be telling the Boudreaus anyway. They deserved to know any information he and Calvin uncovered, if only for Antonio’s sake.
“I agree. The others who are out, I’m not feeling them for this. My gut’s telling me it’s Norville. The question is two-fold. How’d he get in touch with a hitman, because I want that leak plug right bloody now. And who took the shot? We need to find them and shut them down before anybody else gets hurt. And by anybody else, I mean you, you blockhead.”
“You do know I can take care of myself, right? I’m a big boy now, Calvin, and can tie my own shoes and brush my teeth without you holding my hand.” Nick’s voice held a teasing note. This was a conversation they’d had many times over the years. To Calvin, Nick would always be the snot-nosed kid he’d rescued, brought into his home where he and his wife had helped raise him, get him past the trauma, and loved him like he was their own son. Something he never forgot. His life might have once been in a whirling cesspool, but he’d been lucky enough to find not one, but two families who’d proven to him that love was real and he wasn’t really alone in this world.
“Shut it, Nick. You’re not too big I can’t whoop you.”
Nick laughed out loud, a belly laugh at the picture that presented. He was a good foot taller than the older man and could probably pick him up with one hand.
“Thanks, dude, I needed that. Listen, keep checking. I’ve got people checking the smaller airports, to see if an out-of-towner might have flown in locally instead of using Houston or Dallas.”
“Good idea. I’ve got Hopkins checking international, seeing if somebody flew from here to Europe or Asia and then backtracked to Texas. Don’t worry, son, we’ll figure this out. Gemma said to tell you she loves you, and to call when you get a chance. She misses you.”
“Miss her too. Give her my love and tell her I’ll be home soon.”
Disconnecting the call, Nick leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, frustration riding him. He didn’t feel like they were any closer to figuring out this problem than they’d been from day one. But he wasn’t about to give up. Nope, whoever had taken the fateful shot that started this whole debacle had made one single mistake. They’d underestimated the tenacity of a family who loved their children with a ferocity that defied words. And like Nick, the Boudreaus wouldn’t give up until they had the shooter behind bars.
With a sigh, he stood and headed toward the kitchen, ready to update the Boudreaus on his conversation with Grant Calvin, and let them know he wasn’t giving up on finding out who’d shot Antonio.
And it looked like he still had a bull’s eye in the middle of his back. It would be easier to narrow down the suspects if he was home in Australia, but he was reluctant to leave Shiloh Springs just yet. There was something coming, and whether good or bad, he was here until the case was solved.