Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Gage
I t’s not a surprise I wake up covered in sweat, the nightmare roiling around in my head. We found her, in my nightmare. We found her, and Zarah stared at me, her eyes blank. I tried to shake her awake, but there was nothing left of her mind. Someone dragged me away, but in my dream I didn’t know who, and as I clawed at the floor trying to find purchase to stay with her, she drifted away, little pieces into the air, disappearing right in front of me.
I stagger to the shower and stand under the hot spray, shuddering against the wall.
Scrubbing at my hair, I struggle for some modicum of composure. I try to convince myself that even if I lose her, if I can save her, that’s all that matters. Maybe she’ll hate me, maybe she’ll look down on me, a poor guy living on the wrong side of the tracks, maybe she won’t be the woman I want to love after she’s off the drugs, but if I can save her from Jerricka and what that woman wants to do to her, if I can spare her more heartache, then the heartache I’ll live through in exchange will be worth it.
It has to be.
Zane calls, the sun barely rising. He knew I’d be awake. “He’s in the city.”
I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about. “Will he talk to us?”
“We won’t give him a choice. He’s staying at the St. Moritz.”
“One of yours?”
“No, but I know the manager and she’ll give us access.”
“When?”
“Right now. I’m downstairs.”
“You’re a cocky son of a bitch,” I say, heading toward the door.
“I have over twenty billion dollars behind my name. I’m allowed to be.”
He disconnects.
As much as she hates it, I leave Baby behind. She whines, but I can’t bring her along. The St. Moritz is one of the classiest hotels in the city—the rooms run into the thousands a night—and I don’t want to cause trouble.
I climb into Zane’s SUV, the sky tinged a milky pink. The stars are beginning to fade, bowing out to the impending sunrise. I like to run at this time of day, before the world wakes up. Try to chase my demons away. I have more than enough to fuel millions of miles.
So does Zane by the looks of it. It hasn’t been eight hours since I said goodbye to him and Stella, and I bet he got barely half that in sleep. Maybe he had nightmares like I did.
“What do you think we’re going to get out of him?”
Zane shrugs. “To be perfectly fucking honest, I didn’t consider him until you wrote his name down last night. But you’re right. You have to be. He has the money, he had the opportunity. The only thing missing is the why. Why would he drug my sister and those other girls? Was he one of Ash’s clients? Is he the job Zarah can’t remember? Did he kill Ingrid? What did Mallory do to him that he’d want to frame him for murder? Christ. Max.”
My brother’s name brings a lump to my throat and a huge rush of guilt. Sometimes I forget that in looking for Zarah, we could also be looking for my brother’s killer. There’s a possibility someone told Black to kill Max to keep him from finding out anything more about this case.
Over a year has gone by because I did nothing.
“How’s Stella?”
“Shaky. She and Willow are at the Crowne. Stella’s been trying to get out of her who she was fucking around with, but she won’t say—seals up tighter than a clam. Too bad she couldn’t keep her legs closed the same way.”
“All that means is the men she’d been sleeping with were married.”
“Or she knows they don’t want to be associated with her because she was married, too. Don’t rule anyone out,” Zane says. He crosses the Renegade, the river stretched out under us, the snowy banks hugging her silver curves.
The St. Moritz is located in the elegant, older part of downtown King’s Crossing, where ladies who lunch gossip over their tea and men who prize discretion over everything else spoil their lovers—if they can afford it. A valet shoots onto the sidewalk the moment Zane pulls up to the curb, and a doorman opens the gleaming glass door, smoothly letting us inside.
We stride through the gilt and subtle glitz of the lobby. Well, Zane strides. I shuffle. He fits in here, his suit pressed and his black wool coat hanging off his body just right. He commands everyone’s attention, from the sleepy concierge to the rich businessmen who are in town for meetings to the little dog cuddling in an older woman’s arms. Every single person turns, too terrified to utter a simple “Good morning.” They stare instead, wondering what he’s doing here, afraid he’s coming for them, disappointed he’s not. He’s notorious, infamous, and people fear him as much as they admire him.
He took down one of the largest crime families in the United States, all because he fell in love.
And marching across the marble, he sees none of it.
Gazes shift to me, the gutter rat as Jerricka called me chasing after him, not good enough to date his sister.
A woman wearing a navy blue suit runs across the expansive lobby to meet him, her heels clicking desperately against the floor.
“You’ll need a thicker skin than that,” he mutters.
“What do you mean?”
“I can feel the animosity from here. Control it or choke on it. Your choice. Diane,” he greets the woman who skids to a stop breathlessly in front of him, her skin flushed. “You know where he is?”
“He just sat down in the dining room. Ordered coffee. Please, Mr. Maddox, I know I owe you a favor, but—”
“We aren’t here to cause a scene. We just want to talk, that’s all.”
Diane heaves a sigh. “I haven’t had enough coffee for this. It’s not yet eight in the morning.”
“We lead exciting lives, darling,” he says, winking.
Zane must know the hotel, and he sets off.
“She’s old enough to be your mother.”
“She and my mother were friends, a long time ago.”
The dining room looks over a snowy garden, and the weak light glimmers through gauzy curtains.
Patrons peer at us over their coffee, croissants, and newspapers, pausing their conversations to wonder what Zane Maddox is doing here.
Zane zeros in on our former governor, Alan Guthrie, sitting alone at a table near the window. He’s sipping coffee, gazing into the white. He looks a bit sad, a little lost, and I don’t want to assume anything, but he doesn’t look like a killer.
He catches Zane crossing the dining room and sighs. “A little early, isn’t it?” he asks tiredly, slouching in his chair.
Zane and I slide into seats at his table, and reluctantly, Guthrie gestures, asking the waitress to serve more coffee.
“This won’t take up much of your time. We just have a couple of questions,” Zane says, and he nods at the waitress as she fills his cup. She fills mine too, but she doesn’t linger and I can’t thank her. “We went to see Ashton Black.”
Guthrie scoffs. “How does that concern me?”
“My sister is missing, and we’re trying to find her. Do you know Jerricka Solis?”
He frowns. “I don’t believe I do. Perhaps her name sounds familiar, but I haven’t met her personally if that’s what you’re asking.”
“How long have you been in King’s Crossing?”
“A couple of days. It’s fortuitous you’re here. I wanted to thank you for coming through for Nora. That’s why I’m in the city. I’m putting my affairs in order and I’m moving up to Maine to be close to her. I’d like to be able to visit, even if it is just once a week.”
“I didn’t do much.”
“You probably saved her life, and I’m in your debt. It’s the only reason I didn’t call security when I saw you come in. I didn’t have anything to do with Zarah’s disappearance, and I’m sorry the Blacks are still giving you trouble.”
“Why do you think this concerns the Blacks?”
“Because you said you spoke to Ashton Black. I don’t know what he told you that led you to me, but I can assure you, I had no part in whatever it is you’re looking into.”
“When Nora and Ash were working together, did you know what they were doing?” I ask. The conversation’s stalling. Zane can’t bring up Ingrid or Mallory, or even Max, without sounding like he’s accusing Guthrie of crimes he may not have committed.
“Did I know Nora was helping him sell women? Did I know she was planning to pack women onto a cargo ship like sardines and ship them to God knows where? Did I know about the prostitution service Black was conducting out of Ladies and Gentlemen and that he would drag Nora into the shit? Did I know—”
“Did you know when he shot into the crowd he was aiming for my brother?”
Guthrie blinks. “I didn’t consider he was aiming at anyone.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Black shot me, too, but luckily it was a simple flesh wound that healed quickly.”
“When we spoke, he insinuated someone told him to shoot Max. Do you have any idea if he and Nora were working with someone? For someone?”
Shrugging, Guthrie says, “I assumed that was his father.”
I slump. Of course. The one person who wasn’t on my list. Clayton Black. He would want Max dead because Max started the whole thing, investigating Lark’s and Kagan’s deaths and the plane’s missing black box.
A silence falls over the table, and Guthrie looks at us, waiting. I don’t want to be done asking questions but there are no more questions to ask, and since there aren’t, there’s no reason to hang around and hold up this man’s breakfast.
“Did you and Willow Black have an affair?” Zane asks, stabbing blindly. I may not know Guthrie well, but what I know of his love and loyalty for his daughter, he’s a family man and would never have an affair with a married woman.
Guthrie leans back and rests an ankle on his knee. He rubs his lips. “Willow Black. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Truth or Dare reported seeing her outside the Crowne Royale yesterday. Yours, isn’t it, Maddox? I wonder what she was doing there. I used to see her around the city, before her husband and son were arrested. We would attend the same dinners and fundraisers. She’d always be made up to perfection, almost to the point where she looked untouchable. Simply stunning. What man could resist? But, to answer your question, no. I never had an affair with Willow Black. If two of the most powerful men in the United States lay claim to a woman, you steer clear.” He twists the wedding band on his left hand. “Besides, I miss my wife. She’s been gone a long time now, and I still haven’t found a woman who can compete. Maybe I never will.”
“ Two of the most powerful men in the United States?” I ask. “I’m assuming one of them was her husband.”
“Black wanted Willow because everyone else did. That’s the only reason he didn’t divorce her. He knew she could replace him in an instant, and it was a point of pride he was married to her. Of course, that didn’t stop other men from drooling, and there was only one man in King’s Crossing who could tell Black he wanted his wife and there was nothing Black could do about it.”
“Rourke Cook.” I fill in the blank.
Zane huffs in frustration. “But what did Cook have over Clayton Black?”
“Well, son, it’s one of three things. Sex, money, or power. I told you that when you came out to the house. Men can’t keep it in their pants. Trust me, the world would run more smoothly if they could keep it zipped up. You know that firsthand, and you,” he says to me, “will find out if you haven’t already. Now that my breakfast has been properly ruined, I’ll take my leave. I’m sure you won’t mind picking up my check in exchange for the time I gave you. Good day, gentlemen.”
He leaves the dining room and doesn’t look back, just the way, I think, he’ll leave King’s Crossing.
“That was a complete waste of time,” I grumble and pour more coffee out of the carafe Guthrie left behind into my cup.
“Not so much. He implied Willow didn’t have a choice, and I thought she was sleeping with Cook because she wanted to. Maybe Cook really did have something on Clayton, and Clayton couldn’t stop him.”
“I don’t care about the bedroom games of the rich and famous. Zarah’s missing and I just want her back.” My voice cracks, and I look out the window, embarrassed. We’re no closer to finding her, and even though I shouldn’t have, I had a lot of faith Guthrie knew something that could have helped us.
Zane sighs. “I’m choosing to believe Jerricka’s intentions are good and that she’s not going to hurt her. That’s the only thing keeping me going right now. Let’s go back to the Crowne. Maybe Stella and Willow found something.”
“No. Drop me at home, please. Baby needs to go out, and I’m going to touch base with Pop. Maybe get a couple more hours of sleep.”
“Okay.” Zane pauses. “We’re going to find her.”
“Yeah. We will. And then what?”
Zane purses his lips and gets up from the table without saying another word.
Baby’s happy to see me after such a short time. It’s easy for me to be gone all day, and she bounces in excitement when I step into the apartment. I let her run outside and suck in the cold air in a poor attempt to clear my head.
There’s one vital piece we’re missing, and no matter how much we dig, we don’t find anything except shit that has nothing to do with what we’re looking for. Guthrie had little to offer us, though I suppose it was unrealistic to hope that even if we had the right questions he’d give us all the answers we needed to find Zarah and figure out what they were doing to her at Quiet Meadows.
Jerricka is linked to the facility through Dr. Pederson, collaborating with him after the facility closed, and by her engagement to a doctor who used to work there and ran tests on the patients.
It’s possible Clayton told Ash to shoot Max, but when we talked to Ash at the prison, Ash didn’t say it was his father. He was on a level of crazy I’ve never seen before—which is saying something in my line of work—but I think Zane had a point. If Clayton had told Ash to shoot my brother, he would have said so.
And he didn’t.
Someone else told him to kill Max to shut him up, and even Ashton Black was afraid to say his name.
I wonder now that Willow’s free if she’s hiding at the Crowne to stay off Rourke’s radar, or maybe now that Clayton’s behind bars, the game lost its fun. It’s interesting Willow was under Rourke’s thumb the way Zarah was under her son’s. What goes around comes around, even for the rich.
I call Baby inside, and I don’t try to avoid my bed any longer. Traces of Zarah’s scent linger on the pillow and I hug it to me, breathing in deeply. I miss her so much. How am I going to be able to let her go if after all this she decides she doesn’t want me anymore?
It’s a thought too painful to contemplate, but I need to be prepared. I need to have a Plan B in case Zarah doesn’t want me in her life after everything goes down.
To take my mind off that, I call Pop. He sounds alert and maybe just a little too chipper for his own good.
“Did you find out anything?” he asks.
“No. Zane and I talked to Guthrie again this morning, but he didn’t have anything new to say. At least, nothing that could clue us in on where Zarah could be. I’m scared, Pop.”
“It’s going to be okay. We spoke to Jerricka, remember? She doesn’t seem like the type who would do anything violent.”
Pop wasn’t there when I confronted her, and I got a different taste of what she’s capable of. “It’s always the people who look the most innocent who end up guiltier than fuck.”
“Let’s hope in this case that isn’t true. What’s the plan?”
“If we can’t find something on our own, we can report her missing, but she left willingly, and she’s not a minor. I doubt the cops would do anything.”
“Where’s Zane?”
“He went back to the Crowne. Stella and Willow are trying to track down Jerricka’s lake house. It’s like they fell off the face of the earth.”
“I’ll do what I can, but I have to work on some of our other cases. I told the husband we had to drop his case, and I referred him out.”
I wince. In all this, I forgot we have other cases on our roster. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand Zarah’s safety comes first and I don’t want you to think I don’t care because I’m fulfilling our other clients’ contracts.”
“No, I get it. If you have to come back to the city, let Zane know. I’m sure he’d rather have Lucille at the penthouse than in the country by herself.”
“Got it. Good luck and watch yourself.”
“Yeah, you too.”
At a loss, I roll out of bed and trudge into the kitchen. My stomach is too knotted to eat anything, and I start a pot of coffee. I carry a mug up to my loft, settle into my office chair, and open my laptop. I stare at the wallpaper, a picture of Zarah sleeping in my bed. I can’t remember when I took it or how it ended up on my laptop, but I trace the delicate lines of her face and push back the tears that threaten to blind me.
This is so much worse than when Viv left me.
This is so much worse, and I didn’t ask for any of it. All I did was save Zarah from a pack of paparazzi vultures and this is the thanks I get.
A broken heart so shattered I may never fall in love with anyone else ever again.
It’s difficult to sit and do nothing when I know Zarah’s in trouble.
Restless, I go back downstairs and flop on the couch.
Baby watches me. She knows something isn’t right, and I scratch behind her ears.
I pick up my phone to call Zane, then put it down. He’ll call me if he hears any news. I could go to the office and help Pop work on some other cases, but all that would do is waste time. I’m in no mind to work on anything but finding Zarah, and until we can locate Jerricka’s lake house, we’re at a dead end.
Sipping my coffee, I try to move the pieces around, but no matter how hard I cram them together, I can’t make them fit.
Mom and I didn’t find anything in Max’s apartment that would shed any more light on things. I have to assume everything he wanted me to have he left for me to find in the roasting pan in his oven. It seems like a waste to page through his journal, and the CDs don’t have anything on them but snippets of Rourke’s conversations that probably aren’t relevant now because I waited too long to settle Max’s estate.
But I don’t have anything else to go on, and I grab Max’s diary. I hate reading the entries where he writes about Zarah, and I skip to the front instead, to when he hadn’t teamed up with Richard Denton, Stella, and Zane, when he hadn’t met Zarah, and when I didn’t want to acknowledge his existence.
Mom invited me over for dinner tonight. She asked if I had a date, and of course I said no. I haven’t met anyone who wants to put up with my erratic schedule or my penchant for snooping where I don’t belong. She keeps asking if I want her to set me up, and it’s humiliating. I can find my own girlfriend. Maybe. It was easier in college. I wish I had Gage’s easy way, his don’t-give-a-shit attitude. He always has a girl hanging on him. Not any woman Dad would let me marry, but I’m not thinking about that right now. I’m more focused on work, building my reputation.
Speaking of that, I’m glad I went to dinner. I smell a story, but I would need more to go on than what they were talking about tonight, or maybe I’m just imagining things because Mom was acting strange all night. She kept looking at Dr. Mallory out of the corners of her eyes. At one point, they reached for the salt at the same time, and his hand brushed hers. She was so flustered, she tipped over her wineglass.
I have never seen Mom look anything less than cool and calm. His fiancée didn’t appreciate it either, Jerricka Solis. Doctor Jerricka Solis, psychiatrist to the rich, the famous, and the crazy. They’re a match made in heaven, what with him treating dementia and Alzheimer’s patients. He said they’re working on a new drug, and Dad’s very interested in the results.
Anyway, Dad pretended nothing was going on, but there was more sexual tension at our table than in my old dorm at school. Is Mom cheating on Dad? I can’t blame her if she is. I know Dad has been less than faithful. And Dr. Mallory is good looking, in a tired kind of way.
It was a relief when dinner was over and I could go home. I don’t want to imagine Mom screwing another man. Thinking about her and Dad is bad enough.
Maybe I do need a girlfriend, but I think my parents are having enough sex for everybody.
I slam the journal shut.
Dr. Stephen Mallory was the man Mom was having an affair with? He never mentioned anything when we went to talk to him, but what was he going to say? “By the way, Davenport, your mother and I were sleeping together and she’s good in the sack?” It’s something Rourke would say about one of his conquests, but I can’t picture Mallory being so crass. Especially when it sounds like Mallory and Mom could’ve actually loved each other.
I grab my cell and bring up Mom’s number. The only thing I can do is ask. I don’t know what this will change, but it feels significant. Maybe not a turning point, but close to it.
Something bursts through my window, glass flying everywhere, and a recliner I rarely sit in explodes into a ball of flames.
Surprised, I fall off the couch and onto the floor, clipping my elbow on the edge of the coffee table. I stagger to my feet, my heart pounding.
Fuck.
Baby growls, her hair standing up along her back.
Heat scorches my skin, and the acrid odor of melting plastic plugs up my nose. The fire leaps and catches the curtains Mom insisted I hang when I moved in here.
I don’t keep a fire extinguisher in my apartment, but the management stores one in the hallway. I run to the door and turn the knob, but the door doesn’t budge. Whoever threw that firebomb cut off my quickest way to escape.
Any firefighter will tell you to exit the building immediately, and I’m totally on board with that, but I shove my cell into the back pocket of my jeans and grab Max’s journal first, fire licking at the ceiling above my head. My eyes water, and breathing shallowly through my mouth, I call Baby and she follows me upstairs to the loft. There isn’t a way out downstairs, not anymore. The window’s frozen shut, and I slam Max’s lockbox against the glass. It cracks and shatters, and I use a throw blanket to brush the shards away.
Smoke and flame climb up the stairs and fire eats at the wall. I don’t have much time, and the shrieking alarms threaten to deafen me. Someone must have already called nine-one-one—the faint sound of sirens wails at me through the broken glass. “This isn’t going to be much fun, but you have to trust me,” I say to Baby.
She whines in response, but she stiffens and lets me pick her up and set her on the fire escape’s landing. There’s no way I’m letting her go down the steep and narrow stairs alone, and I keep her still snapping, “Stay.” I need my hands free, and I tuck Max’s journal down my jeans at the small of my back. Carefully, I climb out the window, avoiding the jagged pieces of glass still stuck in the windowpane. I don’t have my boots on and didn’t think to grab a jacket.
Wind slaps at my face and hair blows into my eyes. With a frustrated swipe, I clear my vision. I pick Baby up and lean against the rail, steadying myself. I’ve never had to use the fire escape before, and I pray it’s anchored well to the wall.
Black smoke plumes into the sky, and several people who live in the apartment complexes near mine come out to watch.
At the bottom of the fire escape, I drop Baby to the ground. She wades through the snow and waits for me. I jump, the drifts reaching my knees, and I follow her path as she plows through to reach the snowbank hugging the road.
I round the corner, my feet blocks of ice, and a firetruck is rolling to a stop near the building. From what I can tell, the living room and my loft will be the biggest loss, and I’m glad I thought to grab Max’s diary. His award is still sitting on my bookshelf and I left my laptop on my desk, but there’s no use hoping they’ll be okay.
Firefighters hose my apartment down, and a woman who lives in my building stands next to me. “Your butt’s talking,” she says, shivering, watching them spray thick streams of water into what used to be my living room.
“What?” I don’t know her name. I’ve never introduced myself to my neighbors, only cursed them for hogging the washers and dryers in the laundry room.
“Your butt’s talking. Do you have your phone in your pocket? Maybe you accidentally called someone.”
“Shit. Thanks.” I pat Baby and she licks my hand. I’m relieved I was able to get her out without her getting hurt. My nerves are already so raw, I don’t know what I would do if something happened to my dog. I answer my phone. “Mom?”
“Gage? What’s going on? I heard an explosion. Are you okay? I called the police.”
“Someone threw a firebomb through my living room window. The fire department’s here now. Baby and I are okay.”
“Thank God. Gage, this is frightening. Who’s trying to kill you?”
“I don’t—” I stop.
Like a key aligning tumblers in a lock, everything I know about this case lines up and clicks into place.
“Mom. Do you happen to know where Jerricka Solis’ lake house is located?”
“Why do you want to know that at a time like this?”
“She has something that belongs to me.”