Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Gideon
“You okay?” Henry asked as he pulled the SUV to a stop a block away from a Victorian house in the Buckhead area of Atlanta.
An uneasy sense of déjà vu filled me as I studied the old building. There was something familiar about the turrets and wrap-around porch. Not to mention the sign out front with Buckhead Funeral Home on it, the elaborate B styled in the same way as the pin Brian McGuire wore in his website photo.
This place made my skin crawl, and Henry knew it.
“Yeah. Fine.”
I gave him a reassuring smile, trying to downplay the knot building in my stomach. I couldn’t lose focus now. Not when my gut told me there was a damn good reason James Turner flew all the way out here, and it had nothing to do with planning Alton’s memorial service.
“Looks like it’s showtime,” I announced when a sleek, dark sedan passed by, much to my relief.
Henry shifted his attention away from me as the car turned into the public lot across the street that was shared by several other area businesses —coffee shops, boutique clothing stores, even a bakery.
Clicking a button on his comm unit, Henry announced, “He’s parking now.”
I grabbed a small pair of binoculars and held them up to my eyes, watching James get out of the sedan, wearing casual clothes along with a baseball cap.
Which only increased my suspicion that something was going on. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him dressed so casually. I didn’t think he owned anything other than designer suits and top-of-the-line golf attire.
As he hurried along the sidewalk, his attention remained glued to his phone, causing him to bump into a man jogging past him. Without missing a beat, James berated him.
The runner gave an apologetic smile, then continued down the sidewalk while James returned his attention to his phone.
“It’s done,” a voice crackled over Henry’s laptop.
“Copy,” Henry responded.
“What’s done?” I asked.
He gestured toward the runner. “I had one of my guys slip a tiny microphone into his pocket in case they meet somewhere I can’t access.” He hit a few keys on his laptop, bringing up a security feed of the funeral home.
The second he did, another wave of déjà vu slammed into me, this time leaving me momentarily breathless. Especially when I saw a few of the preparation rooms. More memories flashed before my eyes, but as had been the case for years, they were too foggy and jumbled for me to make much sense of with any certainty. But something about that sterile, windowless room stirred something loose in my memory. It wasn’t that exact room, but I remember waking up in a room just like it after the man I thought to be a good Samaritan came to my rescue as I bled out in my car.
“You okay?” Henry studied me, his concern increasing with every second.
“Fine. I just… Being back in Atlanta again is bringing up some memories.”
I fully expected him to call me out on my bullshit, but before he could, there was a motion on one of the feeds. A man walked down a long hallway and opened the front door.
“Senator Turner,” he greeted James with a handshake as he entered the foyer. “It’s good to see you again, although I’m sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”
I leaned closer, analyzing every detail about the two men. Their words. Their tone. Their body language. Anything that could provide a clue about what was going on.
But there was nothing.
“You and me both, Mr. McGuire.” James forced a sad smile, playing the part of the bereaved friend. Much like he did in the video clips I saw of him after my supposed passing. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private? As I mentioned, there’s a very pressing matter I need to discuss with you.”
“Certainly. This way, please.” Brian spun around and walked down the hallway with an air of confidence.
What was James’ connection to him?
And why did I sense Brian had the upper hand?
“I worried this might happen,” Henry remarked when the two men disappeared from view.
“What’s that?”
“That they’d talk in Brian’s private office. It’s one of the few rooms not wired into the security system. And since we’re short on time, I wasn’t able to break in and install anything.”
“What other rooms aren’t wired?” I asked out of curiosity.
“It’s hard to know for certain. I was able to pull a blueprint from when he bought this house, since he had to submit plans for the remodel. From what I can tell, all the first floor rooms are wired. There’s the viewing room. The parlor. Arrangement room, as well as several prep rooms. All the administrative offices on the second floor are also wired, apart from his office. The only other place that isn’t wired is the cremation room.”
“Cremation room?”
“He put an addition on the back of the house, probably because those ovens require some heavy duty walls and insulation.”
I nodded as another memory clawed its way to the surface. But like before, it remained just out of reach.
“How can I be of service to you today?” a voice sounded over Henry’s laptop, and he turned up the volume.
“Looks like the microphone I planted works,” he remarked, but I quickly hushed him. Not because I was interested in the substance of the conversation, although I certainly was.
But there was something familiar about that voice, especially now that it wasn’t distorted like on the security feed.
“It was my understanding after our last meeting that our business together was concluded,” Brian continued, his tone professional, yet displeased at the same time.
“That was my understanding, too,” James replied. “Based on your assurances.”
“I fulfilled my part of the bargain. Made you quite a bit of money, too, if memory serves. Which is why I was surprised to get your call. All of them.”
“It’s come to my attention that you may not have held up your end of the deal like you led me to believe.”
“What do you mean?” I could hear the confusion in Brian’s voice.
“Fingerprints belonging to Samuel Tate were found as recent as two days ago,” James hissed.
A heavy silence fell over the speaker, broken only by the distant sound of passing cars. What I wouldn’t have given to be in that room, to see this guy’s expression.
To see both of their expressions.
Finally, Brian broke the silence. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with me.”
“You don’t?” James barked out around an incredulous laugh. “It has everything to do with you. I hired you to do a simple cleanup job.”
“As I’m sure you recall, it wasn’t exactly the simple cleanup job we’d originally agreed upon. Not when your friend failed to actually complete the job. Like I told you back then. I’m a cleaner. Not a killer. I’ll dispose of any bodies brought to me, but that’s where I draw the line.”
I could feel Henry’s eyes studying me as I stared at the laptop, as if that would have helped me understand all this better. “Are they talking about?—”
I silenced him with another hush, my heart pounding in my chest.
“I gave you an option. One that paid you handsomely.”
“Except Samuel Tate’s goddamn fingerprints were found!” James reminded him yet again. “By the fucking cops when they were investigating Alton Sinclair’s death! You promised you’d make him disappear and none of the evidence you left behind would ever be tied to us.”
“And that’s precisely what I did. Last I checked, some kid was arrested for the murder, who then tragically lost his life during a prison fight. Case closed.”
“Not if Samuel’s DNA has been found recently. You swore that, even if he somehow managed to survive any length of time, he’d never be able to escape.”
“No. I simply said the probability of him surviving any length of time was extremely low. Need I remind you again that this was your decision? And the money you made off the deal allowed you to run for and win the senate race.”
“You made money off the deal, too.”
“Merely a cut for putting you in touch with my contact,” Brian retorted with a hint of amusement. “If you’re upset with the outcome, take it up with him. Although I don’t think he’ll be as…forgiving as I am. From what I hear, he’s more the type of person to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Aren’t you worried what this could mean?” James seethed, his tone dripping with frustration. “If the police reopen the investigation into Samuel Tate’s death, they might learn of your involvement.”
“They’d only learn about that if you tell them about it. And I know you’re not that stupid. Are you? Because I’d hate for you to have a taste of what poor Samuel Tate had to suffer.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” Brian responded with pure venom, the room falling eerily silent. Then he cleared his throat, his tone becoming professional once more. “I trust you can find your way out.”
Silence hung heavy in the air, punctured only by my ragged breaths and the thunderous racing of my heart. I pictured both men glaring at each other, willing the other to make the first move.
Finally, I heard what sounded like the rustling of clothes, followed by faint footsteps. A few seconds later, James emerged from the funeral home.
Just the sight of him filled me with rage, my jaw ticking as I repeatedly clenched and unclenched my fists.
“Don’t.” Henry touched a hand to my forearm. “Not now. Not without a plan.”
But I couldn’t let it go. Not after everything I just learned. The betrayal. The deceit. The utter disregard for human life.
For my life.
I’d always planned on eliminating James after what he did to Jonah. I thought that was the extent of his involvement. Thought it was just bad luck that the man who found me had ill intentions.
I never could have imagined James not only hired him to clean up Liam’s mess but also conspired to sell me like I was merely a piece of property. Not a man he considered a friend.
All to increase his wealth.
I turned my fiery gaze upon the Victorian house. When Brian McGuire appeared in the second-floor window, my blood boiled, my anger growing with every passing second.
“There’s someone else I need to add to my list,” I ground out.
Henry gave a resigned nod. “I had a feeling you were going to say that.”