64. Gray
Chapter 64
Gray
T hat little bitch.
That fucking cunt .
I pounded the steering wheel, then put the Tesla into gear. I was drenched, dripping all over the car’s vegan leather interior, but none of that mattered.
I’d lost her. I’d lost Ruth fucking Hammond.
I only hesitated a few seconds before hitting the gas and speeding out of the parking lot. Mo’s had served us well as a meeting spot, but no lucky streak lasted forever.
I turned left onto the main road, because that was the direction Ruth had gone and I couldn’t let her go. She knew I’d planned to take her, would go to the police. Money might solve the problem — it often did — but there were no guarantees.
And we needed guarantees. The resort was almost done, years of work and planning coming to fruition. Letting it all fall apart now would be the worst kind of failure, and the Cantwells didn’t do failure, something my dad reminded me of on a daily basis.
I commanded my phone to dial, then watched as a name flashed on the screen: Arlo.
“What?” he said.
“She got away.” I caught sight of taillights up ahead and eased off the gas enough that Ruth wouldn’t know I was behind her. She’d been scared when she’d left Mo’s, was probably focused on the road, on getting somewhere she’d believe she was safe.
“Your problem to fix.”
Fucking Arlo. He sounded bored, like I’d called to tell him the pizza we’d ordered wasn’t ready, but bored was better than what I'd get with my dad, which was why Arlo has always been his right-hand man.
The great Piers Cantwell acted calm for the public, but inside he was a boiling vat of rage. Arlo actually was calm — sociopathically calm — which was why he’d been my dad’s henchman for thirty years and why I always tried to solve problems with Arlo first.
“Yeah, I’m not sure you want me to do that alone,” I said as Ruth turned right, away from the road that would take her to town, toward Old Mountain Road, the one that went to the top of the falls. “She’s heading for the old Mercer house.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was all I needed to know my words had hit their mark, and that was because Arlo’s son, Jace, was living at the old Mercer house with his two friends and that little slut who worked for my dad.
“Stand down but keep her in your sights,” Arlo said. “I’ll call you back in ten minutes.”