Chapter 7
The lock gave first.
Ike heard it. A faint series of clicks so precise and unhurried they barely registered above the ceiling fan's slow rotation.
He was across the room before the last one settled, back flat against the wall of the hallway, one hand closing around the grip of the Glock he kept on the side table.
The high-resolution feeds from his external cameras revealed nothing but palm fronds and hibiscus bushes blowing in the wind.
Ike knew better.
His finger slid over the trigger. His breathing went shallow as he waited.
The door opened without a creak. Footsteps on travertine moved toward the front room with the casual confidence of someone who believed they were alone.
Ike came around the corner low and fast, gun leveled.
Kane Ambrose stopped walking and looked at the barrel aimed at his face.
"Well," Kane said. "Hello to you too."
Ike lowered the gun, his pulse slowing. "Can't you use the damn doorbell like a normal person?"
"Normal people don't get asked to rob a bank in Lesotho.” Kane let the backpack slide off his shoulder and caught it in one hand. “I thought we'd established that about me." He carried the bag to the coffee table and set it down.
Ike's eyes went to the bag. Then back to Kane. “It's been less than twenty-four hours.”
"I know." Kane sat on the couch. Leaning forward, he unzipped the bag and reached inside. Carefully, he removed a brushed steel, compact box with the Mountain Kingdom Bank crest pressed into the lid.
The safe deposit box.
All the answers about his parents’ disappearance could be in there.
Ike didn't move. He watched the box from a distance, like it was radioactive, instead of the one thing he’d been desperate to get his hands on for weeks.
He needed a drink. Nothing too strong. He walked slowly to the bar and grabbed two bottles of Felipe beer.
Popping the lids, he handed one to Kane.
"How?" he asked.
"Trade secrets." Kane grinned and placed the box in the center of the coffee table.
"Did you open it?"
Kane looked at him over the bottle. "No. I'd never do that to you."
It was wishful thinking that Kane would do the hard part for him. But Ike already knew he wouldn’t.
“But you would do that to others,” Ike said, with a sly grin. “How much did you treat yourself?”
Kane set his bottle on the table. “That’s the thing about banks like this one,” Kane said, manic euphoria spreading across his face, like a kid in a candy store.
“Some of these boxes haven't been touched in twenty, thirty years.
Clients who've died or gone to prison or simply forgotten what they locked away. I was disciplined about it. A single item missing here, one there. Nothing that triggers suspicion. Nothing that connects. No trail back to me or you.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Ike chuckled.
Kane's grin arrived slowly and satisfied. "It was an exceptional haul, if I'm being honest. Made out like a bandit.”
"You are a bandit." Ike almost smiled. He pulled his gaze back to the box.
It sat there on the teak table, passive and patient, the crest catching the light from the window. Whatever was inside had been put there by someone who wanted it hidden. His father. Possibly Ava. More likely both, in ways he hadn't untangled yet. He reached out.
Stopped.
Not yet.
Something in him wasn't ready, and he'd learned a long time ago not to open a door until he was prepared for what might be standing on the other side.
He withdrew his hand, dropped onto the couch across from Kane, and reached for the second Felipe beer. The cold bottle settled against his palm.
Kane watched him without comment. He'd always had that quality. Most men who lived the way he did, dancing around the edges of every law ever written, developed a restlessness that leaked out in some direction. Not Kane.
He’d perfected stillness and embraced silence like an old friend. With Kane, you never felt compelled to do anything but be. Ike had leaned on that support more times than Kane knew.
They sat like this for only a moment before the barking started.
Tucker was going full alarm somewhere on the other side of the front door.
“What’s wrong with that damn dog now?” Ike muttered, pushing up from the couch. Before he made it to the door, the banging started. Three blows, rapid and hard.
A quick check through the peephole, then Ike yanked the door open.
Tucker rushed inside, circling between Ike’s legs. He nudged the stupid dog inside with his foot, then asked, “What the hell happened?”
Bobby Zaniewski raked a hand through his tousled and tangled golden locks, then dragged a hand roughly down his face.
His linen shirt hung loose from his trousers and was wrinkled beyond saving.
A button near the middle had been done up wrong, the placket sitting crooked against his chest. His trousers were creased in all the wrong places.
The blue eyes that usually operated at full wattage were dull and red-rimmed.
“I fucked up.” Bobby’s voice caught in his throat like he couldn’t breathe, then more words rushed out. “I fucked up bad, and I don't know how to fix it. It's bad, Ike. I don't know if this one can be fixed. I don't … I just … it's bad?—"
"Bobby." Ike kept his voice flat. "Stop."
Bobby stopped and glanced up at Ike, almost as if seeing him for the first time. “Ike … I don’t know what to do.”
Ike held his gaze. “It’s okay. There’s nothing you've done that we won't help you get out of. Nothing. You understand me?"
"Brothers," Kane said, appearing next to Ike. The single word carried the weight of decades of friendship. "Always have been. We got you.”
Something moved across Bobby's face. Relief, pain, something he was fighting not to show. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, then lowered them.
“Come in and sit down,” Ike said, pushing the door closed behind Bobby.
Bobby nodded and moved to the couch. He sat on the edge of it like a man who was considering bolting back through the front door at any second.
The fear in his eyes was soul-deep. His gaze unfocused.
His mind was clearly fixed on something that hadn't followed him into the room but was right behind him all the same.
Ike’s first instinct was the island cartel.
Bobby had never fully severed that connection.
They all knew it. But they never pressured him about it.
He’d always lived life on a tightrope stretched across the highest mountains.
The risk of falling was higher than not.
That’s how Bobby needed it. He wouldn’t have it any other way, even though he could.
To know Bobby and love him was to accept that.
Except Remi hadn't been given the chance to accept it. Bobby had told her what she needed to believe to marry him. That was the version of himself he owed her, but would never be able to live up to for long.
If Bobby were in a mess because of the PC-5, getting him out of it would be complicated. Not impossible. Just hard as hell.
"Talk to us," Kane said. "The faster we know what we're dealing with, the faster we move."
Tucker crossed the room and settled in the corner, his broad white head resting on his paws, watching Bobby with a low-grade suspicion.
Bobby's eyes focused.
Ike watched the decision unfold beneath the surface. He was trained to read what men refused to show, and he could see it clearly. Bobby was going to lie to us.
"It's not something you can fix," Bobby clenched his eyes shut. "I have to fix it myself."
“Fix what?” Kane asked, an edge creeping into his words. “What the hell is going on?”
Bobby opened his eyes and turned to face them. “What you warned me over and over again would happen.” The pain in his voice was undeniable. “Remi caught me … cheating.”
“Fucking ass.” Kane made a sound low in his throat. "How?"
Bobby shrugged. “She and Britt were supposed to be having dinner and then going clubbing in St. BED. Girls’ night out shit. So I had party of my own.” He raised a hand to stop Kane’s protest. “Not at our home. Never there. I had some women come by the office.”
"How many?" Kane asked.
Bobby paused. "Triplets."
The word sat in the room like a dropped glass.
"Bobby." Ike's voice was quiet. He’d arranged a fucking orgy at his office and got caught by his wife. Bobby wasn’t wrong. There wasn’t much any of them could do to help him out of this. No one would blame Remi for walking away and never looking back.
"I swear I didn’t know she was there. I heard something in the hallway.
Checked. Saw nothing. Thought I was hearing things, so you know …
we kept going." Bobby's jaw tightened. He looked wrecked. “Before I left, something told me to check the logs.” He shook his head. "She used the biometric sensor to get inside not ten minutes after they arrived. When I got home, she wasn’t there. Our bed hadn’t been touched or slept in.”
“Has anyone seen her? Do you know if she’s okay?” Ike demanded.
The last thing any of them needed was Everett finding out about this.
Ike exchanged a glance with Kane and knew he was thinking the same thing.
“She’s fine, or at least pretending to be for Gabrielle’s sake,” Bobby said.
Kane nodded. “She’s at Rocco and Jemma’s housewarming party.”
“I don't know what’s going to happen when she gets home. If she comes home.” Bobby bolted up from the couch. Tucker let out a low growl, rising to his full height. Ike raised a hand to calm the dog down.
“Those bitches don't mean a thing to me. They never did. Remi has to know that. I can’t lose her over this.” Bobby stalked toward the door. “I’m going to fix everything and convince her to stay. I have to.”
Ike didn’t bother to stop him from leaving.
“This is bad,” Kane said, then glanced at Ike. “Everett’s at that party with Remi. If he suspects that Bobby has done something to hurt her?—”
“He’ll kill Bobby,” Ike said. That’s if somebody else didn’t beat him to it first.
“Should I go run interference?” Kane asked, not waiting for a response. He grabbed his backpack and put it on his shoulder.
“Yeah, keep Everett busy for a while until we see how this plays out.”
Kane gave him a salute, then left.
Ike turned to look at Tucker, who gave him a shrewd stare.
“I know. I know. Bobby’s lying.” Ike knelt down as the dog bounded over to be patted. “But not about everything.”
The infidelity was real, and so was the grief over Remi.
Still, being caught fucking around on his wife was not the reason Bobby had shown up on his doorstep, fractured and barely holding himself together.
That wasn't a man afraid of losing his wife.
That was a man afraid of losing his life.
Someone was coming after Bobby.
Ike only hoped his friend would come to his senses and let them help before he ran out of time.