Chapter 16
The bar was the kind of place that didn’t ask questions.
It existed as an establishment that survived, not on quality or atmosphere, but on discretion.
From the sticky floors and the dim lighting to the bartender with selective muteness, it was the sort of place where patrons understood the fastest way to find yourself in trouble was to take too much interest in the business of the person sitting next to you.
It was not the sort of place a disgraced U.S. Marshal, who had blackmailed himself out of prison and into Witness Protection, would generally find himself. He’d gone into the business of making extra money so he would never find himself in a seedy, disgusting place such as this ever again.
And yet…here he was. Why? Because his fucking partner, who felt more like his hangman tightening the noose these days, had told him to be. He did not have time for this, or the cloak and dagger vibe of this meeting. He needed to find his son.
His son. He had a son.
The report that had been flagged, matching Tyson paternally to the boy, did not have a name attached to it.
John Doe Jr. It didn’t matter what that slut had named him.
Once Tyson got a hold of him, he’d change it.
His useless wife had never been able to give him a son.
Daughters, an endless stream of daughters.
Then acted like he should be offended when she took them away in the divorce.
What the fuck use did Tyson have with daughters?
The only reason he fought the custody claim during the proceedings was to make the bitch suffer and worry that he might retain his paternal rights even in prison.
But in the end, he lost those rights. Good riddance. He thought he was childless now, but it turned out the universe had one more trick up its sleeve.
He looked up, frowning at the figure that approached the table. “I’m meeting someone,” Tyson tried to tell them as they took the seat in the booth opposite him.
“I know. You’re meeting with me.”
Tyson did not blink or draw attention to himself. Not in a place like this. “Am I? Funny, you don’t look like my friend.”
“Supervisory Deputy United States Marshal Talbot Corrigan is in his office in Des Moines.” A phone with what appeared to be a live video feed was slid across the table by a gloved hand.
Tyson looked down to see his former boss sitting at a very familiar desk.
Despite the active timestamp in the corner of the video, Tyson did not know if this footage was current or old.
“He’s nowhere in the state, nor does he even know about this meeting. ”
Feeling the hackles on the back of his neck rise, Tyson fought to keep his composure.
A trap? By whom? Not wanting to give anything away until he had some answers, Tyson slowly shook his head once in a silent signal before he slid the phone back across the table.
“And yet I got a message from him to meet him here?”
“Funny thing about messages. They’re often misleading.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Kennedy studied the face across from him with methodical patience.
He was good at reading people, had been good at it long before the Marshals Service had taught him to be better.
It was how he knew which witness would be willing and which would put up a fight.
Rose had been so hard to read—and that fucking misjudgment had cost him everything.
He would not allow it to cost him his son.
What he saw across from him now was not fear or desperation. It was arrogance mixed with anger, and maybe even a bit of hatred.
Interesting.
“Well, the reason for your deception is clear. You wanted me here, and you got me here. Now, are you going to tell me why we’re here or how you found me?”
“You say that as if you were in hiding and not leaving little breadcrumbs spread all throughout the dark web.” The voice was even, not showing an ounce of the emotion those eyes did.
“If Rose Benson was as good as she thinks she is, she would have discovered what I did and be the one sitting here instead of me. But thankfully, for you, she’s not. ”
Tyson did not like knowing he’d been so easily found, nor did he like hearing Rose’s name from those arrogant lips. Not because he gave a shit what happened to Rose, but because Rose had his son.
“You’re playing a game of chess with rules you have no idea have changed. I, for one, would normally sit back and watch you get destroyed, but I have an unusual stake in the outcome of this particular game, so I thought I’d lend you a hand.”
The bar noise continued around them, low murmurs of conversations, clinks of glasses, and the annoying hum of the old television in the corner. Tyson fought not to visibly react. Who the fuck was sitting across from him and how was he connected to Rose?
“And what is this hand going to cost me?”
“Nothing more than you were already willing to pay. The chaos of moving your particular piece into play is my remuneration.”
Tyson was not sure he liked free information. Nothing was ever free. There was always a price, even if it was hidden.
A piece of paper slid across the table with what appeared to be coordinates on the east coast of the United States.
“Mount Grove, Pennsylvania. That’s where you’ll find your son.
” Tyson was unable to hide his reaction at the mention of his son.
He’d never heard of Mount Grove, but seeing as he’d been handed the presumed coordinates of the town, he’d soon be very familiar with the place.
“You should know, she’s been there for weeks.
Has practically an army at her back now.
Furthermore, her sister has now joined her.
You’ll need more than,” a hand flicked towards the bar, “your measly bodyguards.”
Fuck, so much for them being inconspicuous. Tyson had brought them with the hopes that Corrigan would give him something that made him dispensable now. He needed to get rid of this fucking noose around his neck.
Another piece of paper was slid across the table.
A picture this time of a little boy with bright blue eyes and blonde hair.
He was in the arms of a man with a ridiculous amount of band-aids on his bruised body and glasses.
Both boy and man were smiling at the woman walking next to them in the photo.
It was clearly a surveillance picture, not posed for appearance’s sake.
As Tyson picked it up, he was told, “Your three missing mercs are buried there as well. He took them out.”
Tyson nearly snorted but was able to contain the gut reaction. Him? The man in the photo looked like a nerdy loser who couldn’t take a punch, and what the fuck was with all those band-aids? “You said there was practically an army there. What does that mean?”
“Really, Marshal? Need I do all the work for you? A simple Google search will tell you exactly what that means. Buckle up, buttercup. For the first time in your life, you’re actually going to have to fight a battle for yourself.
Personally, I don’t think the little bastard is worth it, but clearly you do.
Just remember, Kennedy, my fee for this information is chaos, and you better deliver.
I don’t give second chances. Fail me, and you won’t have to worry about going back to prison.
There are many seedier places in the world worse than this bar—and every single one of them would pay me a fortune to make you their bitch. ”
* * *
As Rose and Poison sat on the couch, Keys took Oscar into his bedroom to get the boy ready to go to sleep.
The numerous band-aids Oscar had put on him earlier had already been removed when Keys had gotten into the shower to clean off the blood and grit.
Other than his split lip and the occasional scratch, it was mostly bruises.
It was a good thing he gave Rose his glasses to hold, or they likely would have been destroyed.
There was no doubt in his mind that he would be hurting something awful the next day, but he also couldn’t argue that he didn’t deserve it. Rose could, and did, but Keys understood and respected Poison’s position.
Keys stayed with Oscar longer than necessary, wanting to give the sisters time to talk, to figure out where they went from here. Didn’t seem like the sort of conversation he needed to be a part of. He knew his and Rose’s future, and Poison had a choice to make if she wanted to be a part of it.
Waist-high bookshelves lined one wall of Oscar’s room. When Keys had designed the room, he’d recalled how Rose praised Oscar for his love of reading, and wanted to give the boy as many books as he wanted. Most were classics, while others were educational that he would grow to use.
Curled up on the Lightning McQueen toddler bed with Oscar did not help his bruises or sores at all, but Keys wouldn’t have turned down Oscar’s invitation for him to lay down with him while they read a book for anything.
Then again, after he figured out how to squeeze into the little bed, Keys realized getting back up might be harder than he anticipated.
There was a growing chance Keys might have to spend the night here, unless Rose came in to assist him up, and they could do it without disturbing Oscar.
“That’s the Daddy Dino and that’s the Mommy Dino,” Oscar explained as they flipped through a National Geographic dinosaur atlas. “And see all those eggs? Those are the Oscar Dinos!”
Keys raised an eyebrow. “What’s an Oscar Dino?” He currently had Baxter tucked under his arm as Oscar held the large yellow book between both his hands. Per Oscar, Baxter was guarding Keys against the “mean lady”. Poison had a long way to go to win Aunt of the Year in Oscar’s eyes.
“That’s all the baby dinos, silly!” Oscar giggled, not sounding sleepy in the slightest.
But of course. How foolish of Keys to have asked that question. “Right, right. That’s certainly a lot of Oscar dinos.”