Chapter Twenty
—JAMIE
My father wants to talk to me. He called my phone, and when I didn’t answer, he followed that with a text. He loathes texting, having to wait for a response. I’m sure it pained him to send me a text now.
On the way back to the resort, I message Astrid to make sure she’s all right, and she responds right away to let me know she’s out shopping with our mother. Which seems like odd timing. Almost as if it was planned. That’s not encouraging.
When I arrive at the resort, my father is waiting for me in the lobby. I’m disconcerted, thrown off my game. I expected to find him waiting in our suite. There, in that grand lobby with gold and marble—nothing looks bigger than my father.
Brent Matthews stands six foot five in a three-piece suit, the sleeves tight on his arms. My father works out when he’s not at the office.
He’s always been huge, part of what gives him so much credibility in the security world.
It also made him an intimidating attorney, but there wasn’t enough money in it for him.
Instead, his consulting agency helps the wealthy CEOs and politicians protect their assets.
In plain terms, he’s still keeping criminals out of prison.
“Dad,” I say, and then clear my throat to sound less surprised. “How are you?”
At first my father doesn’t respond. He looks from my black eye to my wrapped arm, emotionless. He glances at the concierge and motions him over. The man comes running.
“Get the on-call physician here,” my father says. “Tell him my son needs his arm rewrapped immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” the concierge says before dashing back to his desk.
“It’s fine, Dad,” I say. “I—”
“It’s not fine,” my father says. “You look ridiculous. Now, let’s go into the conference room. We need to talk.”
He starts walking, but I’m rooted in place, my self-esteem crashing to the floor.
The way my father can make the simplest things my fault is almost an art form.
I’m not the one who wrapped my arm, and yet, I wish I could chop it off rather than keep it a second longer.
That’s what my father does. He gets inside your head. He guts you from the inside out.
Before he can summon me again, I follow my father down the corridor toward the conference room.
When I get inside, he’s already in place at the head of a long table.
He opens a folder and then takes a shiny silver pen from his suit pocket.
He’s going through some kind of checklist. I stand at the entrance waiting for instructions.
He glances at me without his lifting his head. “Why are you standing there?” he asks. “Close the door and sit down.”
I take a seat across from him, eight chairs between us. He doesn’t talk, examining his paperwork instead. My leg bounces under the table. As another minute ticks by, I gather my courage.
“So what’s this about?” I finally ask.
My father pauses as if annoyed that I spoke. He sets down his pen with a loud clink.
“It’s a funny thing, James,” he starts. “I received an alert that my credit card had been run recently. I don’t use credit here, and God knows your mother has her own cards.
So imagine my surprise when I get a notice of a charge from something called the Surf Shack.
” He folds his hands in front of him, and leans forward. My heart is racing.
“Okay…” I reply, not admitting to anything.
“I had the concierge look into it,” my father continues, “and it turns out that’s where we store our boats.
At that point, I’m sure that someone there was running my card without my knowledge.
But after a few calls, I found out that you had rented surfboards.
” He smiles. “But what was strange was when the owner began falling over himself with apologies. So then,” he adds, “I have to ask what he’s so sorry about, right, James? ”
I’m doing my best to stay steady, to not give anything away. I don’t answer him. My father nods at my silence and sits back in the leather chair.
“Turns out,” he says, “the man is sorry that his teenage daughter stole your boat. I’m stunned.
Well, I decided to go down and check the damage for myself.
It wasn’t so bad. I told the owner not to worry about it.
That we had it handled. This meeting”—he motions around us—“is to let you know that you will never see that fucking boat again.”
I look down at my hands in front of me on the table. What can I say? I don’t pay for storage or insurance. It may be mine on paper, but my father owns everything about my life.
“Understood,” I say evenly. “Are we done?” I know I should take the criticism stoically, but my father has just stripped me of my last possession.
There’s nothing left to take, so there’s no point in just sitting here and letting him berate me.
What more can he do? He can’t arrest me for being a bad son.
“No, we’re not done,” my father says, closing his folder. He leans forward on his elbows, his dark eyes boring into me. “I think you know that. There’s another matter we need to discuss.”
He takes out his phone, presses a button, and then brings it to his ear.
Who is he calling?
“Yes,” my father says into the line. “You can come in now.” He hangs up and slips the phone back into his pocket.
He looks at the door in anticipation, and I’m clueless as to what this is about. When I hear the door open, I don’t turn right away.
“I want you to meet my associates,” my father says.
When I turn around, my blood pressure skyrockets. I jump up from my chair and take a step behind the table. Two men stand there, the men who tried to kill me at the Starline Hotel.
I look quickly at my father. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“I just told you,” my father says. “These are my associates—they work in security. Now, they reported to me that your boat was somewhere it shouldn’t have been.
So what I need to know is if you were with that boat, or if it was another time the local girl stole it—leaving you completely innocent of these charges. ”
I’m not sure how to answer. Does my father know they shot at me? Would he even care? I won’t deny being there because it would put Noa in danger. I won’t take that chance.
“I was just out exploring alone,” I say, glancing at the men to see their reactions.
“Exploring,” my father repeats. “And while you were exploring, what did you find?”
“It was just an abandoned building,” I say.
“Happened past it while out on the boat, so I… went in and looked around. That’s when your associates showed up.
” I motion to them. “I took off so I wouldn’t get in trouble.
That’s how I hurt my arm.” I hold it up as proof.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I hope I didn’t put you in an awkward situation,” I add, trying to sound sincere.
My mind is spinning, though. Why do a couple of possible murderers work for my father? Not only that, how is my father connected to the Starline Hotel? Oh, shit… did he have something to do with Felix’s body being there?
The men watch my father, and I realize that they’re scared of him too. They told him about my boat, but seems they left out the part where they tried to shoot me. Twice.
What happens if I tell my father that? Which of us does he side with? I’m not sure I want to take that chance.
“It won’t happen again,” I tell my father before the men can speak. Just wanting to get out of the room. “Besides, I don’t have a boat anymore, and I don’t remember where the place was. So my reckless adventures are over.”
My father studies me. “You really are such a disappointment, James,” he states. “You know that, right?”
“Every day,” I reply simply. But inside, I’m knotted up and sick. I’m struck with the knowledge that my father is deep in this mystery and that he almost got me killed. That he might have killed someone else. I swallow hard. “Can I go now?” I ask.
My father watches me with contempt, before turning to the men. “Was there anything else, gentlemen?” he asks them.
They glance at me and then back to my father. “There is a concern about his discretion,” one of the men says. He’s wearing a flowered shirt, sunglasses on his head. “As a security breach, it would fall under your responsibilities.”
My father sighs loudly, but he doesn’t even look in my direction. “It is handled,” my father says firmly. “Now, this concludes our business, gentlemen,” he says to them. “I expect to not see you again.” He leaves no room for argument. The men walk out, closing the door behind them.
When they’re gone, my father sits back down at the table. In a rare moment, he lets down his guard. He rests his face in his hands, rubbing roughly at his skin. He sits back in his chair, and glances over at me.
“Even now, you just can’t mind your own business,” he says.
“I have no idea what any of this is about,” I tell him. “I swear, I wasn’t trying to mess up anything for you. For anybody.”
He watches me a moment. “I believe you,” he says. “But I do have to wonder about the friends you’re hanging out with. About the girl. I remember her, you know? Noa…” He says her name, and from his mouth it sounds like a threat.
“She has nothing to do with this,” I say, holding his gaze steady.
“I’m just concerned,” he says. “People like that, they have an agenda, James. Have you thought about that? When you’re in a powerful position, people want to get close to you. Sometimes women.”
“So you’ve said,” I reply.
My father nods, the open secret of his affair and the aftermath hanging heavily between us. And even now, he’s still trying to make an excuse for his bad behavior.
“So long as you understand the consequences,” he says. “Now you may go. I have more to do today.”
I want to ask if he had anything to do with Felix’s death. And maybe it makes me a coward that I hesitate. That I’m too scared that I’ll be wrong and get blamed instead.
Still, when I get to the door, I turn around to look at my father again. I’m not sure that I even know who he really is anymore. “And the kid they left dead in the marsh?” I ask, my hands shaking. My father seems shocked that I said it out loud.
He stares at me, his dark eyes on mine. “Now, that was just business, James.”
I feel sick. “Business?” I repeat.
“I’m merely security,” he says. “The who and why of my clients are of no concern to me. But when I facilitate a forensic cleaning, the results are guaranteed untraceable, no matter how distasteful I may find their actions.”
“Who’s the client?” I ask. He laughs.
“You don’t work for me. So frankly, it’s none of your damn business. Now, get out.” His eyes are cold, and he goes back to his file, pen in hand. “And don’t forget that there are always consequences, James,” he murmurs.
I swallow hard, understanding that his reference is to Noa. The threat of hurting her in exchange for my silence.
I walk out with more questions than answers. More pain than relief.
Until now, I never thought of my father as a tyrant. As truly evil. Intense, sure. Sometimes cruel—an excellent marksman. He hits me in the heart every time. But now… my father is helping cover up a murder. I’m scared to wonder if this is new or what he’s always done.
Fearful and angry, I head toward the lobby. I have to warn Noa and the others. At least let them know that my father’s watching them. But as I get into the lobby, I notice him.
Matteo Mancini is in the middle of the room as if he’s been waiting for me.
He stands with his legs far apart, his arms folded in front of him and his chin up high.
He has dark shadows under his eyes, a bruise on his jaw from last night.
I have to say that his timing is impeccable because right now fighting sounds pretty great.
He smiles. “I thought I saw you come in here,” he says. “I told you we weren’t done.”
Jordan would tell me to walk away, and even Noa might tell me to let it go since Matteo’s grieving his cousin. But right now, Matteo is a symbol for everything that’s wrong. He’s the bully. He’s the resort. He’s my father.
I walk right up close to him, our chests nearly bumping. My adrenaline is making the world blur at the edges. “You don’t want to do this right now,” I murmur.
“Oh, but I do,” he says. “You’re everywhere I fucking look. And if you think you’re going to end up with Noa, well, you can get in line because—”
All my rage comes together at once. I don’t think about it. I punch him hard in the face, and Matteo stumbles back a few steps. Then he comes at me full force, his shoulder blasting me in the gut as I fold over him. We crash into the concierge desk amid screams of frightened guests.
There is a flurry of movement as people go running. Both Matteo and I are swinging, sometimes connecting. At one point he grabs a fistful of my hair, and I headbutt him in the mouth.
The world is hazy as I lash out, raging against him as he throttles me right back. We’re fighting the world in each other. We’ve both got something to prove.
I get Matteo down on the ground, and as I pull back to hit him, an arm stretches across my throat from behind. I choke as I’m dragged backward, the heels of my sneakers scraping along the slippery floor as I try to regain my balance.
The arm squeezes tighter.
I’m being choked out, little dots of black crowding my vision. The last thing I see is Matteo slowly climbing to his feet, looking horrified. He motions for him to stop. He yells that he’s killing me.
And I realize that the person strangling me unconscious is my father.