Chapter 12
SABLE
"I've always wanted to do this," Leif said, rolling the marker between his palms.
"Writing stuff? I keep telling you bro, you need a hobby," Woody remarked, his arm draped across the back of his chair.
"I have plenty of hobbies," Leif argued. "But I've never done this before. Have you? It's like an actual murder board." He gestured to the whiteboard that sat on a stand beside him. Right now, the surface was blank, wiped clean. Ready.
"Never needed to," Woody said with a shrug.
Forrest cleared his throat. "Let's start from the beginning. We know Gregor Quinn is ultimately the one behind everything."
He nodded to Leif, who wrote Gregor's name at the top of the whiteboard in his messy scrawl.
"What else do we know?"
"We know everyone was given small details," Noah said. "No one knew the entire picture. Urban and I sit down and compare notes regularly. Some of what we knew crossed over. Some of it didn't."
"Some of it wasn't even legit," Urban grumbled.
"What wasn't?" I asked, not even a little bit surprised.
"We were told one location," Urban said. “Then, last minute, we were told another. The first location was nothing. An empty lot."
Noah nodded while humming his agreement. "We looked at it later. Discreetly."
"If either of you told the cops and they turned up there, they'd know who betrayed them." Leif made a note of that on the board. "Similar thing with the auction. They didn't give us the final location until we were all at the Halloran."
"If people only know bits and pieces, it's harder for them to put the whole picture together.
Harder for the cops too," Woody said. "So we know he fucks with people he's supposed to be able to trust. What else?
" His gaze slid from nowhere to Urban and back again, as if accusing them of holding back.
"We know he's at the top, but someone else is pulling the strings too," Noah said.
"A man like him isn't going to get his hands dirty. Not directly." Urban raised his own hands, turning them this way and that.
"You sure it's not you, Forrest?" Noah teased. His wide mouth tipped up at the sides.
Forrest responded with a dry stare. "It's not me. Any idea who it is?"
"You sure it's not one of you two?" Woody said, his gaze still on the brothers.
"Yes, it's definitely us," Noah said sarcastically. "We're setting this up so you can kill Gregor Quinn and we can take over. Quite genius, wouldn't you say?" His smile turned into a smirk.
Urban's expression was a smirk the entire time his younger brother was retorting.
"If you think I'd put it past you, think again," Woody said. "Wouldn't be the first time someone with no moral compass has fucked over someone else who also didn't have one."
Forrest leaned forward and pressed his hands to the top of the table. "We're all on the same side here," he said firmly. "My brothers aren't behind this. If they were, I'd kill them right now."
He regarded all of them, even giving me a quick glance, as if I planned to join in the attack on the two other men.
He straightened back up and scrubbed a hand across his face. "There could be more than one person running this operation on behalf of Quinn. They may not know the others exist. He's playing checkers. We're playing chess."
"Thank fuck for that," Woody said. "For a minute there I thought we were playing Monopoly. I was about to tip the board." He pushed his chair back across the floor with a scrape of feet and stepped away to pour himself a glass of water from the faucet.
"Why don't we start by making a list of the usual suspects?" Leif suggested. "We have an idea of the people we suspect, or know, take part in shit like this. We can start there."
He turned and started to write names on the board underneath Gregor Quinn's.
"You should add Wolfgang to that list," I said. "It wouldn't surprise me if he was in it up to his eyeballs." Yes, he was dead, but it seemed relevant somehow, like looking into him would reveal the kinds of people he worked with.
Woody twitched, but didn't say anything.
I suspected he was thinking about his sister, Bethany. Did Gregor Quinn have anything to do with her disappearance? If he did, his life expectancy was even shorter than it was a few minutes ago.
"If that's the case, we can also look into Wolfgang’s associates," Forrest said. "Can you think of anyone in particular who was especially dubious?"
I twirled some hair around my finger while I thought. "There were a couple of them," I said finally. My heart thudded in my chest. Was there any chance…
"Who is it?" Leif asked gently. He must have seen the expression on my face, the hint of pain along with reluctance.
"My father was good friends with Wolfgang," I said slowly. "I always wondered whether there was some reason he gave me to him. It was sudden. There was definitely… I don't know. Like I was there to make up for something."
Very articulate, I told myself. They got the idea though.
"You think your father did something Wolfgang didn't like?" Forrest asked.
His jaw was set firm, but there was an air of suppressed violence about him, like he was about to take the keys of Woody's car, drive back to the city, and kill my father.
"I could be completely wrong," I said before he could do anything too hasty. "He might not have anything to do with this."
"But he also might," Forrest said. "They have a house down here, don't they? Your parents."
"They do," I said. "They've owned it for years.
I haven't been there recently. Not since they renovated it.
I hear it's very nice." Of course it was.
My parents wouldn't buy anything less than stunning.
They probably had staff all year round, maintaining the place in case they got the urge to travel down to the beach.
"If you called them, would they come down here?" Forrest asked.
I licked my lips. "They usually hold a party at this time of year. I could speak to them and get us invited."
"Hell yeah," Leif said. "I get to go to a party after all." He punched the air.
Forrest stepped over and crouched in front of me. One hand on the table, the other on the back of my neck. "I know this will be difficult, but if we can have a conversation with them, we might be able to rule them out."
"Or in," Woody added.
Forrest sighed, but he didn't refute the suggestion.
"We need to do what we need to do," I said. "If they are involved…" I didn't need to finish that sentence. We all knew what had to happen.
I was less than happy about it. Leif turned and added two more names to the board: Camilla and Benjamin Kohl.
Seeing their names up there in purple ink made all of this seem surreal.
My parents and I never got along, but were they really the kind of people who'd sell women?
I already knew the answer to that. They sold me to Wolfgang without hesitation.
If they did that to stay in his good graces, so they could continue trafficking, then they were worse than I suspected.
If they weren't involved, I needed to know that too, because I didn't want to go on thinking they were complete monsters.
In the back of my mind, though, I found it hard to pin down a doubt. Too many things added up. Late nights, never saying where they'd been. Quiet discussions that stopped the minute I entered a room. And the money, so much money.
"Did your parents know Gregor Quinn?" Urban asked with a lot less sympathy than my guys showed. Even Noah appeared regretful, like we'd opened a can of worms he wished we hadn't.
"I don't know for sure, but I think so," I said. "They were friends with Wolfgang and he was friends with Quinn. Chances were they knew each other."
"They probably went to all the same parties," Woody said. "That asshole factory is starting to seem more plausible. It's a rich asshole factory."
"Plenty of assholes aren't rich," Noah pointed out. He gave Woody, then Urban a meaningful but teasing look. They both flipped him off, almost in unison.
I forced back a smile.
"I'm rich in personality," Woody said.
"Yes, you are." I leaned over to pat his muscular bicep.
Urban snorted.
"What was that, Keith?" Woody asked. He knew the name would get a rise out of Urban.
Of course, Urban knew he knew, so he didn't respond. Probably the best course of action, since Woody would have persisted if he took the bait.
"Fighting amongst ourselves won't achieve anything," Forrest said, pushing himself back to his feet.
He gave us all a look, very much the professional consummate judge, the man who insisted on people following his rules, including us. That look was hot.
He had my nipples hardening, the pulse in my pussy racing. His eyes darkened, we were on the same wavelength there. Would his brothers mind if we stepped out into the corridor and started tearing each other's clothes off? I suspected they would.
Plus, we needed to finish this conversation. Reality was such a bummer sometimes.
“No, it doesn't help, but it's fun," Leif said. "We're letting off some steam."
"Let off some steam when we've dealt with all this bullshit," Forrest said. "I'll have a sauna built out back."
"With an ice plunge?" Leif asked, looking hopeful. "And a regular swimming pool? Maybe our own private gym." He stopped with his mouth open, still thinking.
"We'll talk about it," Forrest said, but Leif was already making a note on the bottom corner of the board. His wish list of additions to the house. He added an outdoor bar and big screen for watching hockey games, along with a fire pit. All the modern essentials, right?
Forrest shook his head but didn't say anything.
There was no harm in taking a few moments to dream and plan. We'd need something to look forward to. Time in the sauna, then a dip in the ice plunge? That sounded perfect right about now. Followed by a bunch of orgasms.
"I'll make the call," I said, dragging the conversation back on track, kicking and screaming. Or trudging and grumbling under its breath.
Chewing the inside of my lip, I slid my phone out of my pocket and pressed on my mother's number. She was the most likely to answer. Did she have a ringtone for when I called her? What would it be? Some tune about having disappointing children, most likely.
Mine was “Bad Blood” by Taylor Swift. The same ringtone for both of them.
How long was it since I heard that song?
Several months at least. Since the last time they needed something from me.
I couldn't remember what it was now. Something I didn't consider important, but was apparently vital enough for them to reach out and contact me.
No one could accuse my parents of being sentimental.
The phone rang a couple of times before she picked up. That was the first surprise. I would have thought she'd let it go to voicemail, then return the call if she felt like it.
"Sable, darling." In spite of the endearment, she sounded less than happy to hear from me.
"Hi, Mom," I said, making a face for the guys to see, but trying to keep the grimace out of my tone. "I was wondering…"