Chapter Seventeen
On the drive to the Federal Corrections Facility of Southern Nevada, Cole made two phone calls. The first was to a man named Devon Ballinger. It had taken some digging earlier in the day to figure out who was in charge of Kenzie’s insurance claim, but now that he had it he was going to make sure she didn’t take the blame for something he’d caused.
The call was short and sweet. He’d told Mr. Ballinger that he had information about the fight that had happened the night before the diner had burned. With as much detail as he was able, he recalled the two men who’d attacked him—what they’d been wearing, the car they’d been driving. He explained that he had not known Ms. Mackenzie Sharp, and had been there looking for his missing sister.
Did he know where his sister was now? No.
Did he know the men who’d attacked him? No.
Had Mackenzie seen him? No.
Cole knew lying to an insurance adjuster might land all of them in trouble, but it was the best option. He told Ballinger he was already in his car driving away when Kenzie had come to the door and told them to get lost. He hadn’t heard about the fire until the next afternoon, and it had taken some time to figure out who was in charge of her case.
That part was true, anyway.
Ballinger, a direct man, appreciated Cole’s report, and asked if he could call for follow-up questions. Cole said yes, and thanked him for his time. He wasn’t positive Ballinger had believed him, but he hoped it was enough not to convict Kenzie of arson.
As soon as he hung up, he called his older sister.
A message was left, according to protocol.
Two minutes later, she called him back.
“Cole? Are you all right?”
His throat constricted, like it had when he’d talked to her before in the suite at the Aria. He felt the urge to tell her everything that had happened with Kenzie, but didn’t know how to start. He didn’t even know where he and Marsi stood anymore.
She left Reno to keep you safe.
He’d wanted to tell Kenzie he’d never asked his sister to do that. That he’d searched for her, and worried about her, and even thought she was dead. He’d been so mad when she fine—that she was happy, even—that he couldn’t see straight.
But he’d always wanted her to be happy. She deserved it more than any of them.
He couldn’t see past his own hurt to be happy for her.
“I’m okay,” he said. “I wanted to let you know I told the insurance investigator working on Kenzie’s diner that I was there the night before it burned. Without a witness for the guys who jumped me, it looked like Kenzie had done it herself.”
“Okay,” Marsi said after a moment.
“I told them I was there looking for my sister. I didn’t give your name, but it won’t be hard to figure out who you are.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. We’re hidden. Where are you?”
He was relieved she was taking it in stride. He hadn’t wanted to put her in more danger, but he hadn’t wanted Kenzie to go to jail on his behalf, either.
“On my way to the prison. Dad got beat up or something. They said he might need surgery on his arm or something.” He left out his hunch—the one that Kenzie had called out immediately—that this was a guise to get him to the prison so that his dad could tell him what he’d learned about Lynch.
He still had enough money to pay Bellows’s family, if it was time for that, though not as much as before they’d moved to the Paris hotel.
He would tell Marsi as soon as he had a concrete plan in place. Until then, there was no reason to worry her.
“Is he alive?” she asked.
He took a deep breath. “He is as far as I know. He wanted me to pay someone’s family so he could be protected on the inside. I didn’t.” Yet.
She sighed. “He had no right to ask you that.”
“I know. And I know it’s not my fault he’s hurt. But I feel like shit all the same.”
“I would, too,” she said. “God. How messed up are we, huh?”
The tires rotated beneath the car, a steady whir on the asphalt. Around him, the sky seemed to stretch on forever, clear and blue. Empty, like his chest had felt when Kenzie had told him Ambrose was her place, but not everyone’s.
“I wish I could hug you,” Marsi said.
He gave a short laugh. “I would take a hug right about now.”
“What is it?” she asked. “I haven’t heard you this low since Elaina used your comic books to light a bonfire in the backyard.”
He smiled, despite himself.
“They were Watchmen graphic novels. They were worth more than all our lives combined.” He still remembered the horror of watching the ashes float up into the air.
“We can play the What’s Wrong with Cole Guessing Game,” she suggested. It was something she’d done when they were kids, after their mom had left. He’d always been quiet, but then he’d started going days without talking. Getting deeper and deeper into video games and computers and comics. He’d become so focused on anything other than real life that he’d nearly failed out of high school.
Marsi was the one who’d always kept him grounded. Always brought him back.
“Does it start with a Mac and end with a Kenzie?” she tried.
“It might.”
“I should have warned you about her.”
“Warned me about what?”
“That you’d fall in love with her.”
He waited a beat, the tightness in his throat spreading to every muscle.
“That would have been a nice heads-up.”
“Then you’d miss the surprise,” she said. “I knew from the first day I met her. She’s just like you, but so much cooler. And louder. And friendlier. And she’s a way better cook.”
He chuckled. “Wow. Thanks.”
“So what’s the problem?”
He rounded his shoulders, stretching his back. “She’s going back.”
“Was she going to stay?” The surprise was clear in Marsi’s voice.
“Probably not.” She’d almost left Ambrose with her ex, hadn’t she? She’d basically called it one of the biggest mistakes of her life. He couldn’t very well put her in that situation again.
Sometimes leaving was the best thing you could do, but that didn’t mean staying wasn’t just as hard.
“Did you want her to stay?” Marsi asked.
“Yes.” His voice was so quiet, he wasn’t sure she’d heard it. Once they figured out this drug problem, he would have helped her make a life for herself here. She could have worked at his restaurant, and if she hadn’t wanted that, he could find her another job. Maybe they’d only been together a little while, but he felt like it had been a lot longer. They’d connected like he never had with anyone before. He could already see a future with her. A house. A pair of rings.
Kids.
When he’d realized he hadn’t used a condom, pregnancy had been the last thing on his mind. His first concern had been her—if he’d crossed the line, if this monumental thing that had happened between them would be something she’d regret, or even hate him for. He hadn’t known what to do; he’d never slipped like that with anyone.
And then she’d thought he was concerned about a kid, and maybe for a flash he was, but that had changed into something different. He’d been able to see it. The two of them together for the long haul. A baby in her arms. A toddler on his shoulders.
He’d seen it. And he’d wanted it.
“Why didn’t you tell her that?” Marsi asked.
He sighed. “Because she wouldn’t be happy here. Ambrose is her home. She loves it there.”
“Does she love you more?”
“I’m . . .” He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. “I’m not sure she loves me at all.”
“Did you tell her you love her?”
“Basically.”
Marsi laughed. “That’s a no. Not everyone speaks Cole lingo.”
His brows scrunched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means maybe you should just say it, blockhead, and see what she says.”
“And what if she says she doesn’t? Or if she says she does, and leaves home, and then regrets it?”
“That’s kind of the risk you take when you fall for someone.”
Her voice had changed, grown softer in volume, stronger in conviction.
“Sounds like you’re talking from experience.”
“Maybe I am.”
He took a deep breath. This wasn’t just a passing fascination with Jake. She loved him.
“Is he good to you, Marsi?”
He could practically hear her smile. “He’s good to me. Good for me. Just, good, all the way around.”
He was happy for her.
She cleared her throat. “Cole, can I ask you something?”
“Something else? Sure.”
She snorted.
“Do you love those restaurants? Or did you just do it because you thought it was the right thing to do?”
The exit for the prison was coming up, and he moved over to the far right lane on the highway.
“I like parts of them,” he said. The behind-the-scenes stuff. Licensing and projections. Navigating the business side. He thought of Flapjacks and Kenzie’s plan for rebranding. He would have loved to be a part of something like that.
“I realized a while ago that I never loved Rare,” she said. “I only did it to make Dad happy. Once I figured out I didn’t have to do that anymore, I don’t know, it just felt sort of freeing.”
“Really?” He’d always seen Marsi when he’d seen Rare.
“I kind of wonder if maybe you’re holding on to the restaurants for the same reason, but for me.”
He didn’t know what to say. He’d always worked on them with Marsi in mind—first because he’d thought she would come back to take over Rare again, but then because it had been something she’d worked so hard on, he couldn’t let it go. Losing Rare would have been like losing Marsi, and for a while, that restaurant was all he had of her.
“I’m probably just being crazy,” she said. “But if that’s any part of it, I want you to know that you being happy is more important to me than any stupid restaurant.”
He knew this, deep down, but had forgotten in her absence. Hearing her say it severed something inside him. He was suddenly untethered. Free.
“Thanks, Marsi.”
“I miss you like crazy.”
“I miss you, too.”
“I haven’t been able to get in touch with Elaina yet, but sit tight. We’ll figure something out. And when this is all over, I want to see you.”
His thoughts were so stuck on imagining a life without the restaurants, where he could leave Nevada, that he almost forgot where he was going.
“Marsi, can you ask Jake something for me?”
“Sure.”
“See if he knew anything about Dad working with some Irish gang. They produced the drugs Dad sold through the restaurant. Last time I talked to him he mentioned someone named Lynch.”
He could hear the crinkling of paper over the line.
“You think those are the guys who burned down Flapjacks?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Are they still in the picture?”
“I don’t know,” he said, visualizing Sean Connell. Cole didn’t get a good feeling about him, regardless of what Carson had said. He hadn’t been in the restaurant business long, but he hadn’t found other people in the business to be quite so forthcoming with assistance.
“I just want to make sure we know what we’re dealing with,” he said. He could fill her in on the rest of the details after he got them from his father, maybe tonight.
“I’ll have him do some digging,” she said. “Call me when you know if Dad’s getting his arm amputated?”
He thought maybe that was too much to hope for, but he said “Sure” all the same.
After he hung up, he thought again about what Marsi had said about the restaurants—if he really had kept them these past two years for his sister. From time to time he’d imagined doing other things—finishing his last degree, finding a business to invest his time and energy into—but those things had all come secondary to his responsibility.
A responsibility he might not need to have.
And if he didn’t need to have it, maybe he didn’t have to say good-bye to Kenzie. That life in Ambrose she’d talked about could be his, too, if that’s what she wanted.
He pressed down on the gas, the engine roaring as it picked up speed.
For the first time, he felt free to make his own choices. Free to tell Kenzie he loved her, and he could try to give her whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted. Free to leave a job tied to his father’s drug dealing. Free to leave a history that had trapped him from the very beginning.
Free to be rejected by the woman he loved.
Free to fail, and lose everything.
• • •
It was almost seven by the time he arrived. Half expecting to be turned away, he jogged to the front doors and pushed inside the lobby. Before, the room had been crowded with visitors, but now it was empty and quiet. The only sound came from a radio behind the guard’s partition—a baseball game. He couldn’t make out who was playing over the static.
Cole approached the open glass window, where a man in a uniform sat rubbing at his bushy eyebrows with his thumb. He looked for the sign-in sheet, but there wasn’t one.
“My name’s Cole Talent.” Cole reached into his back pocket to remove his wallet and ID. “I got a call earlier about my father. I hear he’s been . . .”
The guard closed the glass partition.
“All right,” Cole said, brows lifted.
A moment later the door to the office opened, and the guard entered the waiting room. He was about August’s age, but with a weathered face and bored eyes. His paunch hung over his belt, and as he motioned Cole toward the security area, he adjusted his pants.
A tingling at the base of Cole’s neck put him on edge. He wasn’t sure why he’d come now. His father was a prisoner in a federal facility. Unless he was dying, Cole shouldn’t have been notified, and even then, he shouldn’t have had to sign off on anything. His father wasn’t now, nor had he ever been, in Cole’s care.
“What kind of injury does my father have?” he asked after they’d been through the metal detector. His phone and keys were kept in a basket beside the machine.
“Don’t ask me,” said the guard gruffly. He led him down a sterile white hallway, through a barred gate they needed to be buzzed through, and past a sign that said Medical Ward.
“I didn’t sign in,” Cole said, suspicion growing by the moment. “Shouldn’t I have a visitor’s badge?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” said the guard.
They came to a room, where the guard held open the door, allowing Cole to enter. Warily, Cole slid past him, taking note of the man’s name as he did, just in case. Belk.
The room looked like any other emergency room, with curtains separating railed beds, and cabinets lining the walls. The air smelled vaguely of antiseptic, and from somewhere on the far wall came the sound of dripping water.
In the second bed on the right lay an inmate in a bright orange jumpsuit. He was fastened to the metal rails of his bed by a set of handcuffs around his right wrist. Before him, a tall, muscular guard stood watch, though when he saw Cole he nodded and walked toward the door.
“Five minutes,” he said on his way by. The guard didn’t leave, but stood just inside, staring blankly at the opposite wall.
“You came,” said August, sitting up on the bed. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
Cole glared down at him, unsure if he should step closer. A quick assessment revealed a thin bandage around his father’s left wrist, not even a cast.
“I fell,” said August, glancing at the guard. “I was mopping the kitchen. They thought it might be a concussion. Remind me to send flowers to Rosalie when I get out of here. That’s no easy job.”
The mention of one of their old maids brought a sneer to Cole’s lips.
“You’re not getting out of here for a long time,” Cole said. “Which I suspect you know, as you’ve already taken it upon yourself to make friends with the guards.”
August scoffed, hanging his legs over the side and circling his chained wrist as much as he was able.
“They’re not my friends,” he said. “They’re Lynch’s.”
Cole grew still.
“What did you find out?” He glanced over his shoulder. The guard appeared not to be listening, staring straight ahead into space.
“You’ve got your meeting,” August said, mouth tight as he looked up at his son. “But it comes with a price.”
“What kind of price?” A cold block of ice settled between Cole’s shoulder blades.
“Men like this don’t make deals on faith. They’re not like us.”
“Let’s get this straight,” he said. “You and me are nothing alike.”
“Is that so?” His father’s face twisted in anger. “You don’t think I’ve stood where you’re standing now? You don’t think I made deals to protect people I love?”
“You’ve never loved anybody more than yourself.”
“You’re wrong,” said his father, loud enough to make both guards turn their heads. They didn’t move, though. They just went back to mindless staring. “I gave them Sophia for you,” he hissed. “You and your ungrateful sisters. They wanted their assurances, and I gave them. For the three of you.”
Cole had stiffened at his mother’s name. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s how Lynch operates,” said August. “He wants to make sure you won’t burn him, get it? So he takes something from you so you remember who’s in charge.”
“Stop being so vague,” Cole demanded, bending to stare his father in the face. “What happened with Mom?”
He could feel time ticking. They’d had five minutes. It was probably closer to two now.
“She’s dead,” August said. “Lynch took her from me when I tried to get out of the business. He let me pick which one of you it would be. She insisted, of course, that it be her.”
Cole couldn’t process what he was hearing. His mother hadn’t left. She was dead, because of this man—Lynch—who wanted Marsi dead. Who’d tried to kill Kenzie.
And he was about to offer his restaurant as collateral for their lives.
“What’s the price?” His voice was low. He grabbed his father’s shoulders, shook him. “What’s the goddamn price, Dad?”
He thought of Marsi, still hidden according to their last phone call. Elaina had been MIA, though. Did they already have her? Kenzie was safe in the room. No one knew they were there.
His mother was dead.
Murdered.
“They know about your girl, son.”
Cole’s thoughts went silent. “What girl?”
“The one staying with you.”
The blood rushed from Cole’s head. His father knew about Kenzie. Lynch and the Irish might have known she was here, too, which meant she was in danger. He shouldn’t have left her at the hotel.
August looked down at his hands, clasped now on his lap. “Cute thing. Purple in her hair.”
Cole’s stomach plummeted.
“How do they know about her?”
They’d been careful. He hadn’t been followed. Apart from Candi, no one had seen her.
Candi.
The hostess at Rare, who’d worked there before he came on. The woman who’d invited herself into his bed. Who’d found him in Vegas, and managed to get a key to a suite that wasn’t even registered under his name.
“I had to give him something. I couldn’t give him Marsella.”
“You mean you couldn’t find Marsella,” Cole spat. He stared, wide-eyed, at the man who’d raised him. “You’ve been spying on me. Candi’s in your pocket.”
His father shrugged.
Cole wanted to kill him. He wanted to wrap his hands around his father’s throat and squeeze.
“How long?” he said evenly. He thought back on all the times Candi had come over to his apartment, pretending to be interested. She’d done that at his father’s request.
“Since you came back to Reno, I suppose. You’re a liability son, just like your big sister. Had to keep an eye on you.”
Cole felt sick. He had to get back to the hotel. He would call Kenzie as soon as he got his phone back. Tell her to run. He’d find her once she was safe.
“When’s the meeting?” Cole asked. He needed to know how much time he had to get her out of Vegas.
August sighed. “Soon, I suppose. He’ll contact you directly with the details.”
Cole didn’t wait for another word. He left his father sitting on the hospital bed, and raced through the halls, urging the guard to move faster. When he got his phone and keys he made a straight path for the front doors and then sprinted to his car.
His father knew about Kenzie.
His father knew because Candi, a woman he’d shared a bed with, had told him.
If Candi could find Kenzie at the Aria, she could track her to the Paris hotel.
He got into the driver’s seat of the Camry and tore out of the parking lot, tires squealing.
I gave them Sophia for you.
His mother was gone. Not just gone—dead. He’d always imagined her out there somewhere, maybe with another family. When he’d finally accepted she wasn’t coming back, he’d hated her for leaving, but now he hated himself for ever doubting her.
He hated his father for letting them take her. Even if he hadn’t had a choice, he could have done something.
August’s words pounded in the back of his head. Earlier he’d been thinking about a life with Kenzie. A home. Children. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if he should have sent her the opposite direction. If she was going to be safe, she needed to stay away from him.
He picked up the phone, intending to make sure she was safe, but the call went straight to voice mail. He tried again, but no luck.
He willed her to pick up. Right then he would have given his right arm to hear her voice.
A Missed Call icon filled the bottom corner of his screen—it must have come in when he was in the prison. The message was short and sweet, and Cole didn’t need a caller ID to recognize Jake’s voice. All he gave was a phone number, which Cole called immediately.
“Cole, you all right?”
Cole turned onto the highway, gunning it for the Strip.
“What do you know about Lynch?”
He passed cars like they were standing still. He prayed there were no cops to slow him down.
“I only know of him,” Jake said. “When I was undercover, I met some of his people. He’s got a lot of muscle on his side, and a hand in some pharmaceutical companies. That’s the rumor, anyway. Those connections are what let him produce at a high volume without showing up on anyone’s radar.”
“What do you mean?”
“Most producers get their ingredients from drug stores,” explained Jake. “They get a lot of certain over-the-counter pills, they get flagged. Rings up to the cops. When you get your shit from pharmaceutical companies, there’s no way to track it.”
Jake was talking fast, which made Cole drive even faster.
“He brought the product in, we sold the product. That was the way it worked. Rare wasn’t just a meeting place, it was a way to move drugs from various areas to different locations. Supply trucks brought in the product, and carried out the money. Rare was a middleman, get it?”
“Yeah.” It was the deal he’d considered making before August had told him they’d killed his mother as a security measure.
“When Rare stopped being a middleman—when Cassie left with your dad’s book—it put a stop on everything. Rare wasn’t a safe drop point anymore. Lynch’s guys went up in the wind.”
“Not too far in the wind,” said Cole.
“If the guys who jumped you in Ambrose belong to Lynch, you’re in serious trouble. They aren’t just pissed at Cassie for taking the book. They’re guys with a shitload of money and power backing them up. If Lynch wants back in the market, you better get out of the way.”
“I can’t,” he said. “They know about Kenzie.”
He wanted to tell Marsi what he knew about their mother, but he couldn’t yet. Not over the phone. Not while Kenzie’s life was in jeopardy.
Jake was quiet. In the background, he heard rustling movement.
“What’s your plan?” Jake asked quietly.
“Get her and get the hell out of here.”
“All right,” said Jake. “Let me know how I can help.”
• • •
Cole reached the hotel forty-seven minutes later. He’d called Kenzie a dozen more times but she hadn’t answered, even when he’d dialed the hotel and had them connect him to the room.
Slamming the car door behind him, he sprinted through the garage, down the hallways, up the stairs, past the rooms. People he shoved by swore at him. He barely noticed them.
He used his key to open the door. The interior lock wasn’t bolted.
Dread cooled in his gut. Pushing inside, he found the room in perfect order, except for the chaise lounge, flipped on its side, and a shattered bottle of bourbon on the tile in front of the mini bar.
His chest felt like it was caving in. He couldn’t breathe.
Her cell phone sat on the glass end table, and beside it, on the couch, sat a slender woman in a black business suit. Her dark hair was fastened in a bun at the back of her neck, and on the cushion beside her, an inch away from her hand, was a black handgun.
“She was gone when I got here,” said Elaina. “But I know where she is.”