2
Sweat poured down Morgan’s back and not because the weather was warm. The weather probably didn’t get warm in this place, high up as it was. No, Morgan was sweating because of the man in front of him, a man whose reputation for violence was better suited to the 19th than the 21st century.
Morgan didn’t dare squirm. He couldn’t show the slightest weakness as he stood his ground and looked Tim Collins in the eye.
“I’m positive I can move this product for you,” Morgan said in his best property-closing voice. “Between the casinos and the hotels, it won’t even be hard.”
Here, Morgan was on solid ground. He might not know drugs but he knew sales. He’d always been good at sales.
It was his one talent, the one thing he’d brought to the table back in the good old days when he still had a family, a name, and a life. Whatever it was Tim Collins wanted him to sell, Morgan could sell it—legal or not..
Collins squinted at him. His eyes were such a pale shade of blue they seemed to be almost white. It was part of his charm, why they called him Captain Ice. Well, that and the fact that his usual stock in trade was crystal meth.
“I know you can sell it. I ain’t worried.” Collins clapped Morgan’s shoulder and smiled.
His teeth were perfect. He didn’t use his own product, Morgan could see that much. It was probably for the best, except that if Collins wereusing the product it may have made him a little easier to deal with.
“You’ve got a week.”
Morgan choked on his tongue. He could sell crystal meth. Could he sell it in an alien city? He guessed he’d find out.
“A week?” It would take him a week to get down from the mountain, for Christ’s sake. Okay, probably more like three hours but the principle held.
“If you don’t think you can do it, there’s plenty of others that can. I don’t give a crap if you sell it at two hundred percent profit or if you knock over a bank or whatever, but if you don’t come up with three grand by next Tuesday, I’m going to take it out of your ass.
“I don’t got time for slackers, and I don’t got time for crooks. And I don’t trust nobody, especially not pretty boys from Princeton. Got that?”
“Yeah.” Morgan settled his shoulders and put a smile on his face. “Yeah, I’ve got it. You’ll have your three grand in a week, Collins.”
He couldn’t bring himself to call the local kingpin ‘sir’. The only person he’d ever addressed like that was his father, and those days had passed by long ago.
Collins didn’t seem to notice, or care. “I know I will.” His accommodating tone returned, like he hadn’t just been threatening Morgan a few seconds ago. “See you soon. I’ll have my eye on you.”
He turned on his heel and left the old mountain house. Morgan heard the Captain’s car as it pulled out. He didn’t breathe easily until the crunch of sun baked road was long gone..
Now he sat on the little raised hearth and let out a long, shuddering breath. Collins had gotten one thing wrong. Morgan hadn’t gone to Princeton.
It had been University of Chicago all the way but he hadn’t figured the middle of a threatening monologue by one of the worst drug suppliers in Nevada was the best time to bring up his old alma mater. School ties didn’t matter anymore, anyway. Apparently, they never had.
A degree from a first-class institution like University of Chicago should have been able to open any door in the country for him. He should, at least, have been able to apply to graduate schools. Instead, he couldn’t find a single place that would accept him.
They wouldn’t even take his calls. Either his father had gotten to the companies and schools before he could apply, or his family name was enough to put his application into the blue bin. It could have gone either way, really, knowing Roman Patrick.
Now Morgan was here, wherever here was. He knew he was in Nevada somewhere. He’d seen casinos when he poked around the downtown area of the city but that didn’t exactly narrow it down.
He wasn’t sure what to think about coming back to Nevada, not yet. He’d hitched his way up here after the last of his own money ran out and he’d found this place in the mountains a few days ago.
He’d seen hotels and restaurants in the town below; maybe he could get work as a busboy or something. He’d take a job running a register at the grocery store, but employers even wanted a permanent address for those these days.
So, he’d find one. This city in Nowhere, Nevada, had a YMCA. Maybe Morgan hadn’t planned on sinking quite this low but he wasn’t going to make a career out of selling crystal meth.
He’d sell enough to get a place at the Y. It wasn’t glamorous and if he ever got an email from the alumni office at Chicago he’d probably cry or something.. It was a start; a step in the right direction.
Next, he’d need a job and an actual apartment. Maybe he could find a better job someday. It wasn’t a Vegas penthouse and a Mercedes anymore but he’d learned to temper his desires. A roof and four walls and a couple of meals a day would be enough for him.
Until those lofty goals were within reach, well, it had been nice of someone to leave him this empty house to stay in. He went about his morning ablutions using bottled water. The electricity had been turned off to this place a long time ago.
Without electricity, there was no way to pump water from the well — if, indeed, the well still had anything left to give. Morgan wouldn’t bet on it and, considering the stuff they’d pulled out of the mines around here, he probably wouldn’t want to drink the groundwater anyway.
He cleaned his teeth and shaved, then he went about the business of packing his few belongings up. He didn’t have a lot left to his name, just a few spare clothes he kept as clean as he couldand a sleeping bag.
The sleeping bag was his and so was his backpack. He’d bought them with the last of his cash. The clothes, food, and toiletries were all stolen. Morgan had gotten good at shoplifting over the years.
If my father could only see me now.
He rested his head on the ancient glass. Morgan liked the fantasy that he would, someday, be able to see his father again. He pretended he would prove the old man wrong, show him he could make something out of his life without Roman’s permission and “help.”
It was only a dream. His father wouldn’t cross the street to pour water on him if he were on fire. Hell, Roman would probably light the match.
Still, the thought of it made the work of packing up his things a little more pleasant. He hummed to himself as he rolled his clothes up, imagining a conciliatory and sympathetic father.
The sound of a strange engine coming up the mountain path — only a very generous person could call it a road — jolted him from his reverie. The car had to be heading up to the house. There wasn’t anything else on this mountain.
His mouth went dry, his chest tightened. Who could possibly be coming up here? Was it Collins, changing his mind about their arrangement?
There was no way a guy like Captain Ice was going to just let Morgan walk away. If he’d changed his mind, he’d almost certainly have come back to kill Morgan.
Or maybe it was one of Collins’ rivals, come to kill him and take the drugs. It could be the police, come to arrest him in the vain hope of getting to Collins.
Was it wrong to suppose that he’d at least get three meals and a roof out of going to jail? He wasn’t at that point yet, but it was something to keep in mind.
Get yourself together. You won’t know until they get here.
Morgan finished packing his things up and stashed them outside in the brush, hiding the drugs with them. He wasn’t about to get caught trespassing with them on his person, no way. He was all about plausible deniability.
Hiding the drugs worked for any of the other potential intruders except Collins. He would just have to hope Collins saw the wisdom of hiding them, if that’s who it was..
An idea popped into Morgan’s head. He jogged outside and turned to face the decrepit old house, hands in his pockets. By the time the strange car arrived, he was staring up at the house with a speculative look on his face. He scratched at his chin as someone behind him opened and closed a car door and he tried not to tense up as footsteps approached.
“What are you doing here? This is private property.”
Morgan frowned for a second. The voice sounded familiar, but not quite right for backwoods Nevada. “I heard it was on the market,” he lied, keeping his voice as steady and confident as he could.
He turned to face the man, like any real estate buyer would do. “I figured I’d come check it —”
The words died on his tongue as he recognized the new arrival. Jamie Roscoe would stand out anywhere. He still hadn’t figured out how to tame that wild, dirty-blond hair of his and his narrow blue eyes still burned into the people around him like lasers.
Jamie Roscoe was the only man who could make Morgan’s blood boil.
More impressively, he could do it in two very specific ways..
“— out,” he finished lamely. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, and shit again.
Jamie’s eyes widened. His lips parted just a little bit. Just like that, he looked perfect.
He could have been about to kiss Morgan and hell if that wouldn’t just be the nicest way to continue the fantasy portion of their program.
Morgan spoke quickly, before Jamie could curse him and send him away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this place was a Roscoe property. I should have checked." He followed up with a sheepish, shy little smile, the kind that had gotten him out of trouble a thousand times before.
Jamie frowned. A little line appeared between his perfectly sculpted eyebrows, and he stuck his jaw out. “I didn’t realize our intention to sell it was public knowledge.”
There was a dangerous undercurrent to his voice and the cords in his neck had gotten inexplicably tighter. Jamie was a cobra and he was ready to strike.
“But then, I’m sure your dad’s probably got his slimy prints all over it.”
Morgan winced and ran his hand through his hair. Awkward. Morgan’s father had tried everything he could to put Lincoln Roscoe out of business. He understood where Jamie was coming from even if he didn’t care for Jamie’s tone..
Morgan wasn’t with his dad now but there was no reason for Jamie to know that. The last time they’d seen each other, Morgan had been his dad’s faithful lapdog forever hoping he could get the approval his father always dangled just out of reach. It had seemed like water under the bridge… until Jamie showed up.
This was Roscoefamily property, and Morgan was squatting in it. Awkward didn’t even begin to describe the situation.
“Actually, Jamie, this has nothing to do with my dad.” He tried to project a reassuring image, holding his hands up and everything. It worked in the movies, right?
Morgan knew he was out of practice but he didn’t think there was a “practice” that would have prepared him for this kind of hostility in a business transaction. Nothing ever prepared a person to deal with the Roscoes.
Jamie didn’t buy it. Wasn’t that the rub?
Morgan had suffered through a crush on Jamie the entire time they’d known each other. It had been a crush the size of Texas.
He’d known, even then, he couldn’t do anything about it. And while Jamie was, impossibly, even more beautiful now, he was just as out of reach.
“I call bullshit,” Jamie told him. He folded his arms over his chest. “Roman has always pulled your strings.”
“Back then, sure.” Morgan couldn’t think of a reason to deny it. “I don’t work for him anymore.”
Jamie staggered back. “Okay,” he said after a moment.
He didn’t question the idea that Morgan wouldn’t be with his father, though. Wasn’t that interesting? Had Roman’s reach extended this far or was there more to the story?
“So what are you really doing here?”
For half a second, Morgan considered telling the truth. Every bright, animated children’s movie told him to do exactly that, right? Tell the truth, endear yourself to your love interest, live happily ever after.
Plus, everything Morgan had ever heard about Jamie Roscoe at school had suggested he was a nice guy. He might be able to help Morgan out, help him find a job and a place to stay. He’d done it for other people from school, when they’d had problems.
Morgan had grown up a lot over the past two years. Fairy tales were for children; there was no happily ever after. Even if there were, Jamie Roscoe wouldn’t give one to a guy with the last name of Patrick..
Besides, Morgan had his pride. He couldn’t look at Jamie and admit he had nothing to his name now but an old sleeping bag and some crystal meth.
The problem was thatthere was no other reason for him to be up on this mountain. It was either the hideous truth or the hideous lie. He decided to go with the lie.
“I’m serious,” he said. “I’m looking to move in. It looks like it could be right up my alley.”
Jamie scoffed. “Yeah, sure. Okay. The guy with a condo on Wacker Drive wants to buy a shack in Western Nevada. You know the gold’s all mined out, right? Along with the barium.”
Morgan affected a laugh. Barium? Jesus Christ, no wonder there’s no well.
“Oh, come on. I told you. I’m on my own these days. I’m not here to steal all the gold or the uranium or whatever else is up here in your hills, man.
“I was thinking of tearing the house down and maybe putting up something a little more modern.” Something with city water, he added silently. He didn’t complain too much, though, because at least the outhouse worked.
Or it had once he’d cleared out the scorpions.
Jamie narrowed those eyes at him. The power of that gaze could make someone’s knees knock.. “Why would I sell you this house?”
A pit yawned in Morgan’s stomach. “I’m not my father,” he snapped, but as fast as it had flared, the fight left him.
“Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this isn’t the right place for me after all. I mean, I’d never have come to see it if I’d known it was a Roscoe property. I’m sorry to have offended.”
Jamie gave Morgan a long, measuring look. Morgan couldn’t help but feel like Jamie could see everything about him.
Jamie’s gaze slid over to the other parking space, conspicuously empty. There wasn’t anything for him to see; Morgan was as empty as the house. All he needed to do was to get rid of Jamie and get out of here.
“What?” Morgan’s laugh sounded hollow in his own ears. “My driver brought me up here but I sent him on some errands. I hardly needed him to sit around while I scouted the house and the land. I’ll call him when I’m ready to leave.”
Jamie stared at him. Morgan could see he was suspicious. It was in the little crinkles in his eyes, the way his mouth set.
There was something else there, too. Morgan couldn’t quite identify it, but even with all the shame of his current state, he had to admit he liked it.
Jamie considered for a moment, then he locked his car. “Seeing as how I came up here and all, why don’t I give you the tour?”