Chapter Thirty-Four

Treasure Island glittered across the Strip.

The glass of the window cooled his forehead as he stared at the hotel across the street from the room at the Venetian. Sophie had rented this suite for the event. The orchestra members had used it as a green room before going on stage, and now for Ryan it was a waiting chamber.

The gold-colored hotel shone brightly back at him. Ryan could still remember when Treasure Island opened twenty-two years ago. He’d been ten and his father had taken him to see the towering structure, one of the Strip’s first spectacle hotels.

To his young eyes, Treasure Island had seemed majestic, a true giant among its neighbors. He’d gazed skyward with that childlike sense of awe, his father’s arm around him as his dad had pointed out the original skull-and-crossbones marquee. They’d wandered down the Strip to a cheap buffet, then returned in time to see one of the nightly pirate battles in Buccaneer Bay in front of the hotel entrance. Canons on the ships had lit up with flames, and swashbuckling pirates had whipped out swords and fenced to the death.

Now the pirate theme had been mostly washed away and the nightly battles had ended years ago, though the manmade lake still edged the property. Ryan had seen so many changes in this city. He’d watched it morph from the Stardust and Circus Circus style hotels to the mega casinos and their star wattage of today. Through it all, the city was his home, and always would be.

And through it all, too, he’d been a fucking mule, carrying secret names in a goddamn dog jacket.

He’d held onto that pattern all through high school, college, the army and beyond. Stowed it safely away because he’d thought it meant something to his mom.

Something real. Something about hope, the future, and another chance.

It was supposed to be her redemption.

What was it really, though? Was it her own notes that she’d never had a chance to toss away? Names of users? Names of dealers she owed money to? Or worse? And if so, had he been simply in the right place at the right time when she was arrested and she’d thrust it into his hands, whispering that he should keep it safe for her?

She knew he’d do what she asked.

He was her favorite.

He was the only one she could ask.

Latent rage roiled inside him, rising and twisting through his veins. He breathed out heavily, an angry plume, like a dragon. The lights on Treasure Island flickered, and he snapped his gaze away, staring at his black leather shoes as his emotions shapeshifted again.

Now, he was flooded with shame—so much shame at having been deceived.

Because dammit. She could have asked him to throw the fucking thing out instead. Lord knows, he would have. He would have crumpled it up on the way to school the next day and chucked it in a trash can. At least then he wouldn’t have carried it around like some sad sack year after year. He wouldn’t have held onto the patternless pattern like a fool, running his fingertips over it as if it were a symbol of her freedom someday.

When it seemed more like a glaring piece of evidence.

A lie, now exposed.

What else had she told him that was a lie?

He wanted to know so badly his bones vibrated with coiled tension. He wanted to know who those men were. He wanted to know what role they played in his father’s death.

The tension in him spiked, and he pressed his fingertips to the dark window.

Eighteen fucking years and counting without the man. This night. The end of the pirate’s show. The opening of the Wynn. The rollercoaster at New York New York. The Ferris wheel. They were milestones. They were markers in time. They were all the moments Thomas Paige had missed.

When the door creaked open, he turned around, straightening his spine and lifting his chin, ready to stop guarding the secrets his mother had asked him to keep. John and Sophie walked into the suite.

“Sophie said you had some new details,” John began, cutting to the chase as he motioned for Ryan to take a seat on the couch. Sophie sat next to Ryan, and John opted for a chair.

“Thanks for taking the time out of your night,” Ryan said, then drew a deep breath, letting it fuel him, letting it feed him as he proceeded to tell John about the pattern that was never a pattern. He traded off with Sophie, and she weighed in, too, explaining her role in the discovery and then sharing the names.

T.J. Nelson and Kenny Nelson.

To say John’s eyes flickered with some kind of hope was an understatement. Marshall’s words rang in his ears. The detective would probably give a right arm for those names.

“Are those the guys you’re looking for?” Ryan asked, his body taut with anticipation. John had kept his lips shut the first time they’d talked, holding all the cards, telling him little. Ryan swallowed, hoping the information exchange would flow both ways tonight. “Because you asked me when I first met you who she was associating with at the time. You said you had new evidence and were trying to determine the validity of it. Is this the evidence you wanted?”

“I can’t say for sure, but this is as close as we’ve come, and it lines up with my leads,” John said, and Ryan released a deep breath, relieved this wasn’t a fool’s errand after all. John continued, “I know it hasn’t been easy for you, but I really appreciate you sharing this—”

“I did nothing.” Ryan pointed to Sophie. “She figured it out.”

John cracked one of the first smiles Ryan had ever seen on the detective’s face. “I like to say she’s my code breaker.”

Sophie waved them off. “Hardly. There’s more to it, but the other rows are going to take more time to figure out.”

“I might need you as a consultant on this case then,” John said to Sophie.

“You know I’ll do whatever I can, and whatever you need.”

“This is a good start and I appreciate it.” John turned to Ryan. “I want to let you know we’ve been looking for Stefano’s accomplices, so I’ll share what I’m able to.” Ryan leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, his ears eager as John spoke. “We believe that Jerry Stefano did not act alone the night of the murder. We believe he had help. We believe he had both a broker who arranged for his hits, and a getaway driver who, of course, drove him away from the scene of the crime that night. At the time he was questioned, Jerry repeatedly claimed that after Dora Prince hired him, he acted alone in the crime. He steadfastly stuck to this statement for eighteen years and remains wedded to it. But we have reason to believe that he never gave up the names of his accomplices as a sort of exchange. In return for protecting their own, these two men had a pact to look out for Mr. Stefano’s child, who was born shortly before he was incarcerated.”

Information came fast and furious, like bullets. But they didn’t wound him—they didn’t nick him. Instead, Ryan dodged them because he understood what they were—facts. Not his heart. “Wow. That’s a lot of info,” Ryan said, rubbing his hand across his jaw as he took it in. “Do you think my mother protected their names, too, in some sort of exchange?” He furrowed his brow as he tried to make sense of his mother’s urging him to stay quiet about the drugs, and if her warning had something to do with the other men involved rather than with her quest to prove her innocence.

“I don’t have the answer to that. But this is the biggest break we’ve had so far in potentially finding the other men that we believe were involved in the murder of your father,” John said, and even though Ryan had heard those words countless times over the last eighteen years—murder of your father—they took on a deeper meaning then.

They echoed in his bones and resonated in his blood.

For so long, he’d protected the rest of his mother’s story. Kept it locked up in case the truth would ever set her free. But this was no longer about her. This was about finding everyone who was responsible for his father’s death.

“There’s more I have to tell you,” Ryan said, steady and even. Strong, too. He looked to Sophie, who’d been by his side the whole time, like a partner, like a rock, like his foundation. She had given him strength to speak the truth to her, and to speak now for his family. Her blue eyes were full of honesty, full of love. She’d said a few minutes ago I lied, but that was nothing compared to what Ryan had done his whole life.

The lies of omission.

The lies of protection.

He shucked them off. Shed them all. Everything was coming undone.

Scrubbing a hand across his chin, Ryan unraveled another secret. “I found my mother doing cocaine when I was thirteen. She told me she was stopping. She said she met her lover, Luke Carlton, in Narcotics Anonymous. She also told me Jerry Stefano was her dealer.” John arched an eyebrow, tilting his head at that bit of information. Ryan explained more. “She always claimed she’d been framed for the murder because she owed him money. That’s why she was taking on more work for the gymnastics team,” he said, serving it all up, giving everything to the one man who might be able to exact justice. A sense of freedom rushed through him as he answered each and every question John asked.

When he was done, Sophie excused herself for the restroom.

John thanked him profusely. “I know it’s not easy to share all that. But I’m grateful, and this will help. I assure you.”

“Find those fuckers,” Ryan said, looking him in the eyes.

“That’s my goal.”

“Are you going to talk to my mom about all of this?”

John nodded. “I will, but she usually doesn’t say much.”

Ryan scoffed. “Tell me about it.”

“And I’ll have to coordinate with her attorney, so it’ll be a few days.”

“I’ll be seeing her tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Appreciate that.” John extended a hand. “By the way, it’s no secret that I wasn’t thrilled when I found out you were dating my sister. But she’s incredibly happy. And all I ask is that you keep it that way.”

“That’s my goal,” Ryan said, and it was number one on his to-do list.