CHAPTER 25
Seattle – Thursday, Five days later…
Funny thing about pain is it comes in all shapes, sizes, and directions. It ebbs and flows like crashing waves of tolerable state to unbearable discomfort with little to no warning, switching on and off. But, the real kicker is that there isn’t a damn thing to relieve it.
This wasn’t the kind of pain you pop a pill for, or rub an offensive smelling cream on. No, this was the kind of pain you just live with, you feel completely. Then it leaves you scarred beyond repair.
No, there wasn’t a God damn thing he could take to heal his broken heart. Not even when you have more money than God. It’s true what they say, money really can’t buy you happiness – case in point – Beckman McCain.
Standing in front of the floor to ceiling window on the 73rd
floor of the tallest building in Seattle, drink in hand, Beck stared back at the glowing sunset, thinking about the week’s events. The drink was to ease his aching nerves after the tantrum Sheridan threw, just moments prior, when he told her there wasn’t anything between them and that she should move on. Without him.
Turns out, that wasn’t part of her plan, and it made him a giant asshole
that made her wish she had left him in Timbuktu with the farmers
. Duly noted. In only five days, with dozens of meetings already and a media frenzy everywhere he went, Beck found himself right back where he started, three months ago – lonely, and unhappy.
Full circle moment – interesting. Trying to find a way out of the hell he found himself in, he went over the timeline of events, as he had many times in the past five days, trying to resolve his brokenness. He was a smart guy. He had graduated high school at age 16, and not only ran, but owned the largest financial firm in the U.S., as a grad from MIT with a law degree in hand. All by age 30.
Starting as a commodities trader, he didn’t really hit it big until he developed trading software that changed the financial industry. McCain Industries had their hands in everything from trading, to real estate, to technology – he was a real big shot. So, why couldn’t he figure this out?
He left three months ago to get his head straight, and find new direction. After his mom died of a drug overdose, before he was old enough to understand, he went to live with his grandparents in an Oregon mountain town, Arrow Springs.
The family ranch no longer ran as such, it was just a place to go to get away from his now superficial life in a city that ate him alive and a social circle that sucked him dry. Arrow Springs allowed him to reconnect with his roots. A sanctuary of sorts. This is what he had done, only this time at Pinecrest.
The caretaker, Hank Bower, who lived on his ranch property full time, had been relieved of his duties for the week, and sent on vacation – Beck’s treat. It wasn’t unusual, they had done this before. What was unusual was Sheridan extending Hank’s vacation.
Sheridan claimed she did so because Beck hadn’t come back yet and must’ve needed more time to reconnect.
In other words, she didn’t care that he was still gone. She didn’t think to check on him because she was enjoying his Penthouse, and his American Express Black Card. Truth be told, he didn’t love her, never had, she was just…there
.
He remembered taking his horse, Zander, out for a ride to clear his head. Zander was his tenth birthday gift, and one hundred percent his responsibility, and a great responsibility it was. From brushing, to exercising him, Beck learned a great deal from that horse. It contributed to becoming who he was today – dedicated, driven, and loyal. Zander kept him focused and out of trouble too.
That was likely the purpose of Zander all along; his grandfather had been quite brilliant in that way. Perhaps that’s why he never really fit into the rich and famous life of Beck McCain, but felt comfortable as Guy. His roots, the way he was raised, who he was to the core.
So many pieces were falling into place, making sense of the three months they were missing. Hindsight is 20/20, as they say, whoever they
are. Looking back on the day Zander made his way back to Pinecrest wounded, looking for Beck was clearer now. Though at the time he didn’t realize it, he was saying goodbye to an old friend, and it hurt.
Even Chappy’s liking to him made sense to him now. Though he looked much different all these years later, and he didn’t know him as Chappy when he had been just a boy. Big Mac, Becks grandfather, and Chappy had been friends, through the ranching and equestrian community. Why he didn’t mention Beck’s name was still a mystery, but he was glad he hadn’t because it gave him time to discover who he really was on the ranch, and discover Morgan. He’d have to thank him for that. Someday.
Something else that didn’t entirely make sense, no matter how he tried to rationalize it, was how quickly Morgan turned on him – on them. What’s worse – he didn’t even try to fight for her. He had tried to call her, not once, but twice.
The calls went unanswered, and he was still waiting for a return call that likely wasn’t coming. Had it really just been fun
for her like she said? That was an idea he just couldn’t wrap his mind around.
Stirred from his thoughts by a rap at his door, Beck tossed back his drink and went to the bar in his office for a refill as Peter walked in.
“Drink, Pete?” Beck asked.
“Sure, it’s cocktail hour somewhere. I’ll take what you’re drinkin’.”
With a silence between them as Beck poured the dark amber drinks, that odd sensation he had on the ranch danced for his attention like a knock at the door, but he didn’t care to answer. He was done torturing himself with the how’s, what’s, and when’s of it. He would sort the rest out when he was alone again.
“So, first week back. How’s it going?” Pete asked, sipping on his scotch, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Shrugging his shoulders, Beck returned to his spot in front of the window. As the rest of the golden rays disappeared behind the horizon, he eyed Pete through the window’s reflection.
“Really, Beck? That’s it?” he mocked him with a dramatic shoulder shrug in return. “How about, it’s good to be back Pete, thanks for running my shit and making my bank account fatter.”
Pete’s tone took on a heated motion of hostility that had Beck’s undivided attention, with the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. Seems he was opening that door to that familiar, odd, sensation. Pete’s haste seemed to be that which was knocking.
Turning to face him, Beck stared for a long minute as if looking at his best friend
and closest colleague for the first time. Pete’s light and funny way was gone. He looked hard around the edges, his eyes no longer full of light. He was dark, cold, and had a menacing look about him. When had that happened?
“Yeah, I actually said that to you, oh mighty Beck McCain.” Pete stood, evening the field of dominance in a stare down. He was playing hard ball. “Your move.”
Taking the last shot of scotch that remained in his glass, Beck calmly set the glass at the edge of his desk before crossing his arms in a tight knot across his puffed out chest, and tossing a look of disgust at Pete. “Something you want to get off your chest, Pete
? Like why you didn’t think to, oh I don’t know, look for me? Rather, you preferred to run my empire
? Did you sit at my desk, in my
chair? How’d it feel, Pete?”
Pete laughed a frightening chortle full of malice, “No…” He turned to Beck. “You have people
for that.
I did a few board meetings, few charity events; you gave away a lot
of money, by the way. But I spent most of my time…doing other things.”
“Such as? Care to elaborate on what you were doing? I mean, don’t hold back now, by all means get it all
out there!”
This was one of those moments you only saw on television and wished you could unsee, unhear, and wipe from your memory, and forget it ever happened. More than that, you wish you could control that part of your mind that could recall any number of things, reminding you of whatever it so chose, in an instant, with a simple hint at a previous impression.
Yes, this was definitely one of those moments. A single black leather glove, pulled from Pete’s jacket, was the trigger that sent Beck’s mind reeling, remembering, and piecing it all together. Irony at its best, oh how he wished he could forget.
“You…” Beck nearly whispered.
“Yeah, yeah…me!” Pete’s tone so frighteningly cynical and unequivocally nonchalant. “I knew exactly where you were, Guy
. Banging that hot cop. Do you know how many times I had to jack off watching her tits bounce? And her scream, oh man.” He held his hands out to his sides in surprise, looking down at his crotch, “I’m getting hard just thinking about her!”
Beck lunged at him, stopping at the sight of a gun. “You son of a bitch.”
Pete let out a sarcastic gasp, “Yeah, let’s leave our moms out of this.” Like pouring salt on a wound, Pete was pulling out all of the stops, going for the jugular. “Oops, sorry, you don’t have one. Ouch.”
Pete circled Beck, recklessly pointing the gun at him with a lazy hand. “You know, I’ve got to say, that trick on the Jeep,” Pete stopped in front of Beck and added animated hand gestures to emphasize his next jab, still waving the gun around as he did, “you know, where you flipped her over? Ahh, that
was it, man. When Sheridan got to your ranch the next day, you know, to rescue
you, I tried that one!”
This guy was twisted, morbid, and so fucking far gone it was unbelievable. Where were the red flags before, they had to have been there. He let
this happen.
“You know what that whore said to me when I told her to touch herself like the cop did? Beck never makes me do it
.” His mocking high pitch sing song voice was nearly his unravelling. This man was losing his shit, quick.
Pete put up his ungloved thumb, opposite the gun and finished his retelling. “Tried to stick one of these in her ass too and the bitch slapped me. Stuck up whore. I need to get one of those hot mountain girls.”
Beck needed a plan out and didn’t have one. For now, keep talking, stall, it was all he could think to do. “So, leave me in a strange town, take over my life, and fuck my girlfriend while you’re at it? Did I forget anything?”
“Oh, I’ve been fucking her for years. Don’t flatter yourself with that one. Sheridan Whitley’s pussy sniffs out money like a hungry basset hound. Toss her a diamond here and there and she’s like a dog with a bone. She’ll do anything.”
Shaking his head, with a disbelieving chuckle, he was clearly amused by his own sick twisted bullshit. “Yeah, I think the hot cop with the big tits is my next conquest. I’ll be sure to console her at your funeral, maybe make a few trips over to that God forsaken town in search of a shoulder to cry on myself. I’m going to take your death really
hard. Before long – I’ll wine and dine her with all of your money, I’m going to inherit, and my new company.” With his arms out, he swayed back and forth indicating the space they were in was the source of his reference.
“My money? Company?” Beck was befuddled by the claims Pete was making. This guy had far exceeded narcism and had worked his way right into a full blown psychopath.
“See, that’s the real genius, that is me,” Pete bragged. “All week you have been sitting in this fucking stupor, I’ve been putting form after form in front of you to sign. Much to my surprise, you
decided to leave me everything. You signed that one away Tuesday. God, you’re stupid. But thanks.”
Beck wondered, had he really done such a thing? He had a hard week, distracted by his troubles and McKenzie Ridge, but sign a new will? Without even realizing it? What else had he signed?
“I know what you’re thinking. How did I, the great Beckman McCain, get outsmarted by this asshole
? Am I right?” A disturbing sound that was something of a twisted evil laugh escaped Pete. He was finding so much pleasure in his admitted guilty deeds. “I am! God, I’m good at this!”
“More or less,” Beck agreed, completely monotone. “The asshole part, anyway.”
“Yes! I’m on a roll. I was pissed. Seriously, how did you escape death so many times? I mean, Jesus Christ, you wouldn’t fucking die! I tried shooting you, I even went ballsy and broke into your bedroom when you first got there, and knocked your ass out, shot at you again, tried to set you on fire…I mean fuck, it’s like you have nine lives or something! But then it hit me, when I saw your face the day we showed up and you didn’t want to leave. It was perfect.”
“You know you’ll never get away with this. Even if you find a way under the radar, the estate will be tied up for years while they look for a killer,” Beck offered, trying to foil Pete’s plan.
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. There isn’t a killer. See, you’ve been moping around here for days now, everyone has noticed. Why do you think I leaked this to the press? Extra eyes on you. No one, I mean no one
will be a bit surprised by your suicide. That idiot cowboy, Dunny? What the fuck kind of name is that? He was an easy mark, would’ve taken the fall.” He held up the gun, waving it back and forth, “Matching guns! That wasn’t even on purpose! Ha! We don’t need him now, lucky bastard; you’ll just kill yourself and let him off the hook. Now sit down, let’s get this over with, I’m getting bored.”
“You don’t have to do this, Pete.” A last ditch effort was all he had left.
A dramatic eye roll and deep sigh reflected Pete’s irritation. “Actually, I do. I have dinner reservations in twenty minutes…you know, so people see me out and about when you, ya know, kill yourself. Just in case. You understand.”
Every possible scenario ran through Beck’s mind, nothing promising. He could fight. What did he have to lose at this point? Die at the hands of a psychopath that makes it look like suicide, or die fighting with a chance to survive. One thing was sure, if he fought, it would be awfully hard to pass off as a suicide…if it’s a messy murder.
He sent his assistant home hours ago, with the intention of leaving himself, and his office was the only one on the floor. The rest of the floor consisted of boardrooms, his private gym, and a small apartment he used from time to time when he worked too late to drive home. Nobody was around to get caught in the crosshairs, which also meant, nobody was around to help.
Slowly moving toward his chair, while Pete fiddled with the gun, the reflection in the window revealed they were no longer alone. A large behemoth of a man had entered without a sound, dressed head to toe in black. There was something familiar about him. It wasn’t clear if this was help, or just a cleanup crew, until a second man entered like a stealthy elite military operative, Blake.
Making eye contact through the reflection in the glass, Blake tipped his head right, signaling Beck’s rescue. Not needing to be told twice, Beck dove to the right, ducking behind his desk before Pete knew what was happening. With a quick glance in the direction of Beck’s commotion, Pete raised the gun, aiming at the desk, still unaware of the two men that had weapons aimed…on him. It wasn’t until he was ready to fire, he saw the reflection.
A shot was fired, followed by an odd guttural sound, and a second shot followed by ceiling matter falling over them.
“That’s for talking about his partner like that,” a booming voice instructed. “We don’t call our hot mountain girls
whores.”
Cautiously raising his head, Beck saw the stranger kick Pete’s gun away before holstering his weapon and zip tying his wrists, then ankles, not being careful with the newly bloodied leg. That accounted for the first shot. Looking up at the ceiling, Pete’s proximity, the second shot was explained. Pete’s gun went off, when he hit the ground.
“You okay, McCain?” Blake’s voice brought a sigh of relief. Keeping his weapon aimed at Pete, Blake didn’t even look Beck’s way. “You really need better security.”
“Thanks? I think?”
Looking at the sight before him, Beck laughed. He had a busted ceiling, mess everywhere, and couple GI Joe types hovering over a would be murderer…in his office. He couldn’t think of anything funnier. That was supposed to be his blood, his body…dead. Nothing like last minute.
“Shock?” the large man questioned, and by large, larger than even Blake.
“I don’t understand. How did you… Where did you… Beck McCain, by the way.” He extended his hand as a formality despite their odd meeting, still confused by the whirlwind of events, unsure of appropriate protocol in situations such as this.
“Declan O’Reilly. Been here all week.”
“O’Reilly?”
“Yep, Carigan. She’s my kid sister, speaks very highly of you. As far as she’s concerned, none of us were here.” There was a dramatic head shake and eye roll that didn’t typically fall off a larger than life type.
It had Beck’s head spinning; his night couldn’t get any weirder, or could it?
Three more men walked in, dressed in the same head to toe black. “Everything’s clear, we got it all.”
“My brothers.” It seemed Declan wasn’t one for words and everything was short, to the point, and need to know basis.
Apparently there were four O’Reilly brothers, Beck thought there were five. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the help. You saved my life, but what the hell is going on?”
“The men laughed, including Blake. “We’ve been here all week, in the building, undetected. Your personal security is tight, that’s why Blake couldn’t figure out who you were. High profile, untouchable, and undetectable. The building…not the case,” one of the men said.
Beck’s jaw dropped at the idea of five men, of that size, hiding in his building, completely undetected for days.
One of the brothers spoke up, “Don’t worry. We have you all set up now. Security is tight.”
“Thaaanks…”
“When you left,” Blake began, “I took Dunny to the House, ran through the motions, but things weren’t adding up. This jackass
gave himself away, along with blondie. Jessie made a good point, they never asked how you were, nor were they surprised by your name, Guy, that your memory had been gone, anything.”
A light bulb moment put a smile on Beck’s face for the first time in nearly a week. “Because they already knew.”
“Bingo. Exactly. That meant they had been watching all along. The woman hadn’t been there, it was obvious by her reaction to the ranch, and you being shot. But, this asshole,” Blake kicked the foot of Pete’s hurt leg, causing him to writhe in pain, “wasn’t surprised. He’d been there. Three times he popped shots at you, but we couldn’t get him, he just disappeared.”
“Then Dunny would show up, look guilty as sin, and we quit looking,” Beck added.
“I couldn’t figure that part out, took me a minute. Sure Dunny was mostly in the wrong place at the wrong time, though he did admit to some of the damaged property over the last year.”
“Why? What was his motivation?”
“Morgan. He tried to be her hero. Paint a picture that she needed him; create a scenario where she depended on him. Twisted love shit, I don’t get it either,” Blake finished. “He has to deal with Morgan’s disappointment now. She finally saw him for an asshole.”
“Good…I guess.” Mention of her name stung. He couldn’t hear anymore, where she was concerned, so Beck deflected, changing the subject. “So where does that leave Pete. Why didn’t we see him, or find him…for three months.”
“The cabin. You mentioned the cabin and I went and checked it out.”
“Cabin? When did I mention…” and then it hit him. His last episode, when they were shot at on the last day he was at Pinecrest. He saw the cabin. He must’ve said it out loud.
“He was staying at your ranch, off and on, telling Hank Bowers you were busy each time he called to check in. Hank was none the wiser. He used the plane to come and go on your runway, staying away from town. People would see the jet and assume it was you. There was no way for him to get back to your ranch that fast, each time he took a shot, snooped around, or set the place on fire…”
And there it was, he had been hiding in the cabin, a quick jaunt if he took the right trails. It would be easy to get lost, undetected that way. Then, when the metaphoric dust settled – ride his horse back to the McCain ranch on the trails. The very trails Guy rode the day he landed on Pinecrest. That part of Pete’s plan had
been brilliant.
Pete laughed, “You can’t prove any of that.”
One of the brothers chimed in, with a laugh of his own. “Actually, we have all of your wacked out, bragging confessions from earlier as evidence. Smile for the camera,” he said pointing out several in the room, smiling and waving to each.
“Oh, and we’ve been here all week, remember? We have blondie downtown turning on you as we speak. All we had to do was show her video of the two of you chatting about the suicide
. Turns out, her junk doesn’t just sniff out money;
it found her a get out of jail free card. Ouch, right?”
Pete turned to Beck, with a look that could kill. “I should have finished you the first time, when that fucking horse threw you, rather than assume you were as good as dead.”
Another shot fired, startling the group – all but Blake. He had his weapon drawn on Pete’s now bleeding foot, where he unloaded a round. “Thanks for the reminder. That’s for the horse. I fucking hate killing animals. Asshole. Christ
, learn to shoot.”
The police arrived and escorted Pete to the hospital, by way of ambulance, where he would receive treatment before heading to jail. Beck had given an official statement, but the real statement was on the video.
The O’Reilly brothers had packed up and headed back to Portland, leaving just Blake and Beck to walk out. “
“Nice guys,” Beck said, referring to the brothers. “I see Carigan in each of them.”
“Yeah, they are. One was missing, but maybe another time. I had them here before your plane even landed,” Blake admitted with what sounded like an ounce of pride.
“Well, thank you. Really. I don’t know how to repay you. Send the bill?” Beck laughed.
“You know,” Blake took a light, but serious tone, “she’s been a mess since you left. She tries hiding it, but I see it – we all do.”
“I tried calling,” Beck shared, defeat in his voice. “She won’t take my calls, and she practically kicked me off the ranch.”
“She thinks this is where you should be. She doesn’t want to be the reason for any regrets.” Blake was being sentimental, not something he wore on his sleeve often.
“My only regret is not staying.”
Blake nodded, patted Beck on the shoulder, and said, “Well, on that note, I better go. There’s a wedding tomorrow. You’re Beckman McCain; you can have any life you want.”
And he was gone.