Chapter Thirty
Liam
It's well after five and fully dark by the time I step out of the small gift store. There's a cold chill in the air, but I'm still running hot. The earlier interaction with Damon has me wound up tight. Though, given the fact that I have a verbal agreement with Mrs. Bryant, the nice older woman who runs Red Door Gifts, the tension that's got my body in a vice grip is somewhat eased. At least that's one more business Damon isn't going to get his filthy, disgusting hands on.
I text the legal department at ADE to draft up the agreements and give them the email address they need to send them to. I want the contracts signed ASAP before Damon has a chance to swindle Mrs. Bryant and talk her out of it. If there's one thing that Damon does well, it's slinging bullshit. He can charm the pants off anybody and sell ice to an Eskimo.
I won't give him that chance. I'm going to scoop up as many businesses in Port Safira as I can and block him at every turn. So far, I'm the only one doing business on Sapphire Avenue – the town's main artery. Damon's dealings are on the outer edges of town to this point and I'm going to keep him out there. I'm not going to let him touch anything closer to the heart of town. Not if I can help it.
I doubt she's still there, but I walk up the street to Bookworms anyway. The shop is dark, the door is locked, and the closed sign is in the window. Paige has left for the day.
“Damn it,” I mutter to myself.
I slip my phone back out of my pocket and punch in her number. Holding it to my ear, I listen to the call connect, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Shit.”
I key in a text message and send it. I just want to talk to her and hope she's going to give me the chance to explain. There has been a horrible misunderstanding about this entire affair. She's thinking that I'm doing something shady. Something terrible. That I am conspiring to gut her hometown. But that's not the reality of the situation. And all I want right now is the chance to explain that to her. To lay out all the plans and paperwork and show her what I’ve been doing.
A few minutes go by and there's still no response from her. Since I don't actually where her house is, I can't just pop by. I have no choice but to hope she gets back to me tonight. Otherwise, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow when her shop is open again.
With a frustrated sigh, I turn and head back to my car, and from there, I head home. There's nothing more I can do down here. I just have to hope that Paige's cooler head prevails and that she'll talk to me.
The drive home is quick and as pull through the gates, parking my car in the circular drive. Hemingway bounds over to me the second that I step through the door. I take a minute to kneel down and give him some scratches behind the ears and belly rubs when he flops over in front of me.
“You're lucky, you know,” I say to my dog. “Dogs don't have to worry about messy things like relationships and emotions. Frustrating things.”
He looks at me with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, a big doggy smile on his face. I stand up and Hemingway follows me into my office. I fish a couple of treats out of the bowl on my desk and toss them to him. He eagerly snaps them up and looks to me for more.
“If I keep giving you treats,” I say. “You're going to be so fat, you won't be able to get off that bed.”
He wags his whole body, still giving me a sweet doggy smile. I can't resist. Reaching into the jar, I pull out a couple more treats and toss them over to him. They're gone in a matter of seconds. Of course. Hemingway never learned how to slow down and savor something.
“Sir?”
I look up to find Janice peeking her head into my office. “Yes?”
“I've left some dinner for you in the oven,” she says. “If you won't be needing me any more tonight, I think I'm going to turn in.”
“Please, yes,” I say. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. And thank you.”
“I'll be on call should you need me.”
“Get some rest, Janice.”
She disappears, closing the office door behind her. I drop down into my seat and fire up my computer. A moment later, my cell phone rings and I slip it out of my pocket. It's Adam. I connect the call and hold the phone to my ear.
“Adam,” I say. “How goes your fight against disability fraudsters.”
“Ongoing,” he says. “Ever ongoing.”
“At least it keeps you employed.”
“There's always that,” he says. “Listen, sorry it's taken me a bit, but I had to dig real deep on this. I found the connection between Waltham and Damon.”
“Oh really?”
“Yup,” Adam says. “It's under layers of crap and it took some real doing. They're pretty good at hiding their tracks. But, basically, Waltham works as an enforcer. A fixer, maybe. Basically, he does all of Damon's dirty work. If somebody needs to be roughed up, it's Waltham that does it.”
“Or, if somebody needs to be knifed in an alley, it's Waltham that does it.”
“Exactly,” he says.
“So, we've now established the line – Damon, Brittany, Waltham,” I say.
“Yeah, a real unholy trinity,” he says. “You need to be on your toes, Liam. I'm serious. You need to watch your back. And honestly, until all of this is sorted out, I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you would consider hiring some security.”
I lean back in my seat and let out a long breath. It's the last thing that I want to do. I feel like it might send the wrong message or convey a poor image of me. As much as I hate it, I do have to worry about projecting the right image. It matters. Especially to skittish investors who are looking for any reason to avoid dealing with you.
And for that reason alone, I always try to be conscious about projecting an image of strength and stability in public.
But, deep down, I know that Adam is right. Until this mess is sorted out and I'm finally clear of Brittany, I have to be smart. Prudent. Maybe I can find a company that's discreet enough that bodyguards won't even be noticeable. Yeah. It might be a pipe dream, but I can try to find one.
“Okay, yeah,” I say. “Until this is settled, I'll look into it. Just send over your list of recommendations and I'll start making calls.”
“Good stuff,” he says. “I will.”
“So, the question becomes, now that we know the players,” I say. “What are we going to do about it?”
“I'm working on that, actually,” he says. “I think your case and the other case I'm working on dovetail nicely. All we need to do is get Damon into a compromising position and I think we can both clear the decks.”
“That would be nice,” I say.
“Give me a couple of days to come up with something,” Adam says. “I'll come up with something good. Something that will stick. If we take the shot at him, we're going to need to hit him hard. The last thing we want is a pissed off Damon Moore on our asses. Our best shot is to get him into a situation that is going to send him to prison for a while. A long while.”
“That sounds good,” I say. “I'll give it some thought on my end and we can compare notes.”
“Works for me,” he says. “I'll talk to you in a couple of days.”
I disconnect the call and lean back in my chair. I look at my phone and consider calling Paige again. Or maybe I should just shoot her another message. I decide against it though. I know that she is pissed and the last thing I want to do is push her any further right now.
Grabbing the remote off the corner of my desk, I turn on the TV and find a game to put on. I turn the volume down low and stand up. I walk over to the bar and pour myself a drink. Carrying it back, I drop down into my seat and lean back, taking a long swallow of the amber liquid. The familiar warmth slides down my throat and spreads throughout my stomach.
I'm tired. It's been a long few days. I try to stay awake. Try to pay attention to the game. But I feel my eyes growing heavier and the fight against sleep getting harder. I probably should go to bed, but I want to stay up a little longer. I want to wait up for Paige to call me back. I know she's going to, it's just a matter of time.
I knock back the drink and pour myself another one. She's going to call. Or text. I know she will.
~ooo000ooo~
The shrill sound of my phone ringing knocks me out of sleep, and I bolt upright, my heart hammering in my chest. I look around, a little disoriented. I'm still in the chair in my office. The game is over, and the highlight show is on. I have no idea how long I've been asleep.
The phone keeps ringing and I reach out, fumbling with it for a moment before I'm able to grab it. I don't even look at the caller ID when I answer the call, hoping it's Paige.
“Paige?” I say.
“No, it's Skyler.”
I look at the phone for a minute, questions running through my mind. Skyler is Paige's best friend. But, why is she calling me? A split-second after that question pops into my head, it's followed by something darker. Something that chills me right down to my very core.
“Is Paige okay?” I ask, a tremor in my voice. “Did something happen?”
“I – I don't know,” she says and for the first time, I hear the fear in her voice. “Is she there with you?”
“No, she's not,” I say.
I hear her choke back a sob and when she speaks, I know she's crying.
“Skyler,” I say, my voice firm. “What's wrong? What's happened?”
“I – I don't know, Liam,” she says. “We were supposed to get together tonight, but she never showed up. I came over to her house because I was a little worried about her. She's been having a hard time lately.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, a lance of guilt piercing my heart.
“Anyway, when I got here, the front door was wide open,” she says. “Her car is here, but she's not. And there are a couple of chairs knocked over in the dining room – like there was a struggle or something. Her purse is here, and her phone is on the ground, smashed to bits.”
A cold chill sweeps through me and I feel myself begin to tremble. I don't know exactly what's happened, but I know, down to my very bones, that somehow Damon is behind it. Damon has done something to Paige.
“Please, Liam,” Skyler says, her voice choked with emotion, “She's my best friend. I don't know what happened to her and I didn't know who else to call. Help me, please. Help her.”
“Okay, Skyler,” I say. “Listen to me very carefully. I want you to hang up the phone and call the police. Don't touch anything in the house. In fact, it's probably safer if you go outside and wait in your car. Make sure your doors are locked. Call the police, wait for them, and tell them everything you just told me.”
I don't think Skyler is in any danger at all. Not only have Damon and his thugs left – and took Paige with them – but it's not Skyler they want anyway. It's Paige. And they only want her to get to me. Because I won't play ball with them and because he wants to get one over on me so badly, he's going after the one thing he knows I care about.
Yeah, that's not going to work for me. I’m going to find Damon and I'm going to make him pay. He's going to pay dearly for this.
She sniffs loudly. “What are you going to do?”
“I'm going to find her.”
I end the call, pacing my office, trying to think about my next step when the phone in my hand rings again. I assume that it's Skyler calling me back, but when I answer the call, I find myself floored by the voice that responds.
“Skyler?” I say.
Her throaty laugh is an instant giveaway and it sends a lightning bolt of fear along my every nerve.
“Is that another of these townie girls you're fucking?”
I grip the phone a little tighter, feeling rage rising to the surface of my body. “Where is she, Brittany?”
“Oh, she's fine,” Brittany says. “We're just hanging out, having a little girl time.”
“I swear to God, if you touch her, I'm –”
“You'll what exactly? Kill me?” she laughs. “You and I both know you don't have the stomach for that.”
“What in the hell do you want?”
“World peace?”
I let out a deep breath, doing my best to control my fury. “Stop fucking around, Brittany,” I say. “What do you want?”
“What I want is what you owe me,” she says, her voice suddenly turning ice cold. “What I want is exactly what you're going to give me.”
“Name the price.”
“I'm going to send you an address,” she says. “And you're going to be there at midnight, tonight. You're going to come alone. If you're even one minute late or bring a friend, your little sidepiece here is going to have a very, very rough time. One I don't think she will recover from.”
“Goddammit, Brittany –”
The line goes dead in my hand. She hung up on me. The bitch hung up on me. My head pounding and my heart racing, I pace the office. Hemingway, obviously picking up on my mood – the rage and anxiety coursing through me, retreats to one of the guest bedrooms. He's a sensitive soul and has never wanted to be around extreme displays of emotion.
A moment later, my phone buzzes with a text message from an unknown number. It contains an address that I don’t immediately recognize. So, I do a quick Google search of the address.
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”
They are having me meet them at an old, abandoned cannery on the edge of town – a place that's set to be demolished and redeveloped by Damon Moore's company.
Could these clowns be any more cliché?
I look at the time and see that it's already after ten. I don't have a lot of time to prepare. They are not going to dictate terms to me. I'm going to show them that I am not a man to be fucked with. They are going to pay for this. And they're going to pay big time.
I punch in a number on my phone and hold it to my ear. A moment later, the call goes through and he answers on the first ring.
“Hey, it's me,” I say. “I have an emergency and I need your help. I'm sending my helicopter to pick you up at the ADE building. I need you to bring a few things...”