Chapter Eighteen

Suede woke in a snarky mood, edgy, but she didn’t know why, other than snarky was her normal. Embers glowed red and orange from the fireplace, but Pagan and Gallo were nowhere in sight. Pushing up from the couch, she stopped at the edge of the cushion with her feet to the floor. It seemed odd she’d be tired after sleeping, but bed. She wanted back under the covers in Chance’s bed and she wanted to be there now. Her head pounded, and he needed to get his butt back here and kiss her forehead while checking for a fever. Then she wanted a stiff drink, a big box of tissues, and a good long cry while she lay there and felt sorry for herself.

Feverish, crabby, and achy, she’d slept the day away. The romance she’d started reading now lay on the floor beside the couch with a bookmark tucked within the pages of the first chapter. Pagan must’ve eased it out of her hands. That was thoughtful.

Quiet male voices drifted from the hall to the right of the kitchen. It was dark outside, lending a cave-like feeling to the dimly lit cabin. One of these days she needed to explore the rest of this place. Suede hated not knowing the layout of where she was, but that day would wait.

“Pagan?” she called. Then she called again, this time without the poor-me tone dripping all over her voice. “Can I help fix dinner?” Or something? Her only other option was to go back to bed, but that meant she was still sick. Which she was, but admitting it reduced her to a weakling, which she wasn’t, and… Oh hell. Where was I going with this?

Her stomach growled. Oh yes. Dinner. It’s late. I’m hungry. “Pagan?”

His head popped around the corner. Dressed in workout pants and a white T-shirt, his hair was damp and curlier than before, his forehead glistened with sweat. He must have a weight room on site. That explained the physiques of these guys. “You rang?”

By then she’d made it all the way to the end of the couch, a whopping six steps. Suede leaned her butt to the armrest before she fell down. “Yes, I’m hungry, and I can help fix some—”

“Want to chat with your boyfriend?”

“Chance?”

Pagan flinched as if he’d just been pinched. He shook his head and tapped his index finger to the wire leading to his ear. “Will you stop bellowing?” he bit out even as he grinned at Suede. “Yeah, I hear you just fine. She’s not your girlfriend, ah-huh. Whatever you say.” He winked and nodded toward the phone set charging on the end table. “Pick up. He needs to talk to you.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Suede stated clearly as she sank back to the cushions.

“Yeah, yeah. Just pick up the phone and talk to him so I can sign off.”

“Chance?” she asked, the receiver at her ear and Pagan gone to who knew where.

“Hey,” a deep voice rumbled over the line, along with a whining whistle in the background. “Baby Brother been taking good care of you?”

“Yes. Is that the wind? Are you outside? Did you, you know?”

“No, I didn’t kill York. He’s still alive, but yeah, I’m in the cabin and the wind’s strong up here. Still snowing, too.”

“When are you coming down?”

“Pagan didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Only the wind whispered in her ear. “Chance? Are you still there?”

“I’m not coming down tonight, Suede. If I can, I’ll be flying out of here as soon as the weather clears. I’ve got to see this through. York’s got evidence I need. This might be my only chance.”

She nodded, not sure what to say, but not going to whine to a man who was toughing it out in a ferocious blizzard while she lounged by a fire. “Well, okay.”

“He might be here awhile. Least until the storm blows over.”

“It’s been snowing more than a day, Chance,” she reminded him. “Did you take enough food and water with you? Are you okay? How are you keeping warm?” What are you thinking?

She could’ve sworn he purred. “You’re worried about me?”

“Yes,” she blurted. Strangely, I am. “You’re up there because of me. Of course I’m worried.” Make that terrified. You’ll freeze to death and then what will I do?

“I’m up here because this guy’s up to his neck in murder and mayhem, not just because of what he did to you, though that’s enough in my book. Pagan was just telling me that my brother Kruze got in. Hope you can stand another Sinclair hanging around for the night.”

Suede fingered the hem of the blanket she’d wrapped around herself. Sinclair brothers seemed to be climbing out of the woodwork, all except the right one.

“Hey, I’ve got a question for you. What’s your mother’s personal assistant like?”

“Mitchell Franks?” Her hands went to her belly at that creep’s name. Cramps clenched at the memories she wanted to forget. “He’s nice enough, I guess,” she said, hoping the quaver in her voice didn’t give her away. “Kind of a brownnoser, but that’s the type Mom hires. Why?”

“Does he always go on vacations with her?”

“Yes, he organizes her daily schedule and itinerary when she travels.”

“So he’s her press-agent as well?”

“Yes. He is.” Suede nodded as Mitchell’s stern insistence that she make an appointment to see her mom came back to her. ‘Your mother’s time is more important than you are, Miss Tennyson. You know that. We’ve been over this before.’ That time Suede had needed one of her parent’s signatures since the high school dance was being held out of town. She didn’t go.

“Do you like him?” Chance asked.

What a question. She met him head on to deflect her nerves. “No. He had no use for me. I was just a kid that bugged him. I got in his way.” Unless he wanted something from me.

“How so?”

Suede rolled her eyes, masking her true feelings on the subject. “Mitch is...” What’s a good word for two-faced? Despicable? Pervert? “...different. He caters to Mom, and he’s protective of her.” Just not her daughter. She was fair game.

Chance must’ve heard the hesitation in her voice. “Suede…?” He drew her name out. “You don’t like Mitch. Why?”

She pinched her lips and told part of the truth. “H-he lies, Chance. He tells my Mom what she wants to hear, then he treats Mom’s secretary like she’s stupid behind Mom’s back. He blames her when things go wrong, and…” Suede swallowed hard, remembering the den of snakes she’d escaped. “He lied about me.” Worse, Mom believed him.

“Specifics, Suede. Give me details.”

The room closed in, and it was suddenly hard to swallow. “It’s nothing. It happened a long time ago and…” I don’t want to think about—that.

“You’re safe now, Suede,” Chance murmured in her ear. “Whatever you say stays between you and me.”

She nodded, sure of that singular comforting bit of knowledge even as her eyes filled with tears. But to tell Chance this? To admit she’d been used by Mitch, too? Crap, by every male she’d ever known until now? “I’m reading one of your mother’s books,” she said to change the subject.

Static crackled over the line. “Whoa. Now we’ve got lightning and thunder. Crazy weather up here. One of Mom’s books, huh? I’ll be—”

Snap. The phone went dead. Suede shifted the receiver from her ear, staring at her chance to share the thing that never should’ve happened to a fifteen-year-old girl. A daughter, for hell’s sake.

“You lose him?”

She looked up into Pagan’s green eyes at that well-meaning question. I never had him. “It’s storming up there,” she told him for lack of anything better to say.

He nodded. “Montana blizzards can get wild.”

“Will he be okay?” I am not going to cry. Of course he’ll be okay. He’s invincible. He doesn’t need me, either. What am I thinking? I almost told him. Everything.

Pagan nodded. “This is what we do, Suede. We get into places others can’t. We do the impossible without the press being in our face, and we do it without fanfare or recognition. He’ll be home before you know it, you’ll see.”

“I’m not leaving until he does.” Why that popped out of her mouth, Suede hadn’t a clue, but it felt right. Where else could she go? Back home to Salem? To her parents? Like they’d care.

For the first time in her life she found herself surrounded by a family that watched out for each other. She heard their love for each other in their voices. Little things defined it, like Chance calling his brother a cocker spaniel. Like Pagan fixing lunch for her while Chance went to confront York.

Worry lines crinkled Pagan’s forehead. “You don’t feel good, do you? Your cheeks are red.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever feel good again. “No, I’m fine.” I just need to sleep for a week and then leave.

There was no fooling Pagan. “No, you’re not. Go back to bed and take your meds. Dinner’s in half an hour. I’m making chicken stir-fry. Would you like soy sauce with that?”

Suede replaced the phone in its charger. “I can help with dinner,” she offered one last time.

“Are you kidding? Chance would kick my ass if I let you do anything but rest while he’s gone, now off with you.” Pagan canted his head toward Chance’s open bedroom door, his emerald eyes aglitter.

A lump caught in her throat. “Thanks Pagan,” she murmured, biting her lip at the helplessness swarming into her eyes like a flood.

Up went both dark brows. “For what?”

“For treating me like family. It means a lot.” More than you know.

He shrugged. “Blame that on Mom. Chance too. They’re the ones who kept us together when things got tough.”

Suede lifted her chin, not going to cry, damn it. “I am tired.”

Pagan let out a soft whistle as he offered his elbow. “Gallo, come. Let’s take your girlfriend back to bed.”

Claws scratching up the wooden hall floor announced the dog’s enthusiastic arrival. She hadn’t noticed he wasn’t in his usual spot.

“There, now you’ll have company,” he said at the door. “I won’t be long. Just need a shower after my workout. Go on, get.”

“Come Gallo,” Suede told Chance’s dog. “Let’s go back to bed.”

Darned if the happy-go-lucky pup didn’t beat her to it.

*****

“You disobeyed a direct order.”

Chance cranked his neck to the side, stiff from the cold and pissed at the unhappy reception his call to Sullivan had gotten. “Not yet, I haven’t. York is still in my sights, but I’d appreciate a candid answer while I wait. Did you conspire with Mitch Tennyson to end York or not? Is that why you sent Pagan here without vetting this mission with me? To do your dirty work?”

“Goddamn it.” Something banged on the Senator’s end. Might have been his fist.

Chance waited. He’d poked a hornet’s nest, but damn it. The bullshit ended today. If Sullivan was dirty, the SOBs were nothing but a hit squad, and the Sinclair boys were out of there.

“Son-of-a-goddamned-bitch!” Sullivan hissed this time, apparently seething mad. Well, good. That makes two of us.

“You know I’ll follow you to hell and back, Senator, but you didn’t hire me because I’m a brainless killer. Level with me. What’s York done to merit execution, and why didn’t you go through the channels that you set up?”

The silence stretched and Chance let it. He’d said his piece. The ball was now in a Washington D.C. court.

“He’s got Tennyson’s wife,” finally hissed out of Sullivan like the air out of a flat tire.

Like hell he does. “Then why doesn’t Pagan know that?” Chance snapped, tired of the run around. “From what he just told me, Mrs. Tennyson boarded the Gusta Marie, a cruise ship headed to Puerta Vallarta. Pagan double-checked her ID and confirmed her presence aboard ship with the captain. Vera Tennyson is on vacation and her personal assistant Mitchell Franks is with her. Here’s another thing, Tennyson withdrew five million from his Swiss bank account late yesterday afternoon. Explain that. Is he paying you off?”

“He what?” Sullivan barked. “That lying son-of-a-bitch.”

“Level with me, sir. How close are you and the Governor?” Close enough to kiss his ass without verifying his story? Close enough to do his dirty work for him?

“I thought we were friends, not that we’ve seen each other much over the years. He’s been busy.”

Sick of the double-talk, Chance called, “Bullshit! Tell me right damned now what’s going on, or my brothers and I are out of here!”

A grunt rumbled over the connection. “’Bout son-of-a-bitchin’ time. Now, you sound like the man I hired. I’ve been waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass.” Sullivan almost sounded pleased with himself.

“Excuse me?”

“What’s going on, Chance, is that Lionel York’s taken over the Portland Port Authority, one by one.” The senator’s West Texas drawl was back, too. “The authority is comprised of nine commissioners, each appointed by his buddy, the Governor. Their responsibilities range from overseeing the daily operations to playing softball with international shipping conglomerates, enticing them to ship into and out of Portland. It’s big business and it’s political as hell. The man who gets the lucrative job of running the show is the Port Commissioner. He’s the one who controls what comes into and out of those docks, what foreign shipping lines he wants to do business with, and who he leases terminals to.”

“Keep talking,” Chance ordered.

“Just so you know upfront, I’ve already acquired the go-ahead from all the other SOBs as far as terminating York and a few others. You’re the only hold-out.”

“And?” Chance bit out. He wasn’t ready to capitulate just because Sullivan said that everyone else had blackballed York and his friends. Some deaths were worth waiting for. So was the truth.

“And the FBI has been watching York weasel his way into Oregon politics step-by-step. As soon as one of those commissioners resigns, or dies, as in two recent instances we’re aware of, Tennyson’s filled those vacancies with York’s associates: one with North Korean ties, another associated with the cartel in Colombia. Sound fishy to you?”

“Sounds illegal. That’s what this is about, York’s strong-arming Tennyson? That’s why Suede Tennyson’s attempted murder?”

“I wish it were that simple. We believe there’s someone behind the scenes pulling the strings, someone with more clout that either Tennyson or York. Remember Pablo Escobar?”

The name from the eighties and nineties rang a bell. “The Colombian drug lord? What’s he got to do with anything?”

“Nothing, but this guy, whoever he is, is on the same fast-track today as Escobar was back then. Since York decided he liked Portland, more of the city’s police officers, judges, and local officials have been murdered. Last month, Homeland Defense lost two agents tracking weapons at the Portland International Airport, another one over at the Troutdale Airport.”

“You do know Miss Hex is in Portland,” Chance said, baiting his friend to reveal more. “What’s her stake in this?”

“Wish I knew, but the Rio Brothers are already there. That means their boss, Viktor Patrone wants in. Be advised, both Miss Hex and the Rio boys are now sanctioned hits.” He cleared his throat. “Pending your concurrence, that is. I don’t need to tell you that we’re looking at an all out drug war in the Northwest if we don’t step in now.”

“Do you know Julio Juarez?”

Sullivan hissed. “Shit. That’s Wilhelm Gonzales’ personal body guard. How’s he involved?”

“Not exactly sure, but York’s supposed to meet with him and—”

“Juarez is Gonzales’s muscle. If he’s working with York, and if Patrone’s in league with Tennyson, Jesus H. Christ—”

“We’ve got a drug war coming to Portland,” Chance finished. Gonzales was the only upstart drug lord in Colombia not under Patrone’s heel. They’d battled plenty in South America, and it looked like their gruesome, bloody war would soon be on American shores.

“You’ve got my agreement, Senator, but why didn’t you tell me this up front?” Chance asked.

“Because you’re right...” Sullivan let out a sigh as deep as the Grand Canyon. “I do have a mole in my organization. I had to make sure it wasn’t you.”