Chapter Sixteen

Shit, it’s cold up here. Chance jerked the thermal pad from his pocket, gave it a snap to activate the chemicals, then shoved it under the frozen cheeks of his ass. All he’d heard from inside so far amounted to nothing more than backbiting, pacing, and snoring. If these yahoos didn’t start talking more, Chance was headed back to the empty cabin. It might not be warm, but it offered protection from the wicked wind biting at him.

“You should never have listened to Tennyson,” Baritone muttered.

“Shut up,” York shot back at him, his voice low and filled with menace.

The snoring stopped. “Whose idea was it to dump her all the way out here?” Alto asked. “We’re in the middle of nowhere for Christ’s sake.”

“Mine,” York ground out.

“Shit man, why?”

“Because I needed her to die like everyone thought she lived, in the nude and strung out on drugs.”

“You could’ve accomplished that in LA, where it’s warm.”

“Too many investigative reporters in that town. It had to happen here.”

“Yeah, but that chick never did drugs like your other girls,” Baritone muttered. “She was different, know what I mean?”

“I don’t get it. You drugged her when you wanted her to look like a porn star, but she was a good girl,” Alto added. “All she ever did wrong was try to please you.”

Chance forgot the cold. Don’t stop talking now, you bastards.

“But nobody knew that, did they?” York bit out. His hired help’s taunting was obviously pissing him off. “They only saw the hysterical celebrity preening every chance she got.”

“So what did you get out of this shitty deal?” Baritone asked. “Tennyson has what he wants, but…” He coughed and Chance could imagine him covering his mouth to maybe hide his amusement. “’Scuse me, boss, but it seems all you got is the shaft.”

“I was supposed to get free access to all Oregon ports,” York hissed. “From the confluence of the Willamette and the Columbia Rivers, I should’ve been the boss, but now...” Something thumped, possibly his fist on a table. “Why don’t you shut your fuckin’ mouths? You work for me! You’re not my buddies. You’re not even good enough to lick the soles of my boots!”

Ah, here it comes, the much-televised berserker behind the suave playboy façade. It was surprising York had held onto his control this long.

“Sorry, boss,” Alto said. “We don’t mean nuthin’. We’re just cold and hungry and—”

“How’d I know there’d be no food in this goddamned rig?”

No food? Well, well, well. Chance grinned. Except for what York had done to Suede, this guy was a joke. These three were stuck up here during one of the worst storms of the century without heat or food? His eyes strayed to the generator again. Karma can be such a nasty bitch.

But wasn’t that interesting? The smiling, backslapping Governor Tennyson had off-loaded his independent, and once upon a time headstrong daughter, to York in exchange for free access to all Oregon ports. What an asshole. So far, Chance had yet to see anything in Suede to validate the media’s vicious portrayal of her. Drugs, huh?

All this time, she’d been trying to get her father’s attention, but what’d he do? Disowned her. Of course, she’d disowned him first when she’d sought and was granted emancipation, but shit. She was a sixteen-year-old kid when she’d pulled that coup. It wasn’t hard to see what had propelled Suede to this point in her life. She needed to be wanted. But now Chance wondered. Who gave her that emancipation idea? Who helped her find a lawyer? Who the hell set her up with York? Was Tennyson responsible for all of that, too?

More pacing came from inside the rig, then York muttered, for once his voice loud enough. “She was a pain in the ass from the start.”

“But you got what you wanted, right?” Alto asked. “You got her gone and the footage to prove it to Tennyson?”

“Oh, yeah,” Baritone spoke up. “I filmed her from where she couldn’t see me. I got a nice clear shot of her falling, but with the snow and all, that’s all I got. Couldn’t see her land. That woulda been sweet.”

Sweet?! Watching a twenty-year-old woman falling to her death was sweet? Sons-of-bitches! Chance gritted his molars loud enough they cracked.

“It would’ve been better if you’d got her falling in the nude like you were supposed to, but guess it’ll have to do,” Alto said, his voice oddly soothing. “You think Tennyson will buy it?”

“He will if he knows what’s good for him. I’m tired of the bastard. He’s not getting the tapes, and I don’t care if—”

“It’s on a USB drive,” Baritone interrupted. “Not tapes. We don’t use—”

“I don’t give a shit if it’s on the moon!” York bellowed. “Julio Juarez is coming in Tuesday. If I’m not there…”

Chance couldn’t make out York’s last words. What tapes and who the hell is Julio Juarez?

Baritone grunted. “You’ll be there, boss. Tennyson ain’t so big you can’t shave him down to size. Once he sees what happened to his kid, he’ll straighten up. You’ll get what’s coming to you. You’ll see.”

So, York’s threatening Tennyson? Was that what this was all about, killing Tennyson’s daughter to prove York meant business? Was Juarez a hit man with a contract on Tennyson now that Suede was, as far as York knew, dead? Then what? Who had a good shot at the Oregon governorship once Tennyson was gone? York? One of his buddies? Tennyson’s wife?

The earpiece in Chance’s ear canal came to startling life as Pagan said, “Comm check,” loud and clear.

“You’re a little late, Baby Brother,” Chance teased.

“I’ve been busy. I made soup. Homemade soup. It took time.”

A grin tugged at Chance’s lips. Imagine that, Pagan in the kitchen with an apron on. “How’s Suede?”

“Good, real good. She ate a small bowl of soup and a piece of toast, but she’s tired. She’s had a busy day.”

That spiked Chance’s brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah, she took a shower, and she’s been out in the living room with me and Gallo. I had to change the bandage on her rump though, so don’t go ballistic for me touching your woman when you get back. She couldn’t reach it, and it was bleeding, and I could, and…” Pagan trailed off.

Chance let the ‘your woman’ comment slide. He could see his brother raking his fingers over his head, embarrassed that he’d been even a tiny bit intimate with a woman like Suede. Pagan was a mystery. As much as he wanted and needed a good woman in his life, Chance doubted he’d know what to do with one when he caught one. It just had better not be Suede, damn his handsome ass.

“So she ate? Have you kept up with her meds? Don’t forget to give her the antibiotic at bedtime.” The thought of Pagan putting Suede to bed irked Chance. He blocked what might be a tender goodnight scene from his mind. York needed to start talking.

“Of course,” Pagan replied. “She took two pain pills at lunch, and I think they put her to sleep. She was reading one of Mom’s books, but now she and Gallo are snuggled on the couch. You should see them. Gallo likes her.”

Almost as much as I do. “So why’d you call?” Chance asked to get his mind back on the job.

“I’ve been checking for a connection between Sullivan and Tennyson.”

“And?”

“Well, this is where it gets interesting. I came across an email…”

Chance rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you hacked the boss’s server.”

“No, oh, hell no.”

“You lying son-of-a-gun. You did!” Chance hissed. Pagan never could lie.

“Yeah, okay, so I hacked Sullivan’s server. He’s not being square with us. Do you want to know what I found or not?”

“Spill.”

“An email from Tennyson to Sullivan, dated three days ago. Tennyson sounded desperate. He outright asked Sullivan to rescue his daughter from Lionel York. Said he didn’t want her involved with a known drug lord. Said he’d pay anything if Sullivan could make York disappear.”

Which might explain Pagan’s current assignment, the one Chance had taken over. Even as Chance thought that, a prickle of unease skated up his spine. Would Sullivan act on an old frat buddy’s request for help just because he had the means? He couldn’t believe the man he respected would stoop that low.

“Not buying it,” Chance said. “Why would Tennyson ask that of anyone, Sullivan in particular? That’s conspiracy to commit, plain and simple. Tennyson might have been trolling for insider information. What was Sullivan’s answer?”

“Haven’t found one yet. Hang on a sec. That you Kruze?” Pagan bellowed to the side.

Great. Now both his horny brothers were warm and snug at his place with Suede while he froze his ass off on the mountaintop. If that didn’t add a shot of nitro to his already thrumming need to protect her, nothing did.

“Come back to me, Pagan,” Chance prompted, tapping his mic to get his brother’s attention.

“Chance, Kruze just showed.” Pagan again. Like I couldn’t hear that? “And I just discovered we’ve got another player in this mess, Victoria Hex. Ever heard of her?”

“Wait a minute. One thing at a time. Did Sullivan respond to Tennyson’s request or not?”

“Not by email, but he could’ve called him. Two good old boys, you know. I can’t track that.”

Chance shook his head. “No. Sullivan’s not one of the good old boys, and I can’t see him undermining the SOBs by not following the protocol he himself established. That would unravel the teams from the inside out. Something else is going on here.”

“I’ll keep digging. You want to hear about Hex yet?”

“Yeah, the mob’s number one assassin, straight out of Sicily. Go ahead.”

“Right, and a Class A weapons dealer on her day job. She just arrived in Portland.”

Chance blew out a puff of frustration. That was all he needed, one more player in this convoluted game of one-upmanship between Tennyson and York. This had all the makings of a major drug war brewing. “What the hell is going on in Oregon?” he bit out.

“Trouble, huh. Listen, I’m tied up here so Kruze is going on ahead of you to keep track of Hex. He’ll spend the night here resting, then meet you at the usual tomorrow, once you off York.” The usual being the Mount Hood Lounge off River Street, a local dive on the Portland waterfront. “You think you’ll be there?”

“Not unless this storm lets up.”

“Jesus Christ!” Kruze’s booming baritone joined the fray. “That could be next week the way the front’s stalled over Canada.”

“Hey, Kruze. I’m pressed for time or I’d talk more, but I’ll be there if I can. Once you spot Miss Vicky, don’t lose her, okay?”

“You know I won’t. Fly safe, Big Brother.”

“One more thing.” Chance cut in while the cutting was good. “I need to know who helped Suede file her petition for emancipation. I want the names of her lawyer if she had one, the judge who decided in her favor, and the nine commissioners who currently regulate the Port of Portland.”

“That’s four things,” Kruze, always one to point out another’s errors, grumbled, “maybe twelve.”

“And you,” Chance shut him down. “Find out who the hell Julio Juarez is before I get to town.”

“Julio? JJ? What’s he got to do with this?”

“You know him?” Unbelievable.

“Sure, if it’s the same guy I went through BUD/S with, that’s Boomer. He rang out the fifth day.”

What a small damn world. “Did you two stay close? Can you get in touch with him?”

“Not really. He took some job back east, but why? What’s he been up to?”

“Don’t know, but he’s supposed to meet Lionel York in Oregon on Tuesday, and we know for certain York’s after control of Portland docks. I need to know if JJ’s part of the cartel out of South America that York’s distributing for or if he’s an enforcer on someone else’s team. Could be either. York’s into some heavy shit.”

“Can’t be the same guy,” Kruze replied. “The Julio I remember was a straight up hero back then. He wouldn’t have gone rogue.”

“Then find out if he’s the same hero he used to be. Get back to me as quick as you can.”

“You bet. I’ll reach out to him now.”

“What else?” Chance asked his brothers. He still wanted to know why Tennyson felt comfortable asking Sullivan for an assist in making York disappear. Did the guy have balls or what?

“Well, since I didn’t feel comfortable hacking Sullivan’s files…” Pagan let the insinuation that he might’ve done something illegal trail away.

“Don’t tell me. You hacked York’s.” This ought to be good. “What’d you find?”

“That York’s got a contract on Governor Tennyson.”

“You’re kidding.”

“That’s not the only hit he’s paid for, but yeah. The man’s proud of himself. He keeps good records.”

“Which might explain Julio Juarez. He could be the hit man. Kruze?” Chance snapped. “You make that call yet?”

“I’m getting a disconnect. Let me try a few of my buddies. Someone’s bound to know where he is. I’m telling you, Chance, JJ’s one of the good guys.”

“Not until we know for sure.”

“York say what airlines Julio’s flying?” Pagan asked.

“Give me a break. ’Course not,” Chance answered. Grumbling ensued from inside the trailer rig. He leaned in to hear better as the grumbling escalated to what sounded like a brawl inside York’s home away from home.

“There’s something else,” Pagan murmured. “York’s not the only one keeping bad company. You ever hear of the Rio Brothers? The twins? Juan and Jorge?”

Aw, shit. Not the boys from Colombia.