Even now, he’s not being totally straight with me. “And?”
“And nothing. That’s it. I believe him.”
“Really?” I say dryly, crossing my arms over my chest to keep from wrapping my hands around his throat and squeezing. I can’t remember if I’ve always found him this irritating and infuriating. If I did, it’s a wonder I didn’t kill him when we were younger. “You believe what the guy who killed our mother said? Just like that?”
“No, not ‘just like that.’ I just think it makes more sense that he wasn’t involved. Obviously, he’s still loyal to Dad. Why else would he have responded to the ad? And if Dad didn’t trust him, why would he have brought him to us? Duffy would have to be a freakin’ moron to go to all the trouble of responding to the ad, coming out to meet us, confessing all the shit he did, and then turn on us. He doesn’t strike me as that much of a dumbass.”
I guess he makes a good point. That would be pretty stupid. But that doesn’t make me feel any better about Duffy. “Even if he didn’t have something to do with it, I still think he’s a slimy bastard the world would be better off without.”
I hear Cash sigh. “Look, it’s not that I don’t agree with you. I mean, the guy killed Mom and would’ve kidnapped and killed Olivia. He’s a lowlife, no question. But if he can help us in any way to get rid of the whole problem, or at least most of it, I’m okay with keeping him around until after all is said and done.”
I glance over at Cash. I know my surprise registers on my face. “You sneaky son of a bitch. You’re gonna use him to help us and then kill him.”
“I’m not killing anybody,” is his only response. To me, that says he’s got someone else in mind to do it. Probably that monster of a friend of his, Gavin. That guy reminds me of some of the smugglers I’ve met over the years. Not men to be messed with. Some of them even put a little unease in me, which is saying a lot. There are some scary bastards out there!
I’m impressed and admittedly pleased to see a little of the old Cash showing through. Finally. In a way, we’ve almost switched places and it’s somehow comforting to see a glimpse of the reckless brother I used to know. Reckless and hotheaded. I’d be willing to bet Cash was like a wild animal right after the accident.
“How was it after Mom died?”
Between the abrupt change in subject and the new subject matter, I think I put Cash off balance again. And made him angry, too.
“How the hell do you think it was? It was awful.”
“I know that,” I say, exercising my patience. “I meant, how was it for you? You were kind of a loose cannon. I can’t imagine that you took it well. Did you go ballistic on some poor bastard you met at the bar?”
I see the muscle in his jaw clench as he thinks back. “Surprisingly, I didn’t. With all the buzz about Dad, it was like a circus for a while. It was like losing one parent and then watching the other one slowly dying. Then there were the accounting books, of course. I felt like I was holding plutonium for the first few weeks. And then there was your supposed death. I guess it was sort of a good thing that I had to pretend to be you. It kept me busy with . . . life until the trial was over and Dad was in prison. By then, I knew what I had to do and I focused on getting through school. And researching. I did lots and lots of research. Any big blowup I was going to have was just . . . over.” He falls quiet, and so do I. I’m trying to imagine what he went through, how it felt to lose almost everything. Put myself in his shoes. It’s not all that hard. In a way, I lost more than he did.
“You know, Nash, I never enjoyed pretending to be you, pretending to be the brother I could never compare to, never live up to. The person I missed like a . . . a . . . like my damn arm. Despite the accomplishments, I never once got any peace or pleasure from being you. Not once.”
“I’m not surprised. You were always the cool one, the one who got to have all the fun. I’d say pretending to be me was a lot like being in prison.”
“I didn’t say that,” he snaps. “I didn’t mean it like that. Look, man, I’m just saying that it wasn’t the picnic out here that you seem to think it was.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I say, deadpan. Cash’s head whips toward me, like he’s expecting to see sarcasm or bitterness on my face. And he’s ready for it. When he sees that I’m serious, that I’m sincere, he looks at first confused, then deflated.
After a few miles of silence, during which we both have time to think and calm down, to get our bearings again, he asks me the same question. I’m sure he’s curious and I’m sure he’s wanted to ask before now, but considering how mad I was at first, he probably didn’t want to stir up that shit and make it stink any worse.
“What about you? How was it for you after the accident?”
“A lot like it was for you, I guess. When I woke up, I was floating under the dock with my head banging up against one of the pilings. I doubt anyone even saw me. The cavalry was just on their way by the time I got out of the water.
“I had no idea what the hell had happened, so I called Dad. Took me a few minutes to find my phone. I guess it flew out of my hand when the bomb went off and knocked me into the water. It was lying on the dock a few dozen feet from where I was standing. Thank God it didn’t go in the water with me or we’d be screwed. Without those books, that video is all the leverage we’ve got to get Dad out of prison.”
Cash nods in agreement. “No shit.”
“Anyway, I took off to call Dad. I was the lucky one who got to tell him his wife had been killed.” There’s no keeping the bitterness from my voice on that point. “But the upside was that it gave him time to think. And to prepare a little, I guess. I told him about the video. That’s when he told me I had to leave, that it wasn’t safe for any of us anymore, especially me since I had the video. Too many unknowns. And I was the only witness. Well, you get the idea. So he told me where he’d stashed his getaway . . . stuff, had me go there to get the money and the passports, and told me to disappear.”
“How’d you end up on a smuggler’s ship, then?”
“I told you before that he sent me to his contact. Are you gonna let me finish?”
Cash nods, but says nothing. Makes me feel like a piece of shit for being so short-tempered, but I just can’t seem to help myself. It’s hard to give a damn after so long. And I’m not entirely sure I even want to. Caring just gets you in trouble. That’s how I’ve managed to survive all this time—the only thing I cared about was getting to the day I’d finally take my revenge.
“Sorry. Continue,” he says.
I sigh. “Along with the money and passports, there was a cell phone with a few contacts already loaded into it. There were also a couple of notes. One was to Mom. I guess it was his plan B, in case something happened to him. Just him telling her he loved her, and that he was sorry, and to do exactly what they’d talked about. I guess she knew what to do with everything, who to call. But then there was another note. It was to us in the event something happened to both Mom and Dad. It just said to call Dmitry. He’d know what to do. So I did. He told me to get to Savannah right away. Told me to hole up in a motel there and not leave it until midnight on the following Saturday. He gave me the address of a dive down near the wharf. Told me to meet him there, that he’d know me. And he did. Said I looked a lot like Dad.”
“Is he the one you . . . worked with?”
I smirk at his attempt to so delicately state that I was a gun runner. It’s nothing less than ironic that the more straitlaced of the two of us, the most likely to succeed in the corporate world, turned out to be the criminal. To this day, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
“No, he’s just the one who set it all up. Evidently, if something had happened to Dad, he was supposed to get us out of the country, but only Mom knew what to do after that. If there was a place to go or money or whatever. All I had was the little bit of money that was in the bag and the clothes on my back. He did the only thing he could do, I guess. He got me a job.”
I know Cash wants to ask questions about what I was involved in, but his social skills have so much improved since we were younger that he shows restraint and keeps his mouth shut. Which is a good thing. I don’t want to talk about it. Not with him, not with anybody. I’m not exactly proud of the way I’ve spent my time over the last seven years.
“You had to do what you had to do, man. No one blames you. You were just a kid.”
My laugh is bitter. “Listen to you, trying to make your big brother feel better about giving in to the family curse.”
“You’re only older than me by four minutes, so don’t get too hung up on the ‘big brother’ thing. And what’s that supposed to mean? ‘The family curse’?”
“We have criminal blood. I always thought it was a choice, but I don’t think it ever was. I think it’s what we’re destined for. As a family.”
“I’m not a criminal. Don’t ever plan to be one, either.”
“Oh really?” I can’t keep the sarcasm from my tone. “And the shit you and Gavin were involved in to save Olivia, that was all perfectly legal, right?” I see his fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “Guess you just overlooked that little incident, is that it?”
He says nothing. Because there’s nothing he can say. I’m right and he knows it.
It’s miles and miles later when Cash finally speaks again. “Let’s just get through this so we can move on and live decent lives. Both of us. All of us.”
“If that’s even possible,” I reply pessimistically. But deep down, against everything I know to be probable, I feel a little glimmer of hope that something as preposterous as that just might happen.
EIGHT
Marissa
I’m just gathering up my clothes to take to the cleaner when the doorbell rings. Even though it’s broad daylight and Olivia’s just on the other side of the condo, my stomach turns a nervous flip.
I chastise myself all the way to the door, where I lean against it to look through the peephole. My stomach reacts anxiously again, but this time for a different reason.
On the other side of the door, looking impatient as ever, is my father, David Townsend. He looks much like Olivia and her father, with his dark hair and greenish hazel eyes. But his demeanor gives him an elegance (and an arrogance) that shows in every smooth line of his entire body.
Even though he’s related to me, he’s still one of the most intimidating men I’ve ever known. He’s the reason I can hold my own with practically anyone in the corporate, legal, and judicial worlds. Cutting one’s teeth on David Townsend results in fangs. Long, sharp fangs.
I take a deep breath and throw the deadbolt, swinging the door open on my fake smile. “Daddy. What are you doing here?”
Without a word, he brushes past me in his thousand-dollar suit, carrying with him the faint scent of his nearly as expensive cologne.
He walks to the edge of the living room and turns toward me, his brow set in a line as stern and unyielding as his mouth. “Just what is it you think you’re doing, young lady?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say calmly, closing the door behind him. I learned long ago to bury everything I feel beneath a calm exterior. It’s the ultimate weapon in my world. Well, the world that used to feel like mine, but now feels more like just his.
“First, you leave to come home early, giving me no choice but to follow.”
“You didn’t have to cut your trip short, Daddy.”
“How would that have looked? My daughter has some sort of emergency she has to return to the States for and I continue working?”
Of course it would all boil down to appearances. That’s what it always boils down to. It’s the way my life, my family, my whole world has always been.
“I’m sorry it inconvenienced you.”
“No you’re not. You weren’t thinking of anyone but yourself. And then to show up at my house with some . . . some . . . criminal in tow. What were you thinking?”
I hadn’t told my father what happened when Nash brought me home. I told him it was personal and left it at that. Evidently, that was some sort of trigger. He backed off immediately. But not before he lectured me about the importance of keeping my personal life strictly aboveboard unless I could keep it discreet and forever hidden from public knowledge. I have no idea what he thinks I’m up to, but I suspect he thinks it’s deviant.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ll be more thoughtful next time.”
I’ve done this all my life—cater to Daddy, pander to Daddy, yield to Daddy. It’s always come naturally. He’s the type of man who demands it, without ever really having to ask for it. But today, for the first time that I can ever remember, I choke a little bit on the words.
“You’re a Townsend, Marissa. Mistakes like these can’t happen. One slipup can have lasting consequences on your career and your reputation. You know to protect them at all costs. I’ve taught you better than this.” I nod obediently, keeping my eyes cast down so he won’t see the change in me, so he won’t see the struggle. “Now, the cat’s out of the bag about our early return. There’s a fund-raiser you’ll be expected to attend tonight. I think it would be a good idea for you to bring Nash. I think that would go a long way toward dispelling any rumors that might be circulating.”
“Nash and I broke up, Daddy.”