“Not honoring it how?”
“You need to let me bring you in,” he says.
“Answer the question first.”
“Their mandate has apparently shifted, now that Nicholas is gone. The organization wants Owen… however they need to get to him. You’re the only known line to him. You and Bailey…”
I hear the rest of it before Grady even says it, my heartbeat picking up. Eighteen years haven’t thawed the organization’s anger toward Owen. I know as much. I know all the time in the world won’t thaw what they view as Owen’s betrayal (of them, of Nicholas) for turning state’s evidence and testifying against them.
But Bailey and I are immune to that vendetta. Or we are supposed to be. Except now, apparently, the agreement Nicholas made with his former clients to keep Bailey and me safe isn’t being honored—now that Nicholas isn’t here to make sure his clients honor it.
It confuses me, all the same. Any decision like this—any large shift—would have to be approved by the head of the organization,wouldn’t it? It wouldn’t just need to be approved by him, but also ordered by him.
Francis Campano Pointe II, or Frank, as Nicholas referred to him, has run the organization for decades (his father before that, his maternal grandfather before his father). Frank brought Nicholas into the organization in the first place. He was Nicholas’s most important client for most of his career. And the person—most importantly—with whom Nicholas arranged to secure Bailey’s and my safety.
Didn’t Nicholas believe that we could count on Frank to keep his word? Didn’t Nicholas say they were like family to each other? Why, even in Nicholas’s absence, would that shift so dramatically? And so quickly?
Get out of the house. Now.
“Mom…”
I turn to see Bailey walking into the living room. She is in a tank top and ripped jeans, her long hair still wet from the shower, her eyes red and bright from crying. I wonder what she knows about her grandfather already, about what is happening. What has she learned in the last hour since her life started to unravel all around her?
My eyes dart to the television screen. Her grandfather’s face is no longer splashed across the screen, thankfully, but the chyron is still going, the words still ticking by for her to read. In whole, in part.
NICHOLAS BELL, LAWYER FOR THE ORGANIZATION CRIME SYNDICATE, PRONOUNCED DEAD AT TEXAS HILL COUNTRY HOME
“Grady, I’m going to call you back.”
“No, you need to listen to me first, okay? The doorman atNicholas’s condo in the city says that someone who identified himself as Nicholas’s son-in-law came to see Nicholas late last night.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The doorman didn’t let him in, but I’ve got two guys watching down the security tapes. I’m trying to confirm if it was really Owen. And if it was, we have a real problem here unless I can stop it from breaking. Because if it breaks, people are going to connect the dots to suggest Owen may have had something to do with Nicholas’s death.”
I take that in, trying to make sense of it. Could it have been Owen at Nicholas’s condo? Why would Owen have gone from the showroom in Los Angeles to downtown Austin to see Nicholas? But I don’t offer that question out loud. I don’t say anything that suggests I know where Owen was last night.
I’m looking at Bailey, Bailey who is looking back at me. Bailey who is about to find out that her grandfather is lost to her.
“But I thought… didn’t you just say that Nicholas was found out at the lake? At The Sanctuary?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is this is the first legitimate claim of someone spotting Owen in five years. And Nicholas is found dead that night? In the same city? Does that sound like a coincidence?”
The flash drive grows heavier in my pocket. Owen’s skin and eyes and hands last night so close to my skin.
Bailey is looking more and more scared. Her eyes are wild, goose bumps covering her skin. It probably isn’t helping that my face is giving away that I feel the same.
Which is when I let myself know what I don’t want to know.
This is why Owen showed up last night.
This is why I got those texts this morning.
It was Owen warning me about what he had to do, or what he was still doing. Even if I don’t know why he’s doing it just yet.
That’s the job now. To start to figure out the why.
I hold Bailey’s gaze, wiping the fear off my face. Behind her the news report has switched again. Nicholas is back on the screen. I look between her face and his, the similarity too close to be comfortable.
