It wasn’t like I didn’thavespares. But leaving an inexperienced, nervous guy with a gun had seemed like a bad recipe.
Still.
I should have given him a gun.
That thought stayed on my mind tonight, as I went through the motions for work. Legs Liggari had called me in for protection at a meeting with a crew from the Esposito Family. We had a profitable business arrangement with the Espositos and met regularly to exchange pleasantries, but Legs never trusted them. Legs never trustedanyone. But he also knew I had skills, so he always dragged me along to these meetings in case things went ass-up.
Still, it was a quiet night and that meant I had time to think, even as I ignored Legs’ jibes about my sexual orientation to the other crew, who didn’t seem to find it as funny as Legs did.
My mind wandered.
I even allowed myself a forbidden fantasy: that I had a warm and welcoming younger man waiting for me at home, someone to enjoy myself with once the night was done.
I got rid of the thought as I drove back home. It was foolish and dangerous to think of anyone in those terms, much less Miller Beaumont. Once we got this situation with his sister sorted out, once I was satisfied that there was no real danger to him, I’d never see him again anyway.
I drove on in a melancholy daze for a few minutes. And then my phone started ringing.
“It’s me,” Miller whispered as soon as I picked up. “I think—I think I might be in trouble…”
“Get to a hiding place.” I was already turning the car around without warning. Traffic was sparse, but I picked up a few honks.
“Yeah, I—I don’t know if it’s an all-hands-on-deck situationjustyet? Nate went outside to check on things.”
I flattened my foot on the accelerator and was rewarded with a complaining wheeze from the Pinto. “Listen to me,” I said through clenched teeth. “Get into a panic room if there is one, and if not, get into a closet or under a bed, or if there’s a better hiding spot—”
“Nate’s gonna think I’m crazy,” he whispered.
“Would you rather be crazy or dead?” There was a long pause, during which I willed the Pinto to go faster. “Miller!”
“I got in the pantry,” he murmured at last. “Should I call Nate to get in here too when he—”
“Listen, call me an asshole if you want, but I don’t care about your friend. I care aboutyou. So just stay put, shut up, and wait until I get there.”
“But—”
“Stay there.”
Another pause. “Okay,” he said softly.
“And stay on the fucking line,” I added, hitting the speaker button on the phone and then throwing it in my lap. “Don’t talk. Don’t make a sound. But let me hear that you’re still breathing.” I got a long whoosh of air in response from him.
I should have given Miller a gun.
* * *
There had been times in Vegas, and even here in LA, when I’d had more than one luxury car to choose from, and a sleek Ducati, too, when I wanted to get somewhere extra-fast. Cars, houses, possessions, had all come easy to me, and I let them go just as easy. Left them all behind when I’d hightailed it from Vegas. Sold my fancy downtown LA condo when I was shitcanned back to Legs Liggari’s crew.
I’d bought a Pinto instead. It was good enough to get me where I needed to go, I’d reasoned at the time.
But right then, as the Pinto sputtered along toward the Valley, I wished like hell I’d kept one of my Vegas Porsches, or better yet, the bike. Time seemed to be moving backward, but there was nothing I could do but keep driving, keep listening out for Miller’s quiet breathing on the phone line.
Too many times in my life I had fucked up.
I wasnotgoing to fuck this up.
The large iron gate at the bottom of the drive to Brent Elwood’s mansion stood ajar, and there was no one around. I slowed down a little so I could tap it open with the nose of my car without cracking a headlight. The gate swung open and I drove up to the house. Miller’s convertible was at the top, parked nearby, and then my heart stopped.
The front door was open.
