“Can you get ones for Arielle and Austin? I think it might be better if they disappear too.”
Tim and Sam get their heads together, planning the intricacies of the journey. I have troubles of my own to contend with. I’m about to leave my family and friends. My life.
Two hours later, we have all the details worked out. Since we’re homeless now, it makes sense to tell everybody that Austin and I are going to stay with my sister in California. But it’s going to take a few days to arrange everything for the real and imaginary trips.In a way, it’s almost a relief. If I think about it, the uncertainty of my future was already in motion, even without Sam’s intervention. The threat of losing my job has been real. And while I enjoy what I do, it had never truly been a passion. I’ve always worked in an office, sorting through admin. Paperwork. Do I really want to do that for the rest of my life?
I find myself taking mental stock for a moment, looking at my life and the tangent I’ve been on. Suburban wife and mom...then widowed mother of a special needs child struggling to make ends meet. Was that really what the universe had planned for me? Maybe this is what I needed; the proverbial kick in the pants to get me off a track that would have led where? To more mediocrity? Really?
My conversations with my mother and sister merely cemented these thoughts. Of all of them, I’d thought they’d be the hardest to leave. As it turned out, their reaction practically made up my mind for me.
“India? Are you mad, Arielle?” my mother had shrieked. “You’ll get cholera or something. Don’t they have Ebola there?” I’m still laughing at her outrage. I’ve spent my entire adult life apart from her. Whether it’s Vegas, or India, what’s the difference? The further apart we are, the better we get along. A sound catches my attention and I see Austin and Sam spreading cards on a table. My son is engrossed; totally focused on Sam’s hands. I’m doing the right thing. I can feel it.
“Thank you for helping us,” I say to Tim. “I know you don’t like it, but I don’t think we could pull this off without you.”
“I want you to be happy, and safe. I still don’t like the guy much, but at least I know he’ll take good care of you both.” I stand on tiptoes to kiss Tim’s cheek.
This is going to work out.
Chapter 15
Vicious Circle
Buford
Gregory Buford paced back and forth across the thick-pile carpet of his suite. The bitch he’d fucked earlier had emerged from the shower, taken one look at his face, and gotten her ass the hell out of there.
Good.
He was in no mood for emotional bullshit right now, anyhow. Even blowing his wad in her mouth hadn’t eased his mood any. A ‘pearl necklace’ was a poor replacement for the diamond he’d lost. And anyhow, there was more to it now. It wasn’t just about the gem.
Motherfucker.
He still wished he could have killed Colt himself. Squeezed his hands around his throat until he choked the life from him. Or maybe pummeled him to a pulp like that idiot on the night of the fire.
“Good help is so fucking hard to find these days,” he muttered drily as he lit another cigar and poured himself a shot of bourbon. Buford returned to his pacing, wishing he could shake the niggling feeling in his gut.
Something just didn’t add up.
How was the fucking cop involved? What was going on with the redheaded broad?
He’d had his men camped outside Colt’s joint since the fire, but there’d been no sign of him. The idiot promoter who’d worked for him was wailing about being ‘devastated at the loss’. Everyone knew the fucker had been let go. Although it had been useful to learn that the asshole had checked on Colt’s accounts and seen no movement. Guess ole Cory Smith was still looking for a gap. Not that Buford found this surprising. He knew a grifter when he saw one. Smith had been onto a good thing with Atticus Colt. Sold him off to the highest bidder and skimmed the fat off the top for not much work, aside from flitting around the world first class.
A knock at the door stopped his train of thought.
“What?” he yelled belligerently.
“Boss. They’re on the move,” a voice said cautiously. Mikey had been promoted to Buford’s Chief of Security, but for some reason, the man was less than thrilled.
“Yup, just can’t find good help,” Buford grumbled again. He downed the liquor and tossed the tumbler aside, ignoring the shattering of glass as he turned to find his pants and shirt. “Get in here!” he shouted, not caring that the man was going to walk straight in to a view of his ass crack as he dressed. He was shoving a foot into the leg of his pants as he heard the door open. “Where they headed?” he demanded, not bothering to look up as he pulled his pants to his waist and buttoned his fly.
“No clear destination, but they had bags, Sir,” said Mikey, clearly hedging his bets. “If I was to hazard a guess—”
“Don’t fucking hazard a guess!” Buford roared, and Mikey’s throat worked as he swallowed.
“Looks like they’re headed to the airport, Mr. Buford,” he said. “I got a team on their tail and we’ll know within twenty minutes, but I wanted you to know there was action.”
Buford narrowed his eyes on the man. There wasn’t anything he could fault him on, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still want to smash his face in.
Gregory Buford had learned to spot a ‘tell’ on a man. He had a sixth sense about lying. Timothy Ledger hadn’t been lying when he’d said Colt was dead. There may have been a flicker when he mentioned the dental reports, but not enough to ping on Buford’s radar. Ledger believed the man was dead. And so did the woman with him. If she was getting out of town, it was probably to evade him.
