“You have me. I’m not going anywhere. But I agree with you. You need more than one friend.”
Especially when my one friend has a new husband and a new baby taking up her time. And college classes on top of that.
“You’re absolutely right. I’ll try. Maybe Aspen. Kelly… She’s still running, and Lily… I don’t know.”
“Sometimes you feel a connection and sometimes you don’t. If you feel you and Aspen might get along and be friends, start with her. If that doesn’t work out, Lily and Kelly are there. And give Kelly a chance. As you know, none of this is easy.”
I nod, staring down at Nora’s sweet little lips. Absently, I trace them with my finger as I watched Zee do earlier.
“Perfect, isn’t she?” Zee says. “Like a little China doll.”
“She is. She totally is.”
Already the tears begin falling again.
9
LUKE
“The cost depended on the season. I didn’t have as much money as a lot of the others, so I came on the off-season. Summer, usually. The cost was one point two million per day.”
“What the fuck do you do that you could afford that?”
“I inherited my money. From a great aunt who didn’t have any other relatives.”
“You inherited enough money from some old bat so that you could afford one point two million per day to go to a tropical island and hunt women.”
“I didn’t say I was proud of it. I’ve got nothing now. Part of my deal was that I paid a huge-ass fine.”
That explains his humble lodging. “What a piece of work,” I say more to myself than to him.
But again, I wonder… Are we all that different?
My old man could probably have afforded the place. Did he ever go there? His net worth is close to a billion, but he’s not nearly as rich as the Wolfes. He’s a producer in LA, but that’s not what made him rich. He comes from old money, not like Derek Wolfe who was pretty much a self-made man. As far as I know, anyway.
“Who else went there?”
“We all signed nondisclosure agreements. Some of them wore masks or otherwise altered their appearance.”
“Don’t care. You’re going to tell me who was there.”
“I…can’t.”
“Bullshit. There’s a reason you’re not rotting in a prison cell, and I’m betting that you didn’t get off with just that huge-ass fine. You turned evidence.”
He looks down at his lap.
Bingo.
“Start talking.”
“Can you guarantee my safety?”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve got a gun pointed at you, and you’re asking me to guarantee your safety?”
His lips tremble again. “If you were going to kill me, you would’ve already done it.”
“Clearly you don’t know how this works,” I say. “I want information. You can’t give me information if you’re dead, so I’ll get the information first.”
I have no intention of killing the bastard, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
I repeat the serenity prayer inside my mind.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
I must stay focused. I can’t let the rage I used to feel consume me once more.
And damn, it’s hard. This man did something horrible to Katelyn, and for that reason alone I could kill him with my bare hands.
Yes, my rage was fueled by alcohol. But it was also a part of me that I have to work to keep at bay.
One high-profile person who frequented the island made the news. Prince Christian of Cordova, a small principality off the southern coast of France. Their only claim to fame is their royal family, whose pictures always grace the tabloids.
Prince Christian was the heir apparent, but now that title has passed to his sister Princess Salome.
“Did you ever meet Prince Christian?” I ask.
“No. He was never there when I was.”
“Who was there? When you were there?”
He keeps his lips pressed shut.
“Get talking. I don’t have a lot of patience left. You can tell me now or you can tell me later when I’m gutting you.”
“I wish I could.”
“Damn it, that nondisclosure agreement means nothing right now. It was illegal when you signed it because you were on an island doing illegal activities.”
“It was a private island. Who’s to say what the law was?”
“You can’t be talking serious. You and everyone else who visited that island knew exactly what you were doing, and you knew exactly how wrong it was. Now start talking, or I swear to God I will cut you but I will keep you alive so you can tell me what I want to know.”
“You can’t—” he gasps.
I’m holding a knife now. I pulled it out of the band of my ankle holster. It glitters even in the artificial light of the studio, and the steel blade is sharp enough to break skin at first contact.
I’ve had this knife for years. My old man gave it to me. I used one like it on the island myself, when I tried to get Emily to come back to me. That one I stole from one of the island security guards.
Yes, I know what I’m doing. I’m skilled in weapon and unarmed combat.
“Have you ever gutted a bird, Mr. Pollack?”
He shakes his head while shivering.
“Gutting an animal’s not that different. My father used to hunt wild game in Africa. Cost him an arm and a leg, but he loved doing it. I never acquired the taste for it myself, but he used to drag me along with him anyway, make me watch as he gutted those poor animals simply for their pelts.”
I’m lying. My father never hunted wild game in his life. Neither did I. I have no desire to. I love animals.
But the lie is working. Pollack’s face is twisted with terror. He’s beyond frightened at this point.
He’s petrified. Completely and utterly petrified.
“Okay, okay…” He rattles off five names I recognize. All rich men, all well known.
None of whom are in prison right now.
“Why weren’t any of these people caught?”
“I don’t know. Payoffs?”
He’s probably right. “Those are the names you gave the Feds?”
He nods, still shaking.
“Yet none of those fuckers are in prison.”
“Plenty of them are, I heard.”
“Not the ones you just named.”
“Yeah, but those are the big names. These people can buy their way out of any kind of mess.”
“Can they?”
My question is rhetorical, of course. My old man can buy his way out of anything. Hell, he bought my freedom. Which has turned out to be short-lived.
If a bozo like Pollack can find out who I am, can’t anyone?
Of course, he may have found my alias, but he doesn’t know who I am.
“There are a few others,” he says. “That tech guy, Carlos Neptune. And then the blue-blood guy from California. He’s a producer. Lucifer Ashton.”
My blood runs cold.
My old man? My fucking old man?