Rich Blood (Jason Rich #1)(41)

Jason decided to walk down Buck Island Drive instead of trying to navigate the trees and landscaping between the two backyards. It was only a few hundred yards between the two houses, but Jason’s legs felt heavy as he neared the Waterses’ estate. The boat trip and the lunch with Jackson Burns had been exhilarating and stressful, and he was beginning to come off the high of being on the windswept lake. It was 3:30 p.m., and he still had a lot to do.

And much to think about.

As he approached the driveway, he heard the sound of a car coming from behind him. He turned and saw a black Mustang that was slowing down. As the passenger window rolled down, Jason saw a man behind the wheel.

“Jason Rich?” the stranger asked. He was in his late twenties, if Jason had to guess, with a close-cropped haircut. He wore a navy T-shirt, and Jason could see the veins snaking over his muscles as his hands gripped the wheel.

“Who wants to know?” Jason asked.

“You don’t know me?”

Jason shook his head. “Should I?”

The man looked back at the road. “You will.”

“What—?”

“Soon,” the man said, and the car lurched forward. The vehicle turned around in the Waterses’ driveway and then raced back toward Jason.

He stopped in his tracks, unsure of whether he was going to have to dive out of the way, but the man just waved as he headed back toward the highway.

What the hell? Jason wondered as he tried to calm his breathing. His adrenaline had spiked, and his senses were on high alert. For all the glamour of the houses that lined the waterfront, Buck Island Drive wasn’t the most impressive of streets. In fact, there was barely enough room for two vehicles. He started to walk again, picking up his pace. As he entered the driveway, he only saw his Porsche and was relieved.

Though he wanted another chance to talk with his nieces, his interaction with the Mustang driver had spooked him. Had the man been following him? And if so, why?

Marshall County was a weird place, Jason knew. His father used to say that 95 percent of the area were good, law-abiding folks. But that other 5 percent could best be described as “outlaw.”

Jason took in a deep breath as a steady rain began to fall. He hopped into his Porsche and fired it up, exhaling slowly in the small confines of the vehicle. He’d been back home less than twelve hours, and the overriding vibe had been fear and dread with a side of guilt.

Who was that guy? he thought as he pulled back onto the blacktop.





30


Tyson Cade watched his rearview mirror as he skirted Buck Island Drive and turned onto Highway 431. The Mustang, like all his vehicles, was a loaner. Tyson never drove the same car more than a few times without switching it up. He was a man of many looks. Sometimes he shaved. Sometimes he didn’t. His hair vacillated from high and tight to long and loose, depending on the season. And his cars and boats vacillated from big to small, luxurious to old and rickety. About the only common denominator was speed.

Tyson liked to move fast. He thought he’d scared the lawyer, but he didn’t want to do anything but plant a seed. The real party would come later.

Though he thought there was a chance that Jason Rich would come to the correct conclusion on his own, it wouldn’t hurt to impress upon him the significance of his decision.

Tyson grabbed his cell and punched a button.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got a tracker on Rich’s car.”

There was a momentary pause. “Good.” A couple of seconds of silence and then Kelly Flowers added, “When?”

“Tonight,” Tyson said.

“Do we need reinforcements?”

Tyson visualized Jason Rich’s soft, pampered face. “No, but let’s have some muscle available just in case. Comprende?”

“Sí.”

Tyson clicked the phone dead. Soon, he thought, echoing what he’d told the billboard lawyer. Very soon . . .





31


By 8:00 p.m., all Jason wanted to do was go to sleep, but alas, the night was young. He still needed to meet Kisha at the Rock House. If there was a chance in hell that his sister might be innocent of hiring Waylon Pike to kill her husband, he needed additional information. All his conversations with Burns and Jana had revealed were a whole lot of reasons to think she was guilty.

As he drove down Blount Avenue and hung a left on Loveless, he saw a smattering of cars parked along the street adjacent to Gunter Avenue ahead. Though it took several minutes, Jason finally found a parking spot and ambled up the sidewalk toward the quaint restaurant, which had several couples and families eating outside on the patio on wrought iron chairs and tables. He stepped inside and saw Kisha waiting on him. She waved and he headed toward her, taking in the Rock House. He’d eaten here a couple times before with Jana and Braxton. The food was excellent, and the vibe was simultaneously rustic and modern. There were two dining rooms separated by a wall and then a narrow hallway that contained the cozy four-seater bar. Jason took a seat next to his former classmate at the bar and saw that another woman was seated next to Kisha.

“This is my wife, Teresa Roe,” she said. Jason nodded at the other woman, who was taller than his old friend, with long, straight black hair.

“Nice to meet you,” Jason said, trying not to be surprised by the revelation that his old friend was gay.