What Have We Done (70)

Nico doesn’t know why she’s asking. It’s an odd question all things considered. What does it matter?

“My old man, he was, for lack of a better word, a fiend.”

“He abused you?”

Nico isn’t much for therapy hour, but there’s nothing else to do. “Not so much me. Mostly my mom. She took it for years, but finally she had to escape.”

He remembers the day at the beach. He thumbs the Saint Christopher necklace that matches the one she wore.

“Did you ever reconnect with them?”

Nico releases a cynical laugh. “My dad disappeared, an occupational hazard when you work for the O’Learys. And my mom, no, I never saw her again.”

For years, Nico was so angry at her. He once did some internet sleuthing and found out she was alive. She was not on social media, but there was a local newspaper story about Gloria Adakai organizing a bake sale with funds going to a domestic abuse shelter in Los Angeles. She’d always dreamed of living on the West Coast. He considered reaching out, but she’s an old woman now. If she wanted to locate him, Nico isn’t hard to find.

“Your parents?” Nico asks.

Jenna shakes her head. “Car crash. What I wouldn’t give to see them again…”

Nico decides to change the subject: “I’ve googled ‘Fagin Jones’ and ‘Robot LLC’ and come up with nothing. Assuming it was Ben who wrote the note, what’s with all the cryptic messages? I mean, why not spell it out?”

Jenna shrugs. “He was a judge, didn’t want anyone to know, I suppose. And the note from the library was just a note to himself, he knew what it meant. Anyway, we’ll see what my husband finds.”

Nico feels a wave of guilt. Maybe if he hadn’t been so shameless, so greedy, Ben would still be here. Maybe if he wouldn’t have gotten in so deep with Shane O’Leary.

Maybe if he’d admit that the reason he never reached out to his mom is that he knows the hard reality: that she has no interest in seeing her cowardly son—the one who didn’t protect her.

Nico examines Jenna as she peers out the window. What would the oddsmakers give the chances of Derek Brood backing down, taking Arty’s money? And what happens if he refuses? What odds would they give on Nico coming out on the other side of this, particularly with that FBI agent seeming to know that he blackmailed Ben?

Nico loves the thrill of beating the odds. But this is a long shot not even he would take.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

THE TWINS

Outside the dive bar, Haley waves to Casey, who’s driving the semitruck. Casey’s face is tomato red and she’s wearing a trucker hat. That driver picked the wrong girl.…

Casey pulls the rig to the side of the road. The vehicle is too big for the area and risks grabbing a cop’s attention, so they need to be fast. They’re losing daylight and Casey’s sideshow with the truck driver cost them time.

While Casey was with the trucker, Haley tracked the FBI agent. He’s going to notice her tailing him sooner or later, so it’s now or never.

The agent has been inside the bar for about an hour. Haley risked peeking inside and she saw him talking to the guy from the cruise ship. Haley smiles, remembering him plummeting into the Atlantic.

Who would’ve thought the geezer could survive? Good on him.

Across the street, Casey is opening the back of the rig, lowering the ramp. They’d better hope no cops come by. She feels a stab of worry that Casey hasn’t gotten rid of the trucker’s body.

Finally, the agent emerges from the bar. His jaw is set, like he’s having a day, and he takes no notice of the rig.

Haley walks across the street, making sure he can’t miss her. He’s been on their trail and she’s counting on him noticing. Halfway across the street, she can virtually feel his eyes snag on her.

She walks slowly up the ramp and inside the big rig’s trailer. It’s empty and has railings running along each side to secure cargo. She feels the slightest shift in the floor as the agent climbs into the trailer. She keeps her back to the entry, giving him plenty of time.

“Turn around slowly,” the voice demands.

Haley twists around. “Oh my god, you scared the crap out of me.” She smiles.

The agent stands, jaw tight, hands gripping his service weapon. “Put your hands up.”

Haley smiles again. “Are you serious right now? Is this a joke? Did my sister put you up to this?”

“This is no damn joke: Hands up, on your knees.”

Haley’s eyes widen. “Okay. You don’t have to be rude about it.”

She raises her hands, lowers to her knees. The agent keeps his gun trained on her. With his left hand he reaches around for cuffs strapped to his belt. She didn’t know FBI agents carried handcuffs.

You learn something new every day.

“Turn around,” he commands.

“How am I supposed to do that? I’m on my knees and—”

“Do it!” A tinge of fear creeping into his voice.

Haley makes an exaggerated shuffle on her knees and puts her back to him again.

“Hands behind your back!”

Before she moves them, there’s a loud buzz, and a scream. Haley turns her head and the agent is sprawled on the bed of the trailer. Casey’s holding the stun gun and still pressing it against the nape of the agent’s neck.