She Can Hide (She Can #4)(11)

As usual, money won the debate. This wasn’t Vegas, with the glitter of a high-priced call girl. Atlantic City had to spend a lot more time on her back to pay her bills. The Jersey Shore lived and breathed for summer. Packing a year’s worth of business into three short months took work. Unlike the smaller businesses, the casinos had off-season traffic, but the place came alive from June through August.

Swiveling his chair from the dark and turbulent seascape, he read the alert on his computer screen again: PENNSYLVANIA HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER BARELY SURVIVES PLUNGE INTO ICY RIVER. For the second time that evening, a measure of anger rolled through his gut with a momentum that rivaled the ocean.

His hand sought another heavy object to break, but he resisted, finding his last thread of self-control.

He’d been keeping track of Abigail Foster from a distance, but this new development could not be ignored. A decision must be made. Truth be told, he’d let the situation with her go on much too long. He should have taken care of her three years ago. But he’d failed, and as a result, loose ends fluttered all over his life.

It was time to see this through to the end, as painful as it might be to all involved.

His decision both relieved and distressed him, but everything gained came at a cost.

He turned away from the laptop on his desk and pressed the intercom button on his phone. “Kenneth, I need to see you.”

Ryland’s assistant opened the door that separated their offices.

“Yes, Mr. Valentine.” Tall, slim, and impeccably dressed in a European-cut suit, Kenneth looked more like a gay urban lawyer than a killer.

Actually, Ryland had no idea if the thirtysomething was straight or gay, but he suspected his assistant got off more on violence than sex and might not be all that choosy when it came to the gender of his partners.

“There’s been a development.” He pointed to the laptop.

Kenneth crossed the plush carpeting. He leaned over and silently scanned the article.

“I need you to fix this,” Ryland said. He aimed for authoritative, but instead, his voice rang with a needy plea that grated against his pride.

Kenneth looked up. Nothing flickered in his pale gray eyes. Absolutely nothing. As a teen in Sarajevo during the Bosnian War, he’d witnessed atrocities that short-circuited the empathetic part of his brain. A section of Kenneth’s soul had been severed as neatly as pruning shears snipped off fingertips. Some things, once seen, could never be unseen.

“Yes, sir.” Kenneth straightened. “Consider it handled.”

“I should have let you handle it three years ago.”

“I agree.” Kenneth sliced through bullshit as smoothly as one of the knives concealed under his custom-tailored suit. One of his best attributes was his ability to be faithful without cowing. In Ryland’s opinion, a sniveler could never be trusted. After twenty years in Ryland’s service, his assistant was the only person who knew everything. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” Ryland said. He wanted 100 percent of Kenneth’s hyper focus on this task. Abigail Foster was a factor he’d long neglected. But that couldn’t continue. Three years ago he’d gotten a pass. Now events were unfolding that required him to clean up his past, and she was part of the mess. Why had he let it go this long? “Only you this time. I can’t trust anyone else with it.”

Kenneth’s head tilted in a small, acknowledging nod. Another man might puff up in vanity at such a compliment, but not him. He was a man of careful thought and, once he’d considered his options and chosen one, definitive action.

“Keep me apprised of your progress.” Ryland’s problem would disappear in a methodical and orderly fashion, as if his assistant was following a precise recipe or a chemical equation.

Unlike the rest of Ryland’s employees, Kenneth’s trustworthiness was absolute. Ryland had given the lost and broken young man a job as a favor to a dead friend. He’d given Kenneth purpose, and in doing so had given him new life. His assistant had repaid him with nearly medieval fealty, and like an ancient knight, he had no issue with mowing down Ryland’s enemies like stalks of wheat. He handled the most sensitive tasks with admirable completion and discretion. Ryland had to admit, the skills Kenneth learned in Bosnia had come in handy on a number of occasions.

“I’ll be on my way then.” Kenneth withdrew from the room. In some ways, Ryland was closer to his assistant than his own family. He liked to keep his personal and business lives separate. Only Kenneth knew all the facts about both.

Ryland’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the display. Marlene. He ignored his wife’s call. She’d be pissed, but he needed a few minutes to compose himself before he spoke with her. The decisions he made tonight would change the lives of everyone he loved. He glanced at his watch. Tonight was their oldest grandson’s fifth birthday party. They’d be a few minutes late, but nothing short of death would induce Ryland to miss it.

Did Marlene know he’d cheated on her? Probably. She was a smart woman.

Ryland reached for the china cup at his elbow. He sipped his coffee, now cold, and spun his chair back to the view. The churning sea stretched black to the horizon, seemingly endless. As CEO, president, and major stockholder of Valentine Entertainment Group, he controlled the casino that occupied the fifty-story building below him, in addition to several resort hotels and a few residential towers. Last year he’d bought a golf course. Someday his sons would take over. Between now and then, there were other loose ends that needed to be severed or tied. He’d built his business with decades of scratching and clawing, fighting his way to the top of the dog pile. He’d done the dirty work so his sons wouldn’t have to. When the time was at hand, Ryland would pass down a legitimate business. His legacy wouldn’t come with strings. His children wouldn’t be burdened with the consequences of decisions Ryland had made decades ago.