Beautiful Addictions (28 page)

Josie didn’t really know what to make of this bad guy. One minute, he would be unreadable,
and the next, his eyes would become tiny slits staring out at the road. She could
only assume that he was fighting some kind of internal battle. For the one who had
the gun, he sure seemed troubled.

His phone had been ringing nonstop since yesterday. Every time it happened, he’d look
at the number and silence it but would never turn it off. His foul moods seemed to
coincide with the phone calls. Josie almost laughed at how observant she had become
when there was nothing else to occupy her attention.

They had stopped for breaks only four times in two days. They’d eaten only once. Josie
was starving and thirsty and irritated by the whole hostage situation. She was sure
that she was causing irreversible damage to her bladder while her captor feigned ignorance
about how women’s bodies work.

Josie crossed her arms and sulked at all the waiting. She’d rather he just get it
over with. She was positive that her mind was imagining a much worse fate than what
would transpire. The not-knowing part was the worst. She thought about New York and
how maybe it would have been better if she had just died back then. There would have
been no amnesia, no horrible foster parents, and no feeling like she didn’t deserve
to live. Then again, there would have been no reuniting with Tristan.

“How much longer?” Josie asked.

No answer.

“What are you going to do with me?”

His eyes stayed forward, his face expressionless.

“Well, since you don’t want to answer my questions, I’ll just keep talking. So, I
know you’re the bad guy, but when did bad guys get so hot? I mean, in that older guy,
daddy complex sort of way. I’m fucking hungry. Are you starving me to death? Is that
what’s happening here?”

He sighed and twisted his grip around the steering wheel. Josie almost smiled and
wondered if she could annoy him into releasing her.

“You could let me go, you know. Just drop me off at the Mexican border and never look
back. You could let me out here. Tell Moloney you killed me. I’ll disappear and everybody
wins.”

He shook his head slightly.

“What are the odds of me surviving a jump from the car while going”—she leaned over,
looking at the speedometer—“eighty miles an hour? Probably not good.”

Josie took a deep breath and slammed her head back against the headrest.

“You are the worst fucking bad guy ever. You’re supposed to be crazy smart and witty.
Also, you’re supposed spill the master plan, giving me some satisfaction before I
die. Have you never seen a horror movie?”

She rolled her head toward the window and watched the trees slide by in a blur. For
a second, she glimpsed her reflection in the glass and thought about the message she’d
left in her bathroom. She hoped someone found it.

“It’s Mort,” his deep voice made Josie’s head whip around, thinking that he was finally
talking to her. Instead, she saw his phone pressed to his ear. “I’m three hours out
with the girl. Yes. Yes. Got it.”

He ended the call and cast a glance in her direction. Josie’s eyes darted away quickly,
not wanting to upset him. Three hours. She had three hours to live. What should she
be doing with her time? More than she wanted to escape, she wanted to hear Tristan’s
voice just one more time.

Josie closed her eyes and prayed. She was a hypocrite just like those people who become
religious only on airplanes. She didn’t pray for a savior or an escape, only for Tristan
to know undoubtedly that for the second time in her life, she loved him. It wasn’t
until all her time thinking in the confines of this car that she realized she had
never said it to him. How could she have never said it to him?

Rob didn’t speak to the girl unless necessary and kept his eyes on the road. At this
point, he was functioning on pure adrenaline and no sleep. If he didn’t have to look
into her questioning eyes, he could find the strength to keep driving. For a while,
he thought he might kill her just to shut her up. She asked questions, many questions.
Rightfully so, she wanted to know where they were going, what he was going to do with
her. Rob knew she didn’t really want to know the answer, so he fought to remain silent.

He glanced over, finding her eyes closed and hands clasped tightly together. He sighed
and refocused his attention on the highway, brooding over the enormous mess. He was
still angry that he’d had to take the girl instead of just killing her. It would have
been an easy kill. She hadn’t fought back or tried to escape, it was textbook. It
had been her terrified, begging voice that had done him in. That and the vision of
Monica’s sad face.

Rob was in too deep, far too connected to Josie Banks and her past. The woman he loved,
the woman he craved above anything else, would be crushed by Josie’s death. As he
drove through the night, he found himself hoping that Moloney wouldn’t make him be
the triggerman on this job. Now that he didn’t have to kill her, he’d be able to sleep
next to Monica with a clearer conscience. He’d be able to hold her and soothe her
aching guilt. He’d be able to live the rest of his days, however numbered they might
be, without remorse.

*   *   *

Dean Moloney sat behind his large oak desk, peering out the perfectly clean plate-glass
window. On this cloudless day he could see clear across his property. The blue sky
filled the top of this window canvas and spilled down until it was interrupted by
green trees. His eyes skimmed over the pond, the water rippling with soft patterns.
His stables rose against the backdrop of the security fence marking the perimeter
of his land. He loved sitting here, celebrating that all that was his.

His parents had been poor people. They had been happy with a small house and secondhand
furniture. Dean always wanted more. He envied his uncle’s lavish lifestyle. Uncle
John Moloney, his father’s brother, had been a part of the organization as long as
Dean could remember. Even at a young age, Dean knew that he wanted to follow in the
man’s footsteps. His parents fought him on it. They prided themselves on working hard
and walking the straight and narrow. When he was a teenager, he started working for
his uncle. Before Dean took the job, John warned of the importance of discretion.
Dean fell into the lifestyle easily, becoming a sort of apprentice to his uncle. Only
nine years later, John was killed by a random mugger. Dean clawed his way over more
experienced and seasoned members directly to the top. He learned how to cover his
tracks with legit businesses and how to recruit the best men and keep them.

Eventually, he’d met his wife and started a family, an ideal step along his path.
Nothing was more important to him than continuing his proud Irish bloodline. He’d
never been happier than when his twins arrived. He remembered running through the
halls, shouting to anyone who would listen, of his healthy baby boy and girl. From
that instant, he had their destinies mapped out. His daughter would be a princess,
never wanting for anything, and his son would be groomed to ultimately take his place.

Dean looked at the framed photograph sitting at the corner of his desk, an unsuspecting
and blissful family stared back. He wanted to grab it and yell at them, warn them
of the impending danger. It was too late. With the death of his son, Dean Jr., came
a darkness that he had never experienced before. Hate and fury filled his heart, turning
him into the dark and sinister monster he was now. All he could think about was vengeance,
wanting to punish anyone who dared to live a life free from hurt, especially Dr. Daniel
Fallbrook.

This man and his faltering surgical skills had taken Dean Jr. from him, and retribution
would be paid. Dean had worked out a plan, a devious, life-altering scheme. It took
patience and manipulation, but it had worked out so well.

Fallbrook had taken his son, so Dean would take Tristan.

It was a joyful day when he had learned of Tristan Fallbrook’s interest in his daughter,
Fiona. It took convincing, but in time she agreed to see the boy. Dean didn’t want
him dead; that would be too easy. Instead, he wanted to take him from his charmed
life. He wanted to rip him from his family and destroy every piece of his future.
At the time, Dean had no idea that it would work so well.

Before he knew it, Tristan had fallen in love with Fiona. After that, it was easy
to lure him into Dean’s world. It was the best result he could have hoped for. Everything
had worked out perfectly—except for Fiona.

She resented her father for making her stay with Tristan. When she was younger, she
didn’t really mind. Dean kept her well paid, a sort of bribe for her part in the scheme.
When they relocated to California, she fell in love with another man. She begged her
father, pleaded with him to let her break it off. But he would not agree.

Dean got what he wanted. He’d destroyed Tristan, but at the cost of losing his daughter.
Fiona rarely spoke to her parents these days. She married a man her father never met
and they lived in Northern California somewhere. His need for revenge had destroyed
them. Sure, there were e-mails and photos, but it was not the family he’d dreamed
of.

Now that Fallbrook had left the organization, he would have to be dealt with. Dean
had kept him around for a while, waiting to see if he would be of use. His patience
had worn thin and now the boy represented one more loose end that needed to be tied
up.

When he received the photos of the girl from Mort, he almost didn’t believe his eyes.
Tristan was with her. His unmistakable tattoos giving him away.

Dean drummed his fingers on the top of his desk and wondered how he’d never connected
the two before now. When he’d been after Earl Delaune, they would have been children.
Dr. Fallbrook hadn’t shown up on his radar until two years after the chief and his
daughter fled. Another six months went by before Fiona came home talking of a boy
named Tristan Fallbrook.

He’d never known that Fallbrook knew the Delaune girl, but once he learned that they
were hiding out together, he dug into their past and was delighted with what he found.
Now that he knew they were connected, he could use the girl to hurt Tristan. It was
almost too easy. He grinned and bowed his head in amusement. The thought was so satisfying
he almost screamed with joy. Of course he didn’t. He was a man of restraint.

A knock at the door broke the silence of the room.

“Enter,” Dean said.

“We just received word that Mort will be arriving in three hours with the girl. I’ve
instructed him to take her to the South warehouse for holding.”

Dean nodded.

“Thank you, Barry.”

He waved his hand, dismissing the man, and sat back in his chair

20. Magnitude

The brightness of a celestial body.

After making the call to Tristan, Alex told Monica that he was heading to New Orleans.
They had no idea if Josie left on her own or if she’d been taken. Either way, he had
a gut feeling that Josie was still alive. Monica couldn’t stand by and do nothing.
She decided to accompany him.

They flew out the next morning. They spent an entire day with Tristan working out
plans from downright stupid to borderline suicidal. Alex watched Tristan, who bounced
haphazardly between grieving for Josie and insisting on her survival. He resembled
a tiny boat being thrown about in the middle of a raging sea. They did their best
to comfort him. Bitsy and Daniel gave their son and the two strangers space in their
home, offering anything they could to help.

It wasn’t until Tristan received a call from one of Moloney’s men that he was able
to regain control of himself. Barry had called to let him know that Josie was still
alive and being held at Moloney’s Tchoupitoulas warehouse. The trio were in the car
and on their way before the phone call ended.

“How far is it?” Monica asked.

She sat on the edge of the backseat, her fingers gripping the seat in front of her.
Tristan took a sharp turn quickly and she flew against the door.

“Twenty minutes,” he answered. “Put your seat belt on.”

Monica nodded and buckled up. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath when
they flew through a red light. After they cleared the intersection, she exhaled and
said a prayer.

“What’s the plan?” Alex asked. “I don’t have my piece, man. Couldn’t get through airport
security, you know?”

Tristan’s fingers curled around the steering wheel as he eyed the upcoming intersection.
He pressed harder on the gas and ignored the horns and screeching tires left behind.

“There’s a pistol under your seat.”

“¡Simón!”

Alex reached under the seat and pulled out the gun. He checked the clip and slid it
back in.

“What about me?” Monica asked as they reached the Crescent City Connection.

The wide Mississippi River stretched beneath them as Tristan and Alex gave each other
knowing glances.

“You’re staying in the car,
mami.
We can’t be worried about you
and
Jo,” Alex answered.

“What? That’s crap! I could help. I’m great at distractions.”

“No,” the two men answered in unison.

Monica crossed her arms and looked out the window as they entered New Orleans. It
was a beautiful city and she wished that she’d come here under better circumstances.

“I’ve been to this warehouse before,” Tristan said. “There are two doors. One at each
end of the building and a large loading dock on the street side. Our best bet will
be to enter the farthest door since that one is blocked from street view.”

“Okay. Then what? How many men you think they got?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know. At least three. They’ll all be armed. I hope they’re still there.”

“What if they’re not?” Monica asked.

Tristan blew through another intersection, barely avoiding a moving van.

“Then we’ll be too late.”