Chapter Ten

Stellan Crane

The air didn’t smell right. That’s what I first noticed when I entered my home. A moment later was when I realized that the alarm had been disarmed, and not by me.

Peter Gavin and Adam DeMarco, my security personnel, nudged me out of the way and headed into the interior of my mansion, guns drawn. Unnecessary, I thought. Anyone who was here would be gone by now.

So I told them to stay back. Somehow, I already knew the source of the smell, and what I would find. Blood. Stuck somewhere between panic and complete calm, I strode ahead. Up the stairs and to the left, I followed my intuition as though it were an internal GPS telling me exactly where I was about to find my dead wife and dying son.

And there, in the theater room, as if the whole thing were a scene in a fucking movie instead of real life, I found my wife slumped over the back row of seats, unmoving. And then, after a moment, I heard the unmistakable and sickening gurgling sound of somebody choking on blood. My son.

I ran to my son, knowing that my wife was dead and that there was nothing I could do for her. Holding Jack across my lap, I could see that he had been stabbed in the face, disfiguring him, causing him to choke on the congealing blood in his airway. The wound to the face alone wouldn’t have killed him, but suffocation would have.

DeMarco stayed behind with me and called for backup and medical assistance while Gavin searched nearby for anyone who might have stuck around. Nobody will be found, I kept thinking.

But I will find the one who did this.

It was only later that the sense of calm dissipated and the reality of my dead wife and severely injured son hit me.

Jeannine’s throat had been cut. She didn’t suffer much. My son, though… he will suffer for the rest of his life.

I can’t forgive that.

Relationships are built on trust. Without trust, the foundation is cracked and irreparable. Business relationships are no different. And I think I know which foundation has just been destroyed.

So, as I sit in the hospital’s consultation room after being told that Jack will be in excruciating pain for the rest of his life, I dial a familiar number on my encrypted phone. The man on the other end picks up immediately.

“This is Wolfe.”

“Declan, what a pleasure. I was hoping we could meet, just the two of us. I have a new development in my technology that I hoped to run by you. Perhaps you can provide me with a new guinea pig in exchange for some more funding for your little project.”

“A new target?”

“No. One of your own. It will work this time, I guarantee it. We’ve tested on a few others with very limited negative side effects.”

“Who are you thinking? I don’t have many to spare.”

“Volkov, perhaps?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’s on assignment. No time frame. We don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. Well then. How about we meet tomorrow at 4:00 and discuss our options? Our regular spot. I’ll see you then.” I hang up the phone, satisfied. Tomorrow at 4:00, I will extract every last drop of information I can get out of Declan. I will find out who killed my wife and disabled my son and I will make them wish they’d never fucked with me. I will take over Declan’s little project, burn the place down, and then kill Declan myself.

For the first time since I arrived home two nights ago, I allow myself to let out a scream.

Solomon Beinoni

A perimeter of red and blue flashing lights, a white tent, and too many officers are all that are standing between me and sanity. Because, quite frankly, the little piece of the world within the borders of this crime scene feels a little too chaotic.

A human pincushion, slaughtered in an apparent fit of rage, and dumped in the middle of a fucking parking lot in the center of town sometime late at night or early in the morning. That’s what I’m looking at.

Nothing in his pockets except for a simple wallet; inside, it is empty, except for a single piece of I.D. stating his name: Jason Craig.

A background check revealed no criminal history except for some speeding tickets. There is no apparent reason why this man might have been murdered. Not yet, at least.

My phone rings. Unknown caller. Against my better judgment, I answer.

“Beinoni speaking.”

“This is Wolfe. I’ll make this quick. I know you’re playing both sides. Your partner, Tony, has been executed. One more wrong move and you’ll be next. Watch yourself.” Click.

I quietly excuse myself from the crime scene. Away from the mass of officers and CSIs, I fall to my knees. Tony is dead and it’s partly my fault.

Vienna Barron

Somehow, all the panic I had been experiencing has suddenly turned into pure, unfiltered rage, held back only by the need to remain calm for Cam’s sake. As I flip Cameron over onto his back, I can see that he’s still breathing, but that he’s been stabbed in the belly and chest three times. The knife is gone and in its absence are three open wounds that have been left to bleed freely. I apply pressure to the worst of them.

“It’s okay, Cam, you’ll be okay,” I find myself saying. I am not sure that I believe myself, but I hope he does.

David runs up behind me. I want to kill him for allowing this to happen.

“The ambulance is here. I need to bring him down there and I need you to hide.” He says this so casually, so unsympathetically, that for a moment I think about actually following through on my desire to murder him.

But I know he’s right. About Cameron, at least.

I bite my tongue. “I’m going with him,” I say.

Without warning, he closes the gap between us and grabs me by the arm, pulling me to my feet and pushing me towards the door. “You’re not. If you want to survive, you will do as I say. You’re to go hide in the apartment next door and not come out until I come find you. Lock the door. I’m going to take your friend down to the ambulance – we can’t have them coming up here yet. Do you understand? Do exactly as I say or you will both end up dead.”

I glare at him, seething, but he’s already picking up Cameron to transport him downstairs.

“Do it now.”

After once last look at Cameron, almost as if I’m checking to make sure he’s still breathing, I do as David says and lock myself in the apartment next door, hoping to god that nobody is home.

I can hear David’s heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs with Cam in tow. I press my ear to the door and listen.

“Help, please, my friend’s been attacked, he needs to go to the hospital….” His voice trails off and I’m left alone in an empty apartment hoping my best friend makes it to the hospital alive.

I wait. As I wait, I pace back and forth through my neighbor’s living room, hoping she doesn’t come home anytime soon. I feel a cold draft, and as I look around, I notice the back patio door has been left partially open. As I go to close it, something catches my eye. On the white balcony railing is a smear of blood. Fuck.

I back up slowly as if someone were about to jump out at me from the balcony. Except nobody is there.

I walk through the rest of the apartment, looking for any more signs of blood. Everywhere is clear, except….

The last bedroom is locked. It’s one of those locks that are easily opened with a small coin, so I search the apartment for a penny or dime, or anything that I can stick in the lock to get it to turn. I find a little coin jar on the kitchen counter. This should do the trick.

I instantly regret it. Inside-out white coveralls, the type used by painters, are covered in blood and lying carelessly on the bed next to a pair of bloodied shoes. The window, which has not been shut all the way, overlooks Tony’s murder scene outside, and the knife that must have been used to gut Cameron is lying on the floor as if tossed there in a hurry. I gag and turn away, choosing to wait for David on the living room couch with my eyes squeezed shut. I force myself to breathe deeply, trying my best to calm myself down. It’s not working.

***

Hours pass. David has not been back and it’s starting to get dark outside. I wonder if I’ve been abandoned. I wonder how Cameron is doing. And then I hear something. A soft clicking sound. The front door opens. My heart leaps out of my chest.

“Vienna?” I hear. “It’s David. Let’s get you out of here.”

I walk up to him calmly, without a word. I stop right in front of him, looking him directly in the eye. And then I slap him across the face as hard as I can.

“How fucking dare you,” I say.