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Will swore, darted out. The first shot missed. He grabbed Chip, swinging him around, practically throwing him at Toby, as another shot rang out. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees, just a few feet from Toby, as the horseman fired again. When he fell forward, he looked right at Toby, mouthing something he couldn’t hear.
Trapped beneath the staircase, tears welled in Toby’s eyes as he gripped his brother’s hand, unable to move, transfixed by the dark stain growing on Will’s back, only vaguely aware of the horseman breaking open the pistol, reloading.
“Boy . . .” Will said, his voice a soft rasp.
Holding tight to his brother, Toby took a step forward, not sure what to do.
“Run!”
1
PEBBLE BEACH, CALIFORNIA
CONCOURS D’ELEGANCE
The present day, August
A salt-tinged breeze swept in from the water, rippling the white canvas tents where spectators stood, drinking champagne. Beyond the tents, sunlight glinted off the hoods of the classic cars parked on the newly mowed emerald green grass. Two young children ran between a blue and white 1932 Auburn V-12 Boattail and a white 1936 Auburn Speedster, laughing as their parents raced after them, catching their hands, then drawing them back away from the cars.
Sam Fargo guided his wife, Remi, out of the parents’ and children’s path, her attention fixed on the auction book she held. “Anything of interest?” he asked.
“Besides very rare cars?” Remi cleared her throat. “It says there’s a 1929 Bentley, owned by Lord Albert Payton, Viscount Wellswick. Please tell me your mother’s not expecting us to bid on that?”
“Of course not.”
She looked over at him, her green eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, her auburn hair tucked beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. “You have no idea why we’re here to talk to him, do you?”
“I know it has something to do with cars.”
“That narrows it down,” she said, focusing on the program, turning the page. “Viscount Wellswick has three cars listed for auction. Why on earth would he bring them all the way over here when he lives in Great Britain?”
“The cars aren’t here, he is.”
She closed the book, taking a look around. “I’m beginning to think he’s very rare. Your mother did say he was meeting us at ten?”
Sam checked his watch. It was nearly eleven. “Maybe I got the time wrong.” He slipped his phone from his pocket, calling his mother. “Hi, Mom—”
“Did you talk to Albert?” she asked, before he had a chance to comment.
“That’s why I’m calling. We were wondering if you’d heard from him.”
“No, but I’m sure he’ll be there. I’m at the dock or otherwise I’d get you the name and number of the motel he’s staying at.” He heard the sound of a boat engine in the background. His mother, Eunice “Libby” Fargo, ran a charter boat in Key West for snorkelers and deep-sea fishing. What had been a hobby for her when his father had been alive was now her passion. It wasn’
t all that long ago that she’d spent more days on land than on sea. Now in her seventies, the reverse was true, and she wasn’t willing to drop anchor anytime soon. “It’s possible I got the time mixed up,” she said.
“Any chance you know more about what he’s looking for?”
“Just what I told you the other night— Have to go. Taking a group out now. Call me back if you don’t hear from him soon.”
She disconnected.
“Well?” Remi asked.
“Still a mystery.”
The only thing he really knew was that according to his mother, Albert Payton, the 7th Viscount Wellswick, was a distant relative of his. “He’s family, and he’s in financial trouble” was what she’d told him when she’d called a couple of nights ago, asking if he and Remi could meet with him when they were in Pebble Beach for the Concours d’Elegance.
Sam wasn’t the type to walk into anything unprepared, but when he’d tried asking her what sort of trouble, she said it had something to do with a car and finances.