Page 7

T wo weeks later, Nick had researched how to create a new identity. After chasing down a lot of information and realizing none of it would work, he stumbled upon a method while reading a spy thriller. Go to a cemetery, find a child who died and would be about your age now, and use their birth certificate to create a new identity for yourself.

He wondered if Celia had done that, to prevent his father from finding her. Guilt about what he planned to do sliced through him. It wouldn’t matter what her new name was. His father’s shooters would know where she was, because according to both Celia and Hiram, any FBI agents on his father’s payroll would know that, courtesy of Nick .

His stomach knotted when he thought about it. Could Celia and Hiram be right? If he told the FBI what had happened to her, was he signing her death warrant?

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She and Hiram had to be wrong. The FBI was the premier law enforcement agency in the country. They recruited and hired only the best. The kind of people who wouldn’t take payoffs from a mobster.

Of course Celia was nervous. Jittery. Always looking over her shoulder, because why wouldn’t she? She almost died. Escaped only because Fingers wasn’t careful enough. The FBI were the Boy Scouts of police agencies. They only hired the best.

Nick knew his father had sources in the Las Vegas police department. Bobby talked about them openly. The only thing he didn’t share was their names. So why would he need to pay twice? Why would he need FBI agents on his payroll?

Right now, Nick had to create a new identity for himself so he could hide from his father. He knew Bobby would be looking for him. And if he continued living as Nick Doyle, his father would eventually find him.

So early the next morning, he headed to Helena’s Forestvale Cemetery. He parked along one of the roads through the cemetery and began walking up and down the rows. It took him almost an hour, but finally he found a boy’s grave that he could use.

The boy was two years older than Nick, but when you were thirty-four, that didn’t matter. The kid’s name was Wyatt Pierce, and he’d been born in Helena. Died before he turned one year old. So Nick copied down his name and his date of birth, then went to the Lewis and Clark County Library. He was able to find a newspaper article from a week after Wyatt’s birth and got the parents’ names as well as the hospital where he was born.

Finding a website to request a copy of a Montana birth certificate was easy, and Nick copied down the address and the information he’d need. Then he printed out the form, filled it out and headed to the post office. Twenty minutes later, he’d purchased a money order, an envelope and a stamp and mailed off his request.

He could have gone to the county building to make the request in person, but he didn’t want to answer any questions about why he needed the certificate or how he was related to Wyatt. Based on what he’d read online, it sounded as if his new expedited birth certificate would show up in about five days.

He hated to wait that long, but it was unlikely that his father would look for him in Helena yet. Bobby probably assumed Nick would show up in a week or two, begging to be forgiven. That wasn’t going to happen, but Nick was pretty sure his father would think it was perfectly normal. Kids rebelled. They also returned home when they realized how tough it was to survive on their own.

He'd never told his father about his money, letting Bobby assume that he lived on the small salary he was paid as part of the family. His father had fumed when Nick inherited his mother’s money, but Bobby’d assumed that his wife was too stupid to be able to manage money and had very few resources.

In fact, she’d been a financial genius. And she’d taught Nick how to invest and how to let his money work for him.

Since Nick didn’t want to move his money around until he had his new birth certificate in hand, he decided he’d spend some time target shooting in the desert. He had a gun, although he’d never used it. But if his father ever found him, he might send someone after him. Probably to convince him to return home. But Nick couldn’t discount the idea that if his father was angry enough, he might send Troy Murray or another hitter after him.

He'd always assumed that his status as Bobby’s only remaining son protected him from his father’s killing rage. But after Nick had left Las Vegas, obliterating all traces of where he’d gone, he couldn’t rely on that anymore. An angry Bobby would kill anyone.

So Nick bought a pad of targets, two bales of hay, and headed out into the desert. He found a location that seemed to be far away from any houses or buildings and set up the bales of hay. Stapled a target onto each of them. Then he practiced shooting.

He started close to the targets, then backed away several yards at a time. When he was accurate from fifty feet away, he worked on hitting the bullseye every time. He spent a couple of hours every day practicing.

After two weeks, he could hit the bullseye eight times out of ten. Still not good enough. He was loading his gun to shoot another round when he heard a car approaching him.

He spun around and spotted a Lewis and Clark County Sheriff’s cruiser. When the car was only ten feet from him, it stopped. As the door opened, he put the safety on the gun and set it on the ground. To his shock, he saw Noah Brewster emerge from the car.

“Doyle,” Noah called as he walked closer, wearing a deputy’s uniform. “What the hell are you doing?”

Nick shrugged. “Target practice,” he said, casually, he hoped.

“Yeah?” Noah stopped about five feet away. Narrowed his eyes at Nick. “Why do you need to practice shooting?”

Nick shrugged one shoulder. “You know who my father is. I need to be prepared in case he sends someone after me. Or sends someone after Celia.”

Noah frowned. “Why the hell would he send someone after Celia? As far as Bobby Doyle’s concerned, Celia is dead and buried.” Noah studied Nick, and Nick shuffled his feet. Avoided looking at Noah.

“And I thought you said your father had no idea where you were. Even if he did, you really think he’d send a shooter after you? Kill his only remaining son?”

Nick shrugged. “You never know. He gets angry enough? He could send a whole squadron of shooters after me.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed as he studied Nick. “Thought you told us your old man has no idea where you are.”

“I don’t think he does. I was really careful not to leave any clues when I walked away. But I want to be prepared if that changes.” Nick frowned. “Why are you out here, anyway? This isn’t private land. I checked before I set up here.”

“You’re right. This is public land. But you’re disturbing the neighbors.”

“I don’t see any neighbors out here.”

Noah jerked his head toward the left. “You see that stand of trees over there?”

Nick glanced at them. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Just beyond those trees is the Blackhawk Security compound,” Noah said, hooking his thumb into his utility belt, leaving the other hand on his gun. “You’ve been out here shooting every day for a while. Hard to concentrate on training when there’s constant gunfire.”

Nick knew that Noah used to work for Blackhawk Security. That he was probably very protective of them. But if the people there could hear his gunfire, he needed to move. “Tell them I apologize. I’ll move my little practice range. You have any suggestions for where I could go that I won’t disturb anyone?”

Noah stared at him as though he hadn’t expected him to be so willing to compromise. Finally, after a too-long moment, he said, “Yeah. I got some ideas.”

“And those would be…”

“Go about ten more miles down the road. Away from Helena. You’ll see tracks in the sand.” He smiled. “Put them there myself. Your father’s buddy Fingers had taken my wife out there and was going to shoot her. Being very smart and very brave, Anne got away from Fingers. Fingers got locked up in the Lewis and Clark County Jail. He was moved from there to Henderson County Correctional Facility.”

Nick knew what had happened after that.

“Follow those tracks,” Noah continued. “Set up your targets out there. You won’t disturb a soul.”

“Thanks, Brewster. I’ll do that.”

Noah nodded at him. “Pick up your spent shells. We don’t like littering in Montana.”

“Already do that,” Nick said.

“Good.” Noah nodded at him. “See you at The Trailhead one of these days.”

“Don’t think I’m welcome there,” Nick said.

Noah frowned. “Why? What’d you do?”

Nick stared at Noah. “Hiram doesn’t like a decision I made.”

Noah tilted his head and studied Nick. “What decision is that?” he asked.

“When I talk to your FBI buddies, I have to tell them about Celia. How she was in the room when my father told Fingers and Murray to take her out to the desert and kill her, but she survived her shooting. She has first-hand evidence of what he ordered. It’s our chance to get my father locked up for good.”

Scowling at the idiot in front of him, Noah asked, “Did you tell Celia that?”

“Of course I did.”

Noah shook his head. “You’re a total dumbass. Did Celia tell you that if you told her story to the FBI that you were signing her death warrant?”

‘Yeah, she did. But she was upset. Emotional.”

Noah grabbed the front of Nick’s shirt. Shook him like he was no more than a rag doll. “You tell that shit to the FBI? I will kill you myself. And you will damn well be dead when I plant you out here in the desert. You understand?”

Nick frowned. “No! I don’t understand. It’s our chance to nail my father. Make sure he spends the rest of his life in prison.”

Noah stared at him, and Nick wanted to back away from the anger in his eyes. But he forced himself to stare back at Noah.

Noah shook his head, as if trying to reason with a three-year-old. “You know the first thing your father would do from prison? He’d call Murray or one of the other psychopaths who work for him. Tell him where Celia is. Order him to kill her. And you can bet they wouldn’t screw it up this time.”

Nick swallowed. “I’ll protect Celia. If she’ll let me.”

One side of Noah’s mouth curled up in a smile. “She chewed you a new one, huh?”

Nick scowled. Stared at Noah, but didn’t say anything.

“You deserve an ass-chewing,” he said bluntly. “Deserve a lot more than that. Because you know your father. You know damn well that Celia’s right. If he finds out she’s alive, he will not stop until he’s found her and killed her. And you can bet it won’t be a quick death this time. He’d torture her to death as a message to everyone else who works for him. All of his rivals. And he’s a sick enough son-of-a- bitch that he’d record it. Make sure all his rivals and all his men see it. You rat me out? This is what’s going to happen to you.

“I’ve got an FBI agent from the Organized Crime division arriving in a few days. A guy I know and trust. He’s not going to rat out Celia or anyone else. Are you still willing to talk to him?”

“Yes. I am. I want my father held accountable for what he’s done.”

“Good,” Noah said, staring at him. “But if you mention Celia -- even without using her name, because they would figure out who it was -- I will personally end you.”

“Get in line,” Nick said. “Hiram already told me that.”

“And you’d better believe him.” He stared at Nick, and Nick saw nothing but resolve in his eyes. Determination.

“You think we’re kidding about this?” Noah said. “We’re not. I know how mobsters like Bobby Doyle work. Someone betrays them? They kill the whole family. I’m warning you now -- you put my wife at risk? My sister-in-law? My friend Hiram? I will end you without a second thought.”

“Telling them about Celia is the only way to stop my father,” Nick said.

Noah studied him for a long moment. Finally he said, “Let me ask you this, Doyle. Did you hear your father tell Fingers and Murray to take Cela into the desert and kill her?”

“Of course not. He’s too smart to say that out loud. He told her that Fingers and I had a job to do and we needed Celia’s help. We all knew what that means.”

“And you were gonna go with Fingers to kill Celia,” Noah said.

“I was going with them to save her! I’d have killed Fingers if I’d had to.”

Noah shook his head. “Even if you had a tape where your old man said that, it’s not gonna sway a jury. They’d say, it was a job. He didn’t say what kind of job. And yeah, all of you knew exactly what he meant. But did he ever say take Celia into the desert and put a bullet in her head?”

Nick stared at him for a long moment. Finally shook his head. “He didn’t have to. Everyone in that room knew what he wanted.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they did. But he didn’t say it. And even if there’s a recording of what he said, no one will hear the words ‘kill Celia Remington.’ And when Bobby’s on trial, you can be sure that his lawyer will repeat, over and over, that he was sending them all on a job. And you can also bet that Doyle will have an explanation for what that job was.”

Noah studied Nick for a long time, and Nick stared right back at him. He wasn’t going to let this old SEAL intimidate him. He was just as strong, just as fit as Noah. Just as able to defend himself. So he held Noah’s gaze.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably less than a minute, Noah shook his head. “If you could put Celia on the stand, let her describe what happened to her? Yeah. You might be able to convict Bobby Doyle. But Celia’s not gonna do that. I won’t let her, and neither will Anne or Hiram. Because we know what would happen to Celia.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Nick asked. “Let him get away with trying to kill Celia and actually killing Alice? And my brother?” He swallowed hard and clenched his fists.

Noah shook his head. “Your daddy’s not gonna get away with anything. He’s going to prison, and I hope to God he dies there. Will it be for what he did to Celia? Probably not. What he did to your Alice? Again, probably not. But it’ll be about your brother’s murder. You have information about that, don’t you? Photos. Evidence that your father ordered it. Too bad Fingers is dead. He could probably make a big splash on the witness stand against Bobby Doyle. But then, he’d be at risk of being killed. And he’d know it.

“Just out of curiosity, did you tell Celia you were going to rat her out to the FBI?”

“Yeah, I did. I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“I was right. You’re a dumbass, Doyle. I’m sure Celia’s probably worried sick. Wondering if she needs to run away now, or if she can have a few more days or weeks with her sister before never seeing her again. Think hard about this, Doyle. Because if you do out Celia, you will have no friends in Helena. No one will talk to you. No one will do business with you. If you want any kind of normal life, you’ll have to move away.” He leaned closer, and Nick had to restrain himself from backing away. “And remember this. No matter where you go, Hiram and I will find you. Believe me, it won’t be to have a beer together.”