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B obby Doyle scowled at the phone records. According to his cell-phone company, Nick hadn’t made a call or used his phone to surf the internet since he walked out of Bobby’s house.

That wasn’t possible. No one could survive in today’s world without a cell phone. Most days, Nicky’d seemed to have his phone glued to his hand. And no matter how determined he was to get away from his father, that wouldn’t have changed.

So Nick must have gotten a new phone. Probably a burner that couldn’t be traced back to him.

But Bobby had a source in place at every major cell-phone service provider, so, just in case, he picked up the phone and talked to each of them. They all told him they’d check their records and get back to him.

A few hours later, they’d all checked in. No Nick Doyle on any plan with any carrier. A few guys named Nickolas, but no Nick Doyles.

When he finished the call with his final source, Bobby wanted to hurl the phone against the wall. But he curled his fingers into fists instead. The last location for Nick’s phone was in California. San Francisco. So he must have bought a burner.

In spite of his anger and frustration, Bobby had to admire his son. He’d managed to vanish without a trace. Hard to do in this day and age. The question became, was he still in San Francisco? Maybe. He’d always wanted to move there. And if not San Francisco, he’d go to another big city in California, where it would be easier to blend in.

He used his computer-savvy men to scour San Francisco. A week later, none of them had found any traces of Nick. Bobby shifted in his chair. What the hell ? The kid couldn’t just vanish like a puff of smoke. He had to be somewhere .

Unless one of his rivals had taken Nick out. Retribution for something Bobby had done to one of their men. He had eyes in most of the families. Just like he was sure they all had eyes in the Doyle family.

He began making calls. Carefully, quietly and discreetly. Over the course of a week, he found out that no one knew anything. Nick hadn’t showed up. Wasn’t part of a new organization. It was like his kid had fallen off the face of the earth.

With Fingers dead, Bobby had been relying on Troy Murray for a lot of things. After two weeks had gone by with no leads on Nicky, he called Murray to his office.

His man slid into the chair on the other side of Bobby’s desk. “What can I do for you, boss?” he asked.

Bobby studied him. Carefully styled blond hair, wearing a designer suit and shirt, with custom-made Italian shoes, Murray exuded slick confidence. Exactly what Bobby liked to see his men wearing. A classy suit and classy shoes said a lot about a man. Said he needed to be taken seriously. Paid attention to. Maybe even feared a little.

Bobby was all about fear.

“You hear anything from Nicky?” he asked Troy.

Troy shook his head immediately. “Not a word.” He shifted in his chair. “Nicky and me, we didn’t hang out much. I spent my time with Fingers.” He crossed himself. “God rest his soul.”

Bobby studied Murray. He’d always thought of him as a good soldier. Obeyed orders without questioning them. Carried out his jobs cleanly. Efficiently. Spent all his time at the compound when he wasn’t out on a job.

“I’m looking for Nick,” Bobby said. “You hear anything about him?”

“Not a peep, Boss. Not since he disappeared from the compound.”

Bobby leaned back in his chair, never taking his eyes off Murray. “You had to guess, where do you think Nick would have gone when he disappeared?”

“First guess would be California,” Murray said immediately. “I heard that’s where he wanted to go when he came back to the compound. Also heard you shut that idea down.”

Bobby nodded slowly. “I did. He was no use to me in California.” He leaned toward Murray. “Where would you look for Nick?”

Troy kept his gaze on Bobby. “Only other place I knew he went was Helena, Montana. No damn idea why he’d go to a hick town like that, but I looked at his phone one day when he left it in the kitchen. Saw that he’d been there.” Murray shrugged. “Maybe he went back there.”

“Why would he go to that cow town?” Bobby frowned. “What’s there for him? Nick’s used to a more… sophisticated atmosphere. He spent most of his adult life on the east coast. I figured he’d head for San Francisco, but I found no trace of him there.”

Murray frowned. “You want me to hunt for him?”

Bobby slowly shook his head. “Too much territory to cover. Too many big cities in California.”

“Want me to go to Helena? Look around? See if I can find any trace of him?”

Bobby frowned. “Let me think on that. I have no idea why he’d go to Helena the first time, let alone go back.”

Murray shrugged. “Maybe he met a woman there. Men do a lot of stupid things for women.”

“Too true,” Bobby said. “But the thing is, I’m watching Nick’s accounts. He’s not using his credit cards. Don’t know where he’s getting his money.”

“He’s using cash,” Murray said immediately. “Got to be. What I would do if I didn’t want to be found. Everyone knows credit cards leave a trail.” He smiled. “Easiest way to track someone? See where their credit card’s been used.”

Bobby slammed his hand on his desk. “He’s doing a damn good job of hiding. Find him, Murray. Find him and bring him back here.” He leaned across the desk. “Don’t kill him, though. Don’t hurt him, either.”

Those options were Bobby’s to use. No one else would hurt his kid.

“Got it, boss. I’ll get right on Helena.” With a casual salute, he strolled out the door, shoes gleaming against the wooden floor.

* * *

Two days later, Noah was sitting at the bar with Hiram, telling him about Hawaii. Hiram had been there years before, when he’d been stationed at the SEAL base on Oahu. Hiram shook his head.

“What you’re describing isn’t the Honolulu I remember,” Hiram said. “It was a military town back then. Didn’t see many tourists.”

“A lot different now,” Noah said, nodding at his friend. “Besides the Navy, tourism is the big industry now. We didn’t spend a lot of time on Oahu. We mostly stayed on Maui and Kauai.” Noah shook his head. “Real touristy. But we got away from the tourist areas and saw the mountains. The forests. Did a lot of hiking.”

“Glad you had a good time,” Hiram said. “But then, who doesn’t have a good time on their honeymoon?”

“True enough,” Noah laughed.

The door opened with a creak, and both Noah and Hiram turned to see who it was. They didn’t get many customers between lunch and dinner.

Both Noah and Hiram stilled. They recognized the man who’d walked in the door. Noah couldn’t remember his name, but he remembered the toothpick between his teeth and knew the guy was one of Bobby Doyle’s men.

Hiram watched the guy approach. “What can I get for you?” he said when he reached the bar.

“A beer. Domestic.”

“Coors okay?” Hiram said as he reached for a glass.

“Fine.”

Hiram filled the glass and put it on the bar in front of the guy. “You wanna see a menu?” he asked.

“Nah. Beer’s good.”

Hiram nodded. “Let me know if you want anything else.”

“Will do,” the guy said, taking a drink of his Coors.

He drank about a third of the beer, then set the glass on the bar. “I’m looking for a guy,” he said. “Can I show you a picture?”

“Sure,” Hiram said.

The guy pulled a small picture out of his wallet and handed it to Hiram, who studied the photo, then handed it to Noah.

“This guy might have been in here a couple of months ago,” Hiram said. He turned to Noah. “You remember him?”

“He looks familiar,” Noah said, frowning as he studied the photo. “No idea who he is, though. Sorry I can’t be more help, Mr. …” He let the words hang in the air for a moment. The guy finally said, “Murray. Troy Murray.”

Noah handed the picture back to Murray. “Hiram was right. It was a while ago. Don’t remember much about him, other than his fancy clothes.”

Murray smirked. “Nicky always was a sharp dresser.”

“You gonna be in town for a while?” Noah asked.

The mobster shrugged. “Several days, while I check and see if Nick’s here.”

“Why are you looking for him?” Noah asked.

“His father hasn’t heard from him, and he’s concerned,” Murray said smoothly. “Wants to make sure he’s not sick or hurt.”

Noah frowned. “Can’t he just call him?”

“Not going through. That’s why I’m here. Checking up on him. Making sure he’s okay. So I can reassure his old man.”

Noah studied Murray for a long moment. Finally he said, “Give me your phone number. I’m a sheriff’s deputy. Spend a lot of time patrolling the city. I’ll give you a call if I see this guy.” He studied Murray. “Anything else you can tell us?”

“Nope,” Murray said. “You know what I know.” Murray pulled out two cards and gave one to Noah, the other to Hiram. “Thanks for the help, guys.” He dropped a twenty on the bar. “Hope to hear from you.”

“We’ll call if we spot him.”

Murray nodded. “Appreciate that.”

He opened the door and stepped outside. Noah slid off the bar stool and looked at Hiram. “I don’t like this,” he said in a quiet voice. “You have Doyle’s phone number?”

“No, I didn’t keep it,” Hiram said

“Okay. I’m gonna follow this guy. See what information I can get.”

“Don’t let him see you,” Hiram warned. “Don’t want to alert him that we’re watching him.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Not my first rodeo, Hayseed.”

Noah slid out the door. Didn’t see Murray, but he made a guess and headed toward the area with the more expensive hotels. It took a couple of blocks, but he finally spotted Murray ahead of him.

Noah slowed down, keeping enough distance between them that he could duck into a store or an alley if Murray turned around. Murray finally stepped into a new, high-end hotel and the door whooshed closed behind him. Noah waited a few minutes, then went to the parking garage. Found what he was pretty sure was Murray’s car. It was a late model black Escalade SUV, big and powerful, with Las Vegas plates. Doyle’s men apparently favored black Escalades. Noah took a picture of the license plate, which he'd look up later.

He peered in the windows but saw nothing but a meticulously clean vehicle. Then he turned around and left the garage.

When he was a couple of blocks away from the hotel, Noah pulled out his phone and called Celia.

“Hey, Noah,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Guy named Murray’s in town. Looking for Nick. Stay in the kitchen or the apartment. Don’t leave The Trailhead.”

Celia sucked in a breath. Noah heard her swallow. “Thanks for the heads-up, Noah. I’ll stay right here.”

“Good. And for good measure, tell Anne to stay there until I can pick her up and take her home.”

“Will do, Noah.”

When Celia hung up, Noah dialed the number he had for Nick.

“Yeah?” Nick said.

“This is Noah Brewster. It goes against the grain to help you, but I also don’t want a firefight in my town’s streets. Troy Murray’s in town, and he’s looking for you. Just came into The Trailhead. I followed him back to the Excelsior Hotel. Don’t know how long he’s gonna be there, but I strongly suggest you stay in your apartment. If you need food, order it for delivery from one of the grocery stores or call Uber Eats.”

There was complete silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Doyle said, “He say why he was here?”

“Looking for you. Your old man’s worried about you.”

Nick snorted. “Not likely. Murray’s a hitter, and word is he’s Fingers’ replacement, since Fingers died in prison. Make sure Celia knows to stay hidden, too.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve already talked to Celia.”

“Great. Thanks for the heads-up, Brewster. I appreciate it.”

“Not doing it for you. I don’t want to see a firefight on the streets of my town. Stay put. I’ll let you know when Murray’s car disappears. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay hidden for another few days after that.”

“Trust me, Brewster. I’ve had plenty of time to think about all the possible scenarios and plan for them. I know how to keep my head down.”

“Good. I’m headed back to The Trailhead to keep an eye on Celia right now.”

“Thanks. Let me know if you hear anything else about Murray.”

The phone went dead, and Noah stared at it in his hand. “Huh,” he said. “The bastard hung up on me.”

* * *

Nick dropped into the chair at his desk and stared at his computer without seeing it. He couldn’t blame Noah for hating his guts. He’d done a lot of thinking and realized he’d been a total dick -- to Noah. Hiram. But mostly to Celia.

Who told a person who was terrified for her life that he was outing her to the FBI, when she knew that would likely mean her death? Had he gotten so used to his father’s world, his father’s way of doing business, that he’d bought into his father’s callousness? His disregard for anyone but himself?

At the thought, shame slid greasily through his gut. He’d been a decent guy before he moved back to his father’s house. How had he gone off the rails so quickly?

Yeah, he really wanted to see Bobby Doyle in prison for the rest of his life. But he’d been willing to sacrifice Celia to do that. Happy to put her in his father’s crosshairs on the off chance that her testimony could lock Bobby Doyle up for good.

What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been ready to condemn Celia to a horrific death at his father’s hands, just on the chance that she could put the old man in prison?

Ever since he’d talked to Noah, and Noah had reminded him that Bobby Doyle had just told Celia he had a job for her, he’d been rethinking his position. Noah’d been right. Bobby hadn’t ordered him and Murray to take Celia to the desert and kill her. He’d told Celia it was for a job.

Didn’t matter if everyone in that room knew what Bobby’d meant. Like Noah said, it wasn’t on the tape. So as far as the jurors would be concerned, it was just a job.

It was time to make things right with Celia. Apologize to her. Vow that he wouldn’t mention her name or anything about her situation to the FBI.

It was the least he could do, considering what his family had done to her.