Page 39

Jack

With one last look in the mirror, I head down the back staircase that leads to the garage.

I never oversleep. I never sleep late. Falling asleep in a darkened room ranks as a colossal mistake.

I missed two meetings this morning. Sophia could have caught us.

Sleeping late fucked my entire schedule.

Like some juvenile teen, I lied to my assistant, telling her I wasn’t feeling well.

I haven’t spit out a lie like that since seventh grade when I needed to avoid a quiz on some unread chapters from Lord of the Flies .

And Ryan asked to meet after lunch. He doesn’t request a meeting unless it’s important. He doesn’t want to risk being overheard, and given the crap with the yacht, worry gnaws at my gut.

In the back yard, Sophia sits in a chair beneath a tree reading a book.

There’s no sign of Ava. Did she find her?

Did we get busted? I double-check my phone, and there’s no warning text from Ava.

Of course, this whole idea of getting busted is borderline ludicrous.

I’m a grown adult. Sophia is fifteen years old.

If I choose to sleep with a woman in my home, I can.

Still, my sex life isn’t something my fifteen-year-old needs to be aware of.

I’m sure she’d prefer to think of me as asexual.

With a coffee in hand, I gaze at her. She’s the picture of innocence, her legs curled up under her in a flowery sundress. She glances up and sees me. I lift my mug to her in greeting, and she closes her book. I head outside onto the deck to greet her over the balcony.

“Morning.”

“Where have you been?” Her hand is shielding her eyes as she looks up at the house. “I couldn’t find you.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I had a breakfast meeting. Ah, I’m going to be heading out to the range soon. You want to come with me?”

“Yeah, let me change.”

“Okay. We’ll leave in thirty?”

I head back to my office to check email while I wait for her.

An alert comes across my phone that Ryan’s helicopter has landed and he’s in transit to the shooting range.

I power down my computer, double-check my desk is in order, and close the office door.

A woman from the cleaning service lowers her eyes as she passes me, and her presence reminds me there’s an extra room to clean today.

I shoot a quick text off to my house manager letting her know that the private room needs to be cleaned by someone who will exercise the utmost discretion.

“Sophia?” I call.

“Yeah, Dad. I’m ready.” She closes her bedroom door behind her. It’s a habit of hers she started recently, and I’m not fond of it. But her phone remains in my office, untouched, so it’s not like she’s doing something with friends that she’s trying to keep hidden.

In the garage, we both climb into my Range Rover. As I start the car, I glance sideways as she buckles her seatbelt. The garage door opens.

“Do you want to drive?” She has her permit, but we haven’t left the house much since the incident. She needs to get in hours driving before she gets her license.

“That’s okay,” she says. “Maybe I’ll drive home.”

As I’m backing out of the garage, I notice the fourth spot, where Ava’s Subaru was parked, is vacant.

“Did you see Ava this morning?”

“Yeah. Something was wrong with her.”

With as much nonchalance as I can muster, I ask, “What do you mean?”

In the rearview, I see Fisher pull out of the garage, following me in the black SUV Ryan insisted they needed on the property.

“I don’t know. She forgot her phone this morning when she went on a walk, and she got some bad news of some sort. Something to do with Buena Vida, the place she works.”

“Huh.”

I check back in my rearview and count two Arrow employees in the car behind us.

“She drove herself?”

“Yes, Dad.” There is a lot of indignation in her tone that is borderline inappropriate. “You don’t own her.”

My grip on the steering wheel tightens, and I focus on driving.

Sophia changes the station, and we settle into a silent drive.

It’s not about owning her. It’s about her safety, but I will not drill safety into Sophia’s head when she still refuses to see friends and possesses a newfound interest in self-defense.

The range isn’t far from my home, and when we arrive, we beat Ryan.

There’s an instructor on site who has some free time, and he agrees to work with Sophia.

After she gets started, I back away and keep a lookout for Ryan.

The two Arrow security guys hover within fifty feet of Sophia, scanning the grounds.

The lunch crowd trickles in, and all the faces are familiar.

Ryan arrives, and I head out to the parking lot to greet him.

“Hey. I’ve got a spot reserved on the front range.”

He nods and opens the back of his truck where he lifts two gun cases. My guns are already in place in my hutch, as I have an arrangement with the facility.

Rapid-fire artillery sounds on the range. The loud booms offer excellent cover, but it also makes hearing more difficult. Ryan guides us near his two employees, who are standing near a fence and far away from any other person.

“Did you know Ava went back to Buena Vida this morning?”

“No.”

“Shouldn’t you know?” Ryan might be a friend, but I’m paying Arrow a ton of money to have the best security money can buy.

“Well, I’m sure Fisher knows.” When we’re a few feet away from the men, Ryan asks Fisher, “Ms. Amara left today?”

“Yes, sir.” Fisher answers. “I offered to have someone drive her, but she declined.”

Of course she did.

I lean closer to Ryan so he can hear me above the booming artillery. “Can you confirm she went to Buena Vida?”

“Sure. We have a tracking device on her car, and we can locate her phone. But she knows about both devices. Are we not trusting her?” His eyebrows narrow.

I don’t answer him. I trust her as much as I trust anyone, but I’d like to be certain after last night that she’s going where she says she is.

That she didn’t freak out and decide she needed space.

Waking up together was a disconcerting experience.

I spent the morning flustered and frustrated.

Maybe it troubled her for other reasons.

“I’ll track her.” Fisher gets out his phone and taps away.

Ryan bends his head and says, “Just so you know, everything I’m hearing from my sister about that center of hers is positive. I’ve been out there a few times. She’s doing good things for people. For the first time, I think Indie might kick her addiction, and a lot of it has to do with that place.”

“What do you mean?” My uncle is a big believer in Buena Vida. It’s his only non-business-related charity that I’m aware of.

“They just…they have a great support structure. Clean, safe, affordable housing. Group and individual therapy. According to Indie, there’s no judgment.

If you choose one of the drugs available to help addicts, they offer it for free.

Religion or no religion, the choice is yours.

Indie says they don’t believe in one size fits all.

You know, Indie’s working for a greenhouse. They helped her get that job.”

“So, you’re saying I should trust her?”

His mouth opens in a strange smile. He cocks his head then rubs a hand over his face. “All I am saying is that the center is a good place. We’ll keep an eye on her and make sure your family is safe.”

I give one quick nod. No one is around us, and we’re far enough back from the range we can talk easily. The Arrow guys will ensure no one approaches behind us.

“You needed to meet?”

“Your boat is loaded and headed to Mexico.”

“That fast?”

“Yep. Went out to sea last night. International waters. Three different boats docked to it and unloaded.”

“Did you see where the boats originated?”

“Not through customs. These were fishing boats. But high end. Our current bet is they loaded at someone’s private dock.”

“Why not just load the boat directly?”

“We’re thinking it’s a precaution. Maybe whoever owns the docking facility wants to minimize risk. Our cameras on the back of the boat captured the boat names, and we’re tracking down ownership.”

“Any Sullivan employees?”

“Not that we’ve picked up on camera. But someone from your company loaded up those boxes and shipped them out.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t necessarily know where they were going. If the order came through as a wholesale order, with a delivery to a domestic address, there would be no reason for suspicion. From our end, the deal would look clean.”

“We’ve got one guy in the crew. He says it’s a full load. Silencers, assault rifles, bump stocks, grenade launchers. Mix of parts.”

“Has he got any idea what’s going to be returned?”

“Communication with him is limited, but he doesn’t think the crew is the brains.”

“I read in the news there’s been a spate of violence between the cartels the last couple of weeks. You think that’s why he’s pushing this order?”

“It’s conceivable. What other international locations do you sell to?”

“International is about thirty percent of our business. You know as well as I do that there are some countries we aren’t supposed to sell to, so we sell to distributors who might sell to those countries.

” That’s one thing I do for the CIA. I tell them who is unofficially buying the guns.

But Ryan doesn’t know that. No one knows that.

I’m not looking to stop the sales. After all, if they don’t buy our guns, they’ll buy from someone else.

But information has value, and I look at it as my national duty to share that information.

If anyone from the NRA found out, they’d crucify me or, well, more precisely, Sullivan Arms. The NRA is a staunch believer in privacy and minimal oversight. “Why?”

“Just putting all the pieces together.”

“You asked about the senator. I gave that some thought. He’s wealthy in his own right. Other than supporting his donors, I don’t think he’d be involved in this mess.”

“There are records of him attending an elicit club. There are theories he might work to keep some photos or other information from coming out.”

“He’s divorced. Why would he care?”

“Well, there are rumors about him and underage girls. And boys.”

“Because of the club in Houston?” He gives the slightest jerk of the head in confirmation. “That’s ridiculous. I’m a member of that club. Rumors abound. Don’t know if you’ve seen him recently, but he’s an old man.”

“Just communicating what I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, and they also say Hillary ran a sex ring below a pizza shop.”

“My sources aren’t social media.”

He’s standing firm, even though I find it to be ridiculous. There must be a reason. “You think this all comes back to human trafficking?”

“We’ll see what returns on your boat. My connections with your op suspect drugs. Border patrol is tightening. Small-time guys are still trying to get through in vehicles. But there are theories the major cartels have found other ways in. At least based on the volumes we’re seeing stateside.”

“Heroin?”

“Could be. But that’s not the current big-ticket item. Fentanyl. Pills.”

“DEA heavily involved?”

“To a limited capacity. Not sure if you read about it, but there was a spate of DEA officers caught aiding the smugglers.”

I tug on my jaw, considering all of this. Drugs and guns. Intertwined in ways we don’t like to think about. “How involved is Arrow in all this? Is the government using contractors?”

“You know they like to, sometimes.”

Yes, I do. If laws are broken or things go haywire, better for minimal connection.

“We were just read in last week to a tangential UC op. But, man, I gotta tell you, there’s no way more people aren’t involved at your company.

Probably within the government. We’ll see what comes back, but running guns through high-end yachts…

as you know, that’s a well-funded operation. These aren’t small-time players.”

Ryan pulls his phone out of his pocket. He’s wearing cargo pants and boots. With his shades on and his short sleeve button-down, he’s the spitting image of a former military guy. There’s something about the way his facial muscles freeze as he reads his phone that sets me on edge.

“It appears Ava didn’t make it to Buena Vida this morning.” He slides his phone into his back pocket and gestures to Fisher.

“What the—”

“She’s been admitted to a hospital. She was in a car wreck.”

The tree line fades. The gunshots merge into a void. My focus centers in on my reflection in Ryan’s sunglasses.

“Is she—” My lungs contract. My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Cassie died in a car crash. What are the chances?