Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Hudson

I run my hands through my hair, realizing this fucking thing just got a whole lot more complicated.

"Where's the rest of her family?"

"There isn't any. Her mom died when she was a baby. Grandparents a year before that. And her dickhead father was an only child."

Landon looks over at her, his face softening.

"She's a sweet kid. Mom adored her. Sometimes, I wonder if she stayed with Derek so that she wouldn't lose Starling. When she found out Derek was dead, she changed her name back to Peters and got rid of Rivers. She kept Starling, though, even when legally she didn't have to.

"Look, she's eighteen in less than a month. If CPS gets their hands on her, she'll be out on her ass as soon as she ages out. And truthfully, Derek still has a lot of enemies out there that would be more than happy to take Starling as a late payment if they found her. She doesn't deserve that. I know we don't see eye to eye on most things, but if anyone can keep her safe, it's you."

"Jesus fuck, Landon. Do you know what you're asking? She doesn't even know me. I'm a fucking stranger. She'll?—"

"Be safe. She's not stupid, but she is… fragile. I don't know what happened to her, but I know something did. She needs to be somewhere safe, where she knows someone would have to get through you to get to her."

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this." I'm a fucking assassin and now apparently the founder of the wounded hearts club.

"You'll do it? You'll take them both?"

"Yeah. I'll take them both and keep them safe."

For the first time in as long as I can remember, Landon wraps his arms around me and hugs me. He lets go before I hug him back, but that doesn't matter.

The lump in my throat says it was real. Fuck me—it makes me wish I'd been a better father. I never had much of a relationship with Abbot. He was Eloise's boy, not mine, but Landon was different. I'd held him, fed him, played with him, loved him. I'd enlisted so I could provide for him and his mother. And ultimately, I'd let him go to keep him safe.

"What about their things?"

"I'll help them get packed up. I've got to go through Mom's stuff anyway. I called the landlord, and he gave us until the end of the week."

"Okay. What about the funeral?"

He rubs his eyes. "I haven't had a chance to?—"

I squeeze his shoulder, cutting him off. "I'll take care of it. You take care of them, get everything sorted out, and leave the rest to me."

"You don't have to?—"

"Yeah, Landon, I do. Let me do this for you."

He looks at me. "Thanks."

"Do you want me to tell Abbot what's going on?"

"No. Let me talk to them. You have room for them, right?"

"Yeah, that won't be an issue."

Landon nods awkwardly and walks away. With a sigh, I do the same.

I leave the hospital and pull out my cell phone from my pocket. I call Atlas, knowing chances are Kenzo is still with him and I can kill two birds with one stone.

"Hey, what do you need?" he answers, like he was expecting my call.

"Some time off. I know you said to take a few days, but I might need longer."

"Take it. Anything else I can do?"

I hesitate. "You, not so much. But I could use a favor from Ivy or Trix."

He's quiet for a second. "Do I want to know why?"

I blow out a breath. "I need to get a couple of rooms ready at my house. One for my youngest and one for… a teenage girl."

"A teenage girl? Alright, Pete, I'm going to need more than that. You've been at the hospital, not the pound. How'd you manage to pick up a fucking stray?"

"It's a long story. One I'll tell you all about later, but I need to make some other calls first."

"Fine. I'll bring Ivy over at six. We'll bring food."

"Atlas—"

He hangs up before I can tell him I don't have time to sit around and shoot the shit. I sigh, knowing Atlas is going to do whatever the fuck he wants. So will Kenzo. It's easier just to let them. Thank fuck, the kids won't be coming until the end of the week. Having them associated with me is already risky. Having them associated with Atlas is something else altogether.

Taking a breath, I call my contact at the local police station to see if he can tell me more about what happened. Call me crazy, but a hit-and-run might seem like an unfortunate tragedy to most, but to men like me, it's a possible retaliation for something. My ex-wife might not have been in my life for a long time, but anyone watching would know that she was the last woman I showed any interest in.

Still, I don't believe it's tied to me. I've laid low for a reason. If someone had found out my identity, Landon and Abbot would have been targeted, not the woman I divorced over a decade ago. If her death is more than a wrong time, wrong place accident, then it's more likely linked to that fucktard ex of hers.

"Detective Henderson."

"Henderson. It's Pete Smith. I need you to do some digging for me."

He's quiet for a moment. I can sense his hesitation, but I don't say anything, not when he bites back his fear to ask me what I need.

"A woman I knew as Eloise Peters was killed in a hit-and-run today." I go on to give him her basic details.

"Not my area, but I can look into it. What is it you're after?"

"I want to know who hit her."

"Look, I get that you're pissed. But the truth is, it might not be possible to find the guilty party. Hit-and-runs aren't as simple to solve as they are in the movies. Unless the area had cameras or there were witnesses, we'll be flying blind."

"Just find out what you can. I want you to check out her ex-husband, too. A Derek Rivers. I heard he was into some pretty shady shit, and I want to see if this was an accident or some kind of payback."

As fucked as it sounds, if it is payback for Derek's shit, then Eloise's death should make this square.

"I'll see what I can do." He hangs up, and I send a quick message to Landon, telling him I'm looking into the hit-and-run and his mother's ex.

Do you think Mom's death is connected to him?

I read his text and sigh, not wanting to lie.

It'd be stupid to rule it out.

I reply before putting my phone away and driving over to the funeral home I've used a few times before. Okay, a few might be an understatement.

I'd say, at this point, we're keeping this place in business. There's no better way to get rid of a body than to get it cremated.

When I pull into the parking lot, a short, agitated man comes hurrying out the doors. At five-five, with white hair and a permanent scowl, Barry Hopkins is like a live-action Disney character. All that's missing as he stomps toward me is the smoke coming from his ears.

He starts the second I climb out of the car. "Another one already? Do you have any idea what will happen to this place if the cops catch on to what you're doing?"

"This one's different, Barry," I tell him quietly.

He opens his mouth to say something else when he looks at my face. Whatever he sees there draws the bluster right out of him.

"Personal?"

I give him a single nod.

"I'll take care of it myself."

"I appreciate it. Thank you."

That's the thing about Barry. For the most part, he's a pain in the ass, but he's loyal to the core.

"Come inside. I'll have Jackie make us some coffee, and we can talk about what you want."

He turns and heads inside, leaving me to follow. I pull my phone back out and send a text asking Landon if he has any specific requests or if his mother ever mentioned her wishes at all.

It takes longer for him to reply this time. I'm just finishing my second cup of coffee when my phone pings with his response.

She never said anything other than wanting to be cremated when her time came.

I tell Barry, and he whips out his iPad to take notes as three dots flash on my phone.

Starling says she loved cherry blossoms. She thinks we should plant a cherry blossom tree for her and scatter her ashes there.

I tell Barry what they want.

"I might know someone who can help with that, actually. He has plenty of saplings on his farm. I'm sure he won't mind parting with one for this."

"Thanks, but I have a cherry blossom tree at home."

"We did the same with my grandmother. She loved yellow roses, so we scattered her ashes around a rose bush and placed a plaque beside it. Even though she was cremated, we wanted her near my grandfather, so we planted the bush at the cemetery where he was buried. Do you know that rose bush went crazy over the years? I've never seen anything like it. Year after year, the roses would bloom, and each time, they'd come back better than the year before. That was forty years ago, and the bush is still going strong. I like to think it's because she's happy."

Then that's what we'll do. I reply to Landon before sliding my phone back into my pocket and discussing the rest of the arrangements with Barry.

When we're done, I stand up and shake Barry's hand before pulling out a wad of cash. "You have my number, so if you need more, just message me."

"Will do, but this should be plenty. When do you want the service?"

"Honestly, as soon as possible."

"Alright, I'll text you when I have things ready."

"Thanks again, Barry."

"It's what I do, Pete," he says simply before seeing me out.

Driving home, I think about what I've agreed to. It would seem like second nature to most people to bring their son into their home, but for me, it's like taking on a Mogwai from the Gremlins movie. Feeding him after midnight might not cause me any problems, but me breathing the same air as Abbot might be enough to set him off.

Then I think about having a teenage girl in my house.

The last time I interacted with a teen girl, I was fucking one. Of course, I was a teenager myself, but times have changed since then. From what I gathered from Landon, this girl is coming with a huge truck full of baggage.

I'm man enough to admit I'm way out of my depth. I can do what Landon wants and provide a safe place for her, but he is seriously underestimating my ability to fuck things up. Most of the time, I don't give a damn. I'm too stuck in my ways now to change. I am who I am, and everyone else can fuck themselves. But there's a part of me that cringes at that right now. This girl doesn't know me, but she's important to my boys. The last thing I want is for her to be terrified of me.

That means trying to get to know her. If someone does come looking for her or Abbot, I need to be confident that she'll come to me and tell me. She won't if I don't build some kind of relationship with her. I need her to trust me a little. As easy as it is to say, I think the reality will be far harder.

When I get home, I park in front of the house and climb out before heading for the door. I pause, taking everything in, trying to imagine seeing it through my son's eyes for the first time.

I only bought it a few years ago, when the need to wander had finally subsided. The house itself wasn't what sold me on the place, though. It was the land and how secluded it was from everything else. It's like someone came along and dumped my house in the middle of nowhere, and honestly, that's just how I like it.

Redwoods surround the house, which, I guess, is more than just a house. It boasts five bedrooms and seven bathrooms. The first floor has my office and den, a living room, the family room, a den, the dining room, and a state-of-the-art kitchen, while the basement houses the gym, game room, and home theater. Upstairs on the second floor are four bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. The main bedroom occupies the whole top floor and has a panoramic view of the property and the woods beyond it. If I'm having a shitty day, I can sit in my chair near the window and remind myself that there's still some beauty in the world.

I let myself in and toss my keys on the table in the hallway before heading into the kitchen. I open the fridge, grab a beer, and chug the whole thing.

If there was ever a time for a drink, it's now. I've gone from world-renowned hitman to stay-at-home dad in the span of a few hours.

Fuck it. Maybe more alcohol will help.