Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

Brandon

“Business trip?” the cab driver asks through the rearview.

“Something like that.” I barely make eye contact, just enough to glimpse the scar zigzagging through his left eyebrow.

I peer out of the passenger window at the Vegas strip. The pyramids, the neon signs luring tourists into the casinos, the waterfalls and billboards, each one bigger and bolder than the last, vying for attention. I understand the attraction. It’s contagious, the noise, the glitter, the promise of a fortune to be won. But only in small doses.

Rose doesn’t belong here. She belongs in a garden filled with wildflowers or on a pink sandy beach sipping coconut water through a straw.

“Staying long?” the driver asks.

“A few days.” He isn’t getting the hint that I’m in no mood for small talk.

The trip to Idaho was unsuccessful. In fact, that’s an understatement. It was eye opening but in all the wrong ways.

The warehouse with the CCTV footage that Sam’s contact had supposedly hacked into was a derelict building standing on the brink of a sheer cliff. The windows were filthy with years’ worth of grime, and whatever containers Sam claimed they were storing inside were gone. One entrance, locked. Getting in through the back would’ve involved either scaling the cliff or winching down from above, neither of which I was warned about or prepared for.

Sam is avoiding my calls.

He’d been adamant that the CCTV footage was authentic, so adamant that neither of us had considered the very real possibility that he’d been duped. The Russos had contacts. Admittedly, not all of them were in this country, but strings are strings, no matter where the puppet master sits.

After the conversation with Rose over breakfast, I was still determined to make the trip to Idaho worthwhile. Aiming for the top of the fountain of local knowledge—taxi drivers—I hailed a cab, asked the driver to take me to the Russo residence, and tried calling Sam again. Nothing.

The driver pulled up outside a wide set of rusty metal gates at the top of a steep incline. “You want me to wait?”

I paid him, added a sizable tip, and told him I’d take it from there, ignoring the fleeting look of surprise that crossed his features.

I understood why when I let myself in through a crack in the creaky gates and reached the mansion at the bottom of the slope. The once-white walls were green with slimy moss and mold from the breeze drifting in from the lake it overlooked. Spiders had made themselves at home in the porch eaves, and small mountains of mulch and trash had collected around the bottom of the house as if providing a buffer against bad weather.

No one was home. I walked around the property, peering through weather-stained windows at the abandoned rooms, and stopping outside the overgrown backyard choked with weeds and nettles. It raised my hackles like a cat sensing danger.

I walked to the lake edge, skimmed a stone across the surface, and turned around to peer at the house. There was no sign of life. No curtains twitched at the windows; there was no aroma of food being cooked in the kitchen; no smoke curling out of the chimney and getting lost in the sky.

But someone was there.

Either the house had adopted the souls of past generations, and was guarding their secrets against intruders, or someone was hiding behind a window and watching me watching the house. I didn’t believe in haunted houses, premonitions, or sixth sense, but the urge to get as far away from this place as possible was overwhelming.

The walk back into town was long. I tried Sam again—still no answer. I made some calls, trying to locate Carlos Russo and was told that he was in Italy, taking a much-needed break and visiting family.

What I didn’t understand was, why start a vendetta against me now when old man Russo wasn’t here to oversee it? Was this down to his sons and nephews? Did Carlos Russo even know what was going on?

I tried to get hold of him in Italy, but he wasn’t at his residence in Rome, and the person I spoke to refused to give me an alternative location or telephone number. They were protecting him. I needed to figure out from what. Perhaps he was sick and had gone home to convalesce, but this was also at odds with the family starting this feud with me now.

My finger hovered over Julia’s contact number several times while I walked back into American Falls, but my raised hackles told me that would simply open a whole new can of worms that was best left shut.

Another cab back to the airport. Another driver.

This one fancied himself as a historian and tour guide at no additional cost. “Did you ever hear the story about the underwater city?”

“No.” I kept my eyes on the front passenger window, prepared to zone out.

“American Falls—the original town—was built slap bang in the middle of the natural reservoir on Snake River. When the government decided to build the dam, the townsfolk had to pack up their homes and relocate to higher ground.”

I nodded, cleared my throat, gave him a polite fleeting glance as the airport came into view.

“The whole town had to move. Homes, churches, schools, grocery stores. All packed onto flatbeds and rolled along the railway tracks like a circus procession. Can you imagine that?” He kept glancing at me as he spoke, gauging my reaction. “Once the town had been moved, they built the dam and flooded the old location. It’s still there. High summer, you can sometimes see the sidewalks and street corners. Gravestones. Initials carved on sidewalk locations. Spooky, huh? Regular ghost town right here on our doorstep,”

During the flight back to Vegas, I thought about the driver’s story and wondered what had attracted Carlos Russo to the area. Sam said he’d become a bigshot amongst the locals, restoring listed buildings and throwing money at the community. Perhaps he had history there, but it still didn’t add up to the abandoned property on the lake and the warehouse that had seen better days.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. The cab driver eyes me up in the rearview when I answer the call.

“Mom.”

“When were you going to tell me, Brandon?”

I already know where this is going. “Tell you what, Mom?”

“You got married.”

“Congratulations would be the general response to this news.”

Pause. “Did you stop to consider your future?”

A twisted half-smile peers back at me from my reflection in the window. “Every day. It’s the mantra you and Dad have been drumming into me since I was old enough to feed myself.”

“Don’t be facetious, darling. It doesn’t suit you. What was it, a drunken gesture to assuage your guilt? A dare?” Another pause. “Please don’t tell me this has anything to do with your brother and his silly wager with that woman?”

I instinctively glance at the driver’s eyes in the mirror, and he looks away. “This has nothing to do with Damon.”

“Is this your way of telling me that you intend to spend the rest of your life with Rose?”

I take a deep breath as flashes of last night roll behind my eyelids like a movie preview. “That depends.” My voice is still caught up in an image of Rose begging me for more.

“On?” When I don’t answer immediately, she adds, “Surely, there must’ve been an easier way to salvage your reputation.”

“This is the age of technology, Mom. Reputations can be destroyed with one viral comment.”

“Okay. So, what happens when this blows over? You both go your separate ways, and Rose signs an NDA that you hope she honors?”

“Something like that.”

It was obvious this morning that it’s what Rose wants. The hairs on the back of my neck have settled down, but the sinking feeling in my gut is back.

Why am I disappointed? Had my ego convinced me that I was irresistible to all women, even someone like Rose, or had I assumed that she’d felt the spark too? The blood pumping through my veins isn’t imaginary—it was real, whatever the fuck it was.

“Honey, I asked you if you wanted our help.” My mother’s voice slices through the scene in my head where I spread Rose’s legs wide. Good timing—we’re almost at the hotel.

“And I said I had everything under control.”

“I don’t think you understand, Brandon. You can’t just kiss a girl like Rose goodbye and wish her a nice life. You’ve given her a taste of something that’s outside of her reality.”

“I thought that’s what you did when you offered her a job.”

“People walk away from jobs all the time and never look back.”

“Mom, stop worrying about me. I’m a big boy now.”

“I’m your mother. I’ll never stop worrying about you.”

I smile at that. “Okay, you’ll just have to trust my judgment on this occasion.”

“I only want you to be happy, Brandon. I always hoped that you would find someone to love, someone to spend the rest of your life with.”

“How do you know that I haven’t?”

“Have you?” My mother’s voice is demanding, hungry. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life with Rose? Because if you don’t, the longer you allow this situation to continue, the harder it will be to resolve. Attachments will be formed. Alliances that can’t be severed with a fat check and a witnessed document. Do you understand what I’m saying, Brandon?”

“I understand.” It’s the reason why, until now, I’ve learned to satisfy my needs with one-night stands and move on, this fear of creating connections that are impossible to cut.

“Don’t drag it out. The sooner you let her go, the better.”

“The Venetian,” the driver announces as we pull up outside the entrance and my mother ends the call.

I settle the fee and enter the air-conditioned lobby. I need a drink.

At the bar, I order a double brandy and down it in one mouthful. Rose will have recovered from her hangover, but I have no idea what mood she’ll be in when I go back to the room. It would be easier if I understood which Rose I’d like to find, but I guess to do that, I need to understand my own feelings, and right now they’re tied up in a knot in the pit of my stomach.

I head to the elevator and realize, when my legs start to tremble, that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I check my watch. We still have time to eat before the show.

Letting myself in the door, I hear the shower running. I hang my jacket up in the closet, pour myself another brandy, and help myself to a packet of pistachio nuts from the mini bar. I’m sitting on the balcony in a repeat performance of breakfast when Rose emerges in the same fluffy white robe, her hair fastened into a messy bun on top of her head.

“Brandon, you’re back.” She takes the seat opposite me and pulls the robe more snugly across her chest.

I pretend not to notice. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She still looks pale, washed out, like someone sucked all the color from her. My cheeks grow hot at the mental image. “How was the trip?”

“A waste of time.” I sip my brandy and study her profile as her eyes roam across the opposite tower and the pure blue pools below us. It might be my imagination, but she seems softer somehow, a little blurred around the edges. Or perhaps it’s the brandy. “What did you do all day?” It comes out all wrong.

She smiles anyway. “I didn’t become human again until lunchtime. So, I ordered room service and then went for a dip in the pool. Did you know that you can sit on a lounger in the water?” Her smile is wide, revealing perfect white teeth. Contagious.

I find myself grinning back at her. “I’ll check it out tomorrow.”

“You’re not working tomorrow?”

I shake my head, finish my drink, and examine the glass. “I’m on my honeymoon.”

She chews her bottom lip, the gesture already becoming so familiar that I look out for it when we’re talking. “Couldn’t you have postponed today’s meeting?”

I go back into the room, fetch myself another drink and bring a soda back for Rose. “I thought it would resolve the situation. Turns out, I was sent on a wild goose chase.”

“Was the meeting canceled?”

I peer at her from over the top of my brandy glass. “What’s this all about, Rose? You should be enjoying Vegas, not worrying about me.”

She pops the can and sips her soda, squeezing her eyes shut briefly, color suddenly returning to her face in the form of pink highlights on her cheekbones. “I read the email, Brandon.” Her voice shrinks with the confession that is obviously causing her discomfort. “The one from Sam.”

“How?” Now the brandy is starting to take effect.

“You left your iPad behind. I-I wanted to?—”

“You went through my iPad?”

“No! You left the email open. I read it and then I… I know I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry, but I promise you I didn’t see anything else.”

“What were you hoping to find, Rose? Something to use against me when this is over, and our marriage is annulled?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. I wasn’t looking for anything.”

“Are you going to tell me that the device just landed in your lap and unlocked itself?” I’m on my feet.

I don’t know why I’m so angry with her. Disappointment maybe. With her. With myself. I’d convinced myself that she was different, and the realization that she’s just like everyone else, out to make an easy quick buck, presses heavily on my chest.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To the bar. Come and find me when you’re ready.”

“Brandon, I would never do anything to?—”

I don’t wait around for her to finish the sentence.