Chapter 18

eighteen

. . .

River

I surged out of the water, still warm despite the late hour. Or early, I supposed, depending on your way of thinking. The drama of the last few weeks was catching up with me. Between avoiding the Cross brothers and waiting for Bishop to hear back from his contact about my parents, I was constantly on edge and barely sleeping. It had been two days since I'd shown Bishop the pictures and beside his assurances, we weren't any closer to finding out who was behind the notes. Which is why I was swimming laps at two in the morning, trying to exhaust myself enough to force the issue.

Except I'd gone thirty laps, and even as I sat on the pool's edge, breaths heaving, skin buzzing, muscles trembling, my mind still swirled as much as it had been before.

"Goddamn you, Walker. You ruined everything," I whispered to myself as I got to my feet and toweled off before pulling on a cover-up.

I half expected the handsome dick to saunter out of the shadows and try to win me over with his charming grin and a few ‘darlin's.' He didn't. The grounds were eerily quiet, the wind in the trees and the occasional bray of the cattle in the distance the soundtrack of the night.

"Fuck it," I grumbled, stomping my way back into the house. Instead of making the turn that would lead me to the guest room I'd claimed, I went the other direction toward Senior's office. I didn't much feel like staring at the ceiling until the sun came up. Might as well make use of my insomnia and get some work done.

I'd been going through the business reports, making my own observations and lists about which businesses were "clean" versus "dirty" and trying to reconcile that with what I'd already found in the second set of books hidden in Senior's desk. Spoiler alert, not many were clean. This family had more skeletons in their closet than a damn cemetery.

Leaving the lights off in the office, I strode toward the desk, intent on continuing to build my case against them. I needed some insurance in case I was implicated in anything now that I was majority owner. I knew better than to assume that the Crosses didn't have dirty politicians on their side. Being innocent wouldn't be enough to keep my ass out of trouble if they were going to use me as a scapegoat. I needed proof. A lot of it. Thus my lists. They had their secrets. I would have mine.

Whatever happened, I wouldn't go down with them. But a part of me knew if anything came out about them, my family legacy might also be tarnished. My dad had been involved, if the books were any indication.

A little shudder traversed my spine. I hadn't opened that envelope since Bishop warned me against it. I wasn't usually one to bury my head in the sand, but those were my parents in the pictures, and I'd seen the look of disgust cross his face when he'd flipped through the stack. Anything that could make a man like him look like that didn't need to ruin my memories of them. What I'd found in the first set was bad enough.

I turned on the small desk lamp as I sat in the oversized chair, my thoughts still racing, fatigue a distant memory. But something unusual caught my eye in my periphery. A soft glow coming from the ostentatious wood-burning fireplace on the left wall. This wasn't embers or a gas pilot light. It was a line of cool light, starting from the floor and going about chest height, coming from the back corner. As if the entire back wall of the fireplace had shifted.

Without a second thought, I stood and approached the hearth. A stream of cold air filtered out of the crack, and as I pushed on the bricks, the wall rotated open. It was a false back—no, it was a goddamn secret passage.

"Jesus, if Mr. Boddy is waiting for me in the library with a candlestick, I'm getting the fuck out of here."

I had to admit, I was a little sad no one was around to appreciate my excellent Clue reference.

Glancing inside, I frowned at the dimly lit hole with nothing more than a ladder and a breeze to greet me. I'd be an idiot to climb down there. Wouldn't I?

Unfortunately my curiosity outweighed any sense of self-preservation I had. I needed to know where this passage led. Especially if it might help me answer questions about the business I'd inherited. Or even more importantly, help me avenge my parent's murders. And since I didn't exactly know how the passage opened, this might be my only opportunity.

I couldn't waste it.

Taking a steadying breath, I began a slow, careful climb down, thankful for the light provided by the lone bare bulb mounted at the bottom. At least I wasn't lowering myself into a pit of blackness. A concrete tunnel greeted me once my feet hit the ground, void of anything save those sporadic lightbulbs that flickered ominously as far as the eye could see. It smelled of damp and disuse down here, but I also noted the occasional rust-colored stain on the walls here and there. Blood? Or actual rust? I was hoping for the latter.

There was no way to know for sure how long I walked. It had to be at least ten minutes, but I'd long stopped counting Mississippis, so it could have been more or less.

A chill broke out across my skin—being underground and in nothing but a wet swimsuit and terry cloth cover-up wasn't the best choice for this kind of exploring. Just when I thought I'd never reach the end of this corridor, a doorway appeared about twenty feet from me. I'd expected to find another ladder, but this was a partially open metal door, light spilling through the crack.

But that wasn't all. There were also voices. Specifically two voices. One an angry growl I'd recognize anywhere. The other reduced to pitiful screams.

My stomach rolled, and I was no longer confident in my quest for answers, but I'd come this far. I had to see it through.

Creeping closer, I peered inside and had to fight the urge to gasp as Cross loomed over the naked, bleeding man he'd tied to a chair. His fist connected with the guy's cheek, bloody spittle flying as he made contact.

"Who hired you?" Cross snarled, grabbing a hammer and raising it.

From this vantage point, I could see the restrained man, his chair positioned so he was facing me. They must have been at this for a while if the amount of blood dripping down the guy was any indication. The only obstruction preventing me from seeing the full extent of the damage was Cross. His broad shoulders and muscular back partially blocked my view.

My former lover was dressed down—for him—in just a T-shirt and jeans. But that's not what my eyes focused on. They were trained on the gun tucked into his waistband.

"Don't make me ask you again!"

The man grunted, then spat in Cross's face, the tattoo on his neck bulging as he put force behind the gesture.

This was the man who stabbed Walker. There was no doubt in my mind. That angel tattoo was as distinctive as it got.

"You hurt my brother. That means you tried to hurt me. Now tell me who fucking put out the hit on him, and maybe I'll show you some mercy."

"He'll kill me if he finds out."

"I'm going to kill you if you don't."

"You're gonna kill me anyway."

"So what do you have to lose?"

"Besides my dignity?"

Cross's head dipped to the obvious puddle beneath the man. "I think we're long past that."

"I... I'm..." the man heaved for breath, struggling. Cross stood there, waiting, hammer in hand. "I'm sorry..." He coughed. "I'm sorry I didn't kill him like Dominik wanted."

My body trembled as I anticipated what was coming next.

"Thank you for your candor." Cross pulled his gun from the back of his pants, cocked it, and took aim.

I couldn't watch. I turned on my heel and bolted in the only direction I could. Back the way I came. The shot rang out, so loud it made my ears hurt as the sound bounced off the tunnel walls, seeming to stretch on forever. I yelped on reflex, and all I could do was hope Cross hadn't heard me.