A Collateral Attraction (23 page)

The moment Brad’s gun goes off inside the SUV, the flash from the muzzle fire blinding me, and the explosion from the bullet exiting the chamber so deafening that my ears are left ringing long after everything goes dark, I get things all wrong — the date, the time, who I’m with, even where I am.

For as both men in the front seat battle for control of the car, the SUV hurtling across the opposite lane and flying over the embankment before it rolls down a steep slope, I’m somewhere else.

Somehow, I’m in the back of another car with mom and dad in the front seat and they’re talking about Blythe, and how she got herself through another year in fashion merchandising and how they’re so proud of her.

“And we’re so proud of you, too, honey,” Mom is saying as she turns to look at me from the front passenger seat, her left arm reaching back to grasp my hand. “Just because we hardly say it doesn’t mean we love you any less, or aren’t proud of you. We are so proud of you, honey, we really are.”

“But I haven’t finished anything,” I shrug. “I quit school last year, remember?”

“Yet here you are helping us with the shop, bringing it into the 21st century with a website and social media — whatever that is,” Mom says, making a face. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. But you’ve put us on the map, Billie, and we even internet orders. Can you believe that? Internet orders!”

“But we were actually thinking that maybe you could go back to school in the fall semester — in a few months,” Dad says, glancing at me from the rear-view window. “Business administration, right? Mom and I saved enough for a four-year degree for you-“

I sit up, surprised. “Four-year? Like a university?”

Mom grins. “We wanted to surprise you.”

Dad glances at me from the rear-view mirror again. “It’s time we explore the world while you go back to school getting your degree. Just a few weeks, not like we’re taking a year off or anything, but it will be good for you to go back to school, honey.”

“But what about the store?” I ask.

There’s a pregnant pause between them before Mom speaks. “You know I inherited my parents’ house, right? The one in Sacramento that we rent out? Right now, the tenants’ lease is coming up in less than year. We plan to just move over there and be more in town, you know, not too isolated up here.”

“We’re not going to sell the building, honey,” Dad says reassuringly, “if that’s what you’re worried about. The shop will always be there, and if it’s not Thyme and Lavender, it will be something else. It’s up to you and Blythe to decide what to do with the property when we’re gone.”

“Don’t say that, Dad,” I say, frowning. “It’s too soon to talk about morbid stuff like us dying.”

But it’s not too soon, not when there’s a Mustang barreling towards us with its headlights off just as Dad makes the sharp turn on the two-lane highway.  

The smell of gasoline wakes me first, along with the creaking of twisted metal and someone tugging on my seatbelt, trying to click it loose.  The car is upside down and I can see the headlights illuminating the woods beyond.

“Wake up, damn it!” someone is saying, a rough hand, slapping me fully awake.  “Run, Billie!  Run for the road!”

With one final tug, the seatbelt comes loose and I slide down against the roof of the car that’s now filling with mud and rain through the broken windows.  Beyond the clearing where the SUV landed on its roof, there’s only darkness though I can hear the sound of rushing water nearby.   Outside, someone is moving as the smell of gasoline grows stronger.

“Run, Billie,” Wally mutters just before someone pulls him back outside the windows and I smell fresh blood as Brad hits Wally with a punch that sends him slamming against the car.  The impact causes the metal to groan, and I hear the sound of glass crunching beneath me as adrenaline finally takes over and I squeeze myself through the broken window, glass shards cutting through my jacket and skin.

Both men are slipping and falling on the muddied ground, their punches connecting and missing.  There’s a gun on the ground near me but before I can even think of reaching for it, Wally orders me to run once again.    Then he grabs hold of Brad’s jacket and pulling him backwards, they tumble down some ravine, beyond the reach of the SUV’s headlights.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear the sound of rushing water and I wonder if we’re close to the Yuba River.  I wish I could get my bearings but I can’t.  Parts of Highway 49 are devoid of houses and I wish I’d paid attention to where we were exactly just before the alarm of crickets sounded.  All I know is that we’re not far from where my parents’ car ended up three years earlier, which also means that we pretty much ended up in a secluded area.

As I stand up on shaky legs, the crack of gunfire breaks through my panicked thoughts and I freeze.

“Wally?” I whisper as I see the branches move in the distance.  Not waiting to see if it is Wally, I scramble as quickly as I can down the embankment, and hide myself beneath an outcropping of borders. 
Wally, please be alive.

There’s a screech of tires up on the road above us and for a moment I wonder if it’s a passing motorist.  I should get out and get help, but just as I make a move to step out of my hiding place, I hear Brad’s voice.

“Down here!”

Before long I hear someone making their way noisily down the slope, cursing about the mud getting into his Gucci shoes and ruining his Ferragamo coat.

Richard Pressman.  

“So is he dead?” Brad asks.  I realize then that I’ve never heard him speak before, and his voice makes my blood run cold.

“I’d hope so.  The in-flight lines are not working but Rogers should be calling me soon,” Richard replies. “I’ve even tried calling Heath’s phone, but he’s not answering.”

There’s a scuffle and Richard protests. “What the fuck was that for, man?”

“Are you so stupid to actually call the man you want dead at exactly the same time Rogers makes his move?”  Brad shouts. “Fucking idiot!  Do you have any idea how that call can now be traced?”

“Shit,” Richard says.  “I didn’t realize-“

“That’s because you’re a fucking idiot, that’s why,” Brad says. “Now make yourself useful and look for her.  We’ve got to finish the job.”

“Do we have to?  She doesn’t know anything,” Richard whines.  “She doesn’t even know Marrant, alright?”

“Since when did you start questioning orders?  Your job was to take care of Ethan and that bitch, Blythe, and yet you failed-“

“Me? Jackson and Charlene did!  I did my job to make sure Ethan remained clueless and let us do everything, and I did it well.  If Jackson and Charlene hadn’t messed up like they did, I sure as hell wouldn’t be here-“

“Well, you are, and your job right now is to look for her.  We can’t have any of them in that boardroom tomorrow — not alive,” Brad says.  “Here, it’s Wally’s gun. Use it if you have to. ”

“Where is he?”

“Dead,” Brad replies. “Now go before I have to get rid of you, too.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“You’re right.  I wouldn’t,” Richard says.  “Just count your lucky stars you’re a fucking Kheiron.”

The sound of screeching tires above us announce the arrival of another car and as Brad and Richard move, they dislodge chunks of earth above me.  With nothing to hold onto, I slip from my hiding place and land on top of a boulder below with a thud, my back hitting the rock hard

“Fuck! She’s-“

Richard’s shout is interrupted by a burst of gunfire and suddenly I don’t care who’s shooting who.  I get up, forgetting the pain in my back just as Richard launches himself towards me.   I feel his hand grab hold of my ankles but I start kicking frantically, feeling him loose his hold till I’m free.

This time, I don’t stop to think.  I just run, half stumbling, half falling for I can’t see anything in front of me. The sound of another gunshot cuts through the drone of the rain but I keep going.  If I’m shot, I’ll figure it out later, but as long as I’m still running, I know that I’m still alive.  I need to make it to the road so I make sure to keep heading up the hill, not caring about the branches that sting against my skin or the rough bark that cut into the palms of my hands every time I reach out to grab hold of them. I just need to make it back to the main road and get help.

A beam of light illuminates the brush ahead of me, erratically moving through the trees.  I should keep going, but I turn to look.  It’s Richard and he’s about twenty feet away from me, his face contorted with anger.  He aims his gun at me and shoots, but his aim goes wild again.

Somewhere behind us, there’s a
boom!
So loud it knocks both of us off our feet but I don’t stop to look this time. I keep on running, praying the road will come into view.

A tree trunk right next to me explodes, sending shrapnel of bark and wood chips against my skin, but I keep running.  Suddenly, Richard’s right there behind me.  I feel his hand catch hold of my hair, and I’m yanked backwards with such force it stuns me.  I fall down on the soaked ground, the wind knocked out of me but I roll onto my back and kick wildly at him — his face, his torso, his groin — anything.

My foot comes in contact with Richard’s jaw and he goes flying backwards, the gun knocked from his hand.  I scramble to sit up but he recovers too fast and he’s on top of me, his fingers wrapping around my neck.

I deliver a right hook into Richard’s temple, the same right hook I gave Heath on the plane though he’d been too proud to admit that my fist made full contact.  This time though, I pray I don’t miss at all.

Richard curses out loud, letting go of my neck, for I did hit him and my knuckles hurt like hell.  But before he can recover, I pull myself up and knee him hard in the balls, and this time, Richard doubles over and falls to his knees as I scramble up the slope.

I keep making my way up the slope till I reach the top, my feet pounding on gravel along the side of the road, wincing as I feel sharp stones cutting through skin.  In the distance, I see headlights approaching behind the trees, just before the bend, and behind it, a red glow illuminates the night sky. The smell of gasoline comes rushing back to me and I almost double over from what could have happened if I’d stayed in the SUV.

Behind me, Richard emerges from the woods, his Ferragamos covered in mud.  Missing one Gucci shoe, he’s limping towards me, red hair plastered against his scalp.  Rage fills his features, his fists balled into fists.  Blood seeps from a cut on his left temple.

That I can tell those details in a dark highway is only because the lone car has now turned the bend, its headlights illuminating every detail about Richard even as it heads straight at me.  But I don’t care.

I wave my arms wildly, screaming for help.  The car swerves slightly to the right, and then left, as if the sight of me startled the driver, but it rights itself and continues down the road towards me. Behind Richard, another figure emerges from the woods.  Its Brad, his gun held out in front of him.

The black SUV screeches to a stop right in front of me, the smell of rubber reaching my nostrils and the sound of screeching tires against soaked asphalt just about leaving me deaf. For a moment I could have sworn the SUV has hit me and I’m dead, but the door swings open as I stand there, too shocked to move.

“Get in!”

I don’t have to think twice for Brad starts shooting, two shots hitting the other side of open door that shields me. I scramble into the passenger seat and shut the door, ducking as the window cracks from another round, the a flattened bullet stuck in the bulletproof glass.

“Holy sh-”

“No swearing,” Fred says as he makes a sharp U-turn and steps on the gas pedal, hightailing it as far away from Brad and Richard.

“Oh my God!” I scream at him. “They got Heath! They got him!”

“No, they didn’t,” Fred says, his eyes on the road.  “He’s okay.  A bit shaken up but he’s okay.  I promise.”

I stare at him, refusing to believe what I just heard. “How do you know he’s okay?  He fired you.”

Fred doesn’t answer. His jaw is clenched and he’s gripping the steering wheel till his knuckles turns white.  Finally, it hits me.  If Heath fired Fred, what’s he doing here?  Is he with Brad and Richard?

“What are you staring at?” Fred demands, slowing the car as we near a bend in the road, the high beam headlights illuminating the trees.  “And why haven’t you put your seatbelt on?”

“Are you going to kill me?” is all I manage to croak before I buckle my seat belt with shaking fingers.

“If I’d wanted to kill you, Billie, it would have been a hit and run back there,” he says, before reaching out to touch my arm for I suddenly burst out crying.

And he’s right. It would have been a quick one, too.

“Ah, shit, I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me to say,” he says, gripping the steering wheel again. “But what kind of a question is that anyway?”

“Because…because Heath fired you,” I sob. “And…and I have no idea what you’re doing here. Why are you even here?”

“Would you rather I take you back there?”

“No,” I retort, my tears gone as quickly as they had come. Somehow I believe Fred. If he had wanted to kill me, I wouldn’t still be sitting here listening to him being snarky towards me.  He’s probably just getting back at me for getting him fired in Santa Barbara.

As two fire trucks and an ambulance race towards us from the opposite side of the road, Fred eases off the gas and slows down, stopping along the side of the road before stepping on the gas again.  This time though, we’re driving within the speed limit.

“Wally’s still back there-”

“I know.  He’s dead,” Fred says, his jaw clenching as he grips the steering wheel and glances at the rear-view mirror. “He was a good man, Wally. Young and bright, and one of my best men.”

“One of your best…what do you mean?  You own the security company that Heath hired?  Is that why someone managed to get him in the plane?  And Brad, too?”

“Brad and Jeff aren’t my men.”

“Everyone in the security team was with Kheiron Industries-“

“No,” he says sternly. “Everyone but Brad and Jeff work for Ettinger Holdings.  Brad and Jeff were added in Santa Barbara-“

I grip Fred’s forearm.  “What about Blythe and Ethan? Did they-”

“They’re safe,” Fred says, glaring at me till I released his forearm, apologizing for the nail marks I left on his skin. “They were in the middle of a party at the country club and my men were able to isolate them the moment the attempt on Heath happened.”

“And Heath?”

“He’ll be fine,” he says. “Take is easy. You’re fine, too, though you need to get cleaned up and checked for any internal injuries.  You sure you didn’t get shot?”

I shake my head, not to tell him that I hadn’t but because I don’t know.  Adrenaline is still pumping through my veins and I’m almost numb.

“Can I talk to Heath?”

“No — at least not yet,” Fred replies, exhales. “We’re all on radio silence, even Ethan and your sister.  But you can call her as soon as we’re done with the meeting.”

I’m silent for a few minutes, for I can taste bile rising behind my throat, the gravity of the situation hitting me hard like a punch to the gut.  Framing Blythe and Ethan with embezzlement had been just the tip of the iceberg. They were after everyone.

“What about their sister, Jessica?  And their mother? If they targeted Heath-”

“From what I’ve gathered, Jessica’s safe and is staying with her husband, Daniel, and their kids in the Manhattan penthouse,” Fred replies, his voice softening as he continues. “As for their mother, Rosalie, she’s always been well-guarded and I just had security doubled around the property till I get back there.”

I don’t speak for a few moments, for I’m fighting the urge to vomit, the seriousness of the situation hitting me.  Heath was right when he said that we were all just pieces on someone’s else’s game board, though tonight, I was no more expendable than he was.  But if Brad and Richard were just obeying orders, then who was calling the shots? 
Who is behind all this?  

Tyler?  After all, she had been the one who assigned the additional security in Santa Barbara.  What about Harris?  But then, would he want even his godson dragged into the whole mess, too?  There are so many possibilities running through my head that it’s giving me a headache.  I rub my temples, wondering how Fred fits into all this.  Where did his security detail fail?

“Are you alright?” Fred asks. “Did you hurt yourself back there? Maybe you suffered a concussion?”

“If you’re in charge of this whole security detail, your firm did a terrible job, by the way, if all those men were able to infiltrate your team.  No wonder Heath fired you-”

“Now don’t get cocky, Billie, or I will turn around and drive you back there,” Fred says, annoyed. “And for your information, Heath didn’t fire me, and like I said earlier, Brad isn’t one of mine.  He’s part of Kheiron Industries’ security detail, not Ettinger’s. Kheiron security secure all top executives, including Mister Colman and Miss Crow — and they were added after my team came in.  And mind you, this is after Heath traveled all the way to Saint Lucia with you alone — without a single member of his security detail with him!”

Fred exhales, his diatribe over.

“And he’s never done anything as stupid as that before.  Not since he got out of college and thought he could live like a normal person!”

But then, maybe not.  

“You mean Heath doesn’t normally use Kheiron Industries’ security?”  I ask.  It’s not like Fred hasn’t just told me this, but maybe all the adrenaline is fading and I’m trying hard to get the fog inside my brain clear up.

“Why should he, when he’s always had his own security ever since he started Ettinger Holdings.  He only officially became president of the company this year, when his mother begged him to take over and save it from a hostile takeover bid.  My firm has only been guarding their family for years, Billie, and I’ve watched Heath grow up from the sidelines, so he knows who to trust without having to worry about anything else,” Fred says. “All of Heath’s people — from his security to his home office — are through Ettinger Holdings, not Kheiron Industries.”

“But I thought you worked for Edgar, his father.”

“That was before Heath struck out on his own and started working for a brokerage firm in Manhattan,” Fred says, his eyes on the road. “He had no security detail on him then whatsoever.  He took the subways, the buses, which was scary for his mother, because it wasn’t like no one knew who he was.  So when Rosalie — I mean, his mother — requested that I split my security team to keep an eye on Heath, I did just that.  By then, Edgar had let go of most of my team anyway to allow a new firm to come in, and so the moment Heath started Ettinger Holdings, I was right there.”

“Upon whose suggestion?  The new firm, I mean?” I ask. “If your company watched them for years, why the change?”

“Because that’s what the Board of Directors voted on,” he says, matter-of-factly. “We’re old-school, Billie, and they wanted new blood, new…new whatever.  People who knew all about social media and tweets and whatnot.  Did you know you can track your kid’s whereabouts with a tweet or some gram whatever?”

“Instagram,” I say, remembering Pam and the picture she had posted of Heath and I in Saint Lucia.

“And maybe they’re right about replacing us with new blood,” he continues.  “The world is changing too fast for us old guys in the security business anyway.  But as long as my firm is up to date with technology and everyone else is, I still do things the old-fashioned way.  Sometimes it just works better.”

“Like spying on me, you mean?” I ask, frowning. “Is that why you were already up here, because you were spying on me the old-fashioned way?”

“If you mean getting you vetted as Heath’s girlfriend, then yes,” Fred replies.  We’ve now reached the main part of Grass Valley, which is the county just before the turn-off to Nevada City, and we’re on the 80 again. I don’t even ask him why we’re headed away from Nevada City, but at the same time, I’ve resigned myself to trusting him.

So far, Fred’s giving me all the right answers, and he hasn’t made a move to kill me yet.  There’s also something about him that makes me feel comfortable being around him.  He also just called me
Heath’s girlfriend
, which is making me downright giddy.

“You checked out anyway,” he says, grinning. “There’s no one in town who doesn’t know you, unless they’re tourists. Your employees though, Mick and Norah… they’re too much into their
woo-woo
shit — something about chakras and kundalini, whatever that is.  Something about tantric yoga.”

“They moonlight as yoga instructors,” I say, stifling a giggle, wondering if I should tell him what tantric yoga represented, though I doubt he’d appreciate learning about using sexual energy to attain higher levels of consciousness at this moment — not that I know much about it either.

“And your neighbor, Kathryn Logan, told me all about you and Blythe playing tricks on her, pretending to be the other twin,” he continues, a faint smile on his lips. “Nothing goes past that woman, I tell you.  Oh, and she even invited me to her birthday party in two weeks, but I need to go back to Rosalie after I get you all cleared for any concussion or broken bones.  That’s where I should have been all along anyway.”

“Heath’s mother, you mean?” I say.  “Mrs. Kheiron?”

“Mrs. Ettinger,” Fred corrects me. “She never took his name, not even with a hyphen.”

I stare at him, and for the first time, I look at his profile closely.  Deep set eyes and a Roman nose, slightly broader now that he’s older, but surely when he was much younger, he was one hell of a handsome guy, because he still is — if I’m into older men, that is, but I’m not.

Lean and muscled, with long fingers that wrap around the steering wheel, he turns the SUV into the brightly-lit carport of the Emergency Room.  And as the lights of the lobby illuminate the inside of the SUV, I see his eyes — and I gasp.

They’re deep blue, like the Atlantic Ocean — with specks of gray.

Fred turns to look at me, perplexed. “Are you alright?  You sure you didn’t hit your head back there?”

“The letters…his mother’s letters,” I stammer, as the realization hits me. It’s a long shot, but the look on his face when the letters dropped from my hand that day returns to me. Always-calm and often snarky Fred had turned pale when he saw the letters that day.  “They were from you.”

“Why don’t we have you looked at, Miss Delphine?” Fred says abruptly, ignoring my protests as he releases his seat belt before unclipping mine. “With all the stuff you just went through tonight, you just might have suffered a concussion after all.”