The Wild Zone (30 page)

“I’m back,” Jeff said, not bothering to elaborate. “Listen, I’ve been trying to reach Tom, but I’m not having any luck, and I can’t wait any longer. So I need you to do something for me.”

“What’s that?” Will was in no mood to do his brother any favors. Jeff had lied to him, stolen his girl—hell, he was probably with her right now. He has some nerve, Will thought, asking me to do anything.

“I need you to go back to the apartment,” he heard Jeff say.

“I’m kind of busy.”

“I need you to find Tom’s gun,” Jeff continued as if Will hadn’t spoken.

“What?”

“Then I need you to bring it here.”

“What?” Will asked again.

“And I need you not to ask any questions.”

TOM HAD JUST
finished emptying four bullets into the plush pillows of the living room sofa when he heard a timid knock on the front door. “Who is it?” he shouted, bringing his gun into the air and pointing it at the door. If it was another process server, the poor guy was about to get it right between the eyes.

“It’s Cinnamon?” a voice called back, as if she wasn’t sure. “The agency sent me over?”

“Oh, my little Cinnamon bun,” Tom said with a smile, tucking the gun into his belt buckle and tripping over the phone on the floor, then stopping to replace the receiver he hadn’t realized was off the hook. “You’re late,” he said, opening the door and ushering the pretty young Asian woman inside, quickly assessing her long black hair and dark green eyes. She was short, not much over five feet, even in three-inch heels, and her implants were so large she looked in danger of toppling over.

“Sorry. It took me longer to find the place than I thought.” Cinnamon surveyed the mess that was the living room, now coated with feathers and stray pieces of upholstery. “Wow,” she said, eyes widening. “What happened in here?” She sniffed suspiciously at the air, the smell of gunpowder wafting by on particles of dust.

Tom closed the front door, returning the room to darkness. The phone started ringing. “Can you excuse me for half a minute?” Tom asked with exaggerated politeness, kicking at the debris-covered floor until he relocated the phone, then almost falling over as he bent to scoop it up.

“Who the hell have you been talking to for the last hour?” Jeff demanded before Tom could say hello. “I almost gave up—”

“Jeff, how are you, buddy?” Tom interrupted. He was in no mood to be lectured to.

“Are you drunk?”

“No more than usual.” Well, maybe a little more than usual, Tom thought, wondering why Jeff sounded so angry.

“Good. We have plans. I need you to—”

“Uh, this isn’t exactly a good time.” Tom decided it was just like Jeff to expect him to snap to attention at the sound of his voice. Jeff might be too busy to talk when
you
needed
him,
but it was another story altogether when
he
needed
you.
Then you were expected to just drop everything and follow him wherever the hell he chose to go.

To hell and back, Tom thought bitterly, thinking of Afghanistan.

“Is that a gun?” Cinnamon asked, her voice cracking.

“What?” Even in the dark, Tom could see the terror on Cinnamon’s face as she backed toward the door. “This?” He began waving it back and forth. “It’s just a toy. I swear. Hey, wait a minute. Don’t go.”

“Who are you talking to?” Jeff demanded.

“Wait a second. Shit!” he exclaimed as Cinnamon fled the house. “Crap, man. She was hot,” he whined into the phone. “You scared her away.”

“Tom, listen to me,” Jeff told him. “This is important. I need you to focus.”

Tom plopped down on the sofa, scratched at his scalp with the barrel of his gun. “Sure. Go ahead. Looks like I’m all yours.”

THIRTY

W
ILL
WAS REMEMBERING THE
first time he saw Kristin.

It had been almost three weeks since he’d arrived on his brother’s doorstep, suitcase in hand, fear filling his heart, wondering how Jeff would react when he saw him. Would he be happy to see him or angry he’d come? Would he take one look at him and send him away? Would he even recognize him after all these years?

And then the door had opened, and there she stood, this blond Amazon in a short black skirt and leopard-print blouse, and she’d smiled this magnificent smile and shaken her long hair from one shoulder to the other, her luminous green eyes moving steadily across his face, casually sizing him up, her smile getting bigger as she took his hand and ushered him inside. “You’re Will, aren’t you?” she’d said, and his fear had instantly disappeared.

And now here he stood, outside that same door, his heart pulsing with that same fear, as he listened for sounds of her moving around inside. If I had one wish, he was thinking as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, it would be that she’s already left for work. He couldn’t face her. Not yet. Not after last night’s debacle.

“Kristin,” he called tentatively, then louder, his confidence building. “Kristin. Are you here?” He checked his watch. Six thirty-five. She was long gone, he realized, sighing audibly as he walked through the living area toward the bedroom. “Kristin?” he called again for good measure. “You here?”

The bedroom was empty, the bed neatly made, any sign of him eliminated. As if last night never happened, Will thought. As if he didn’t exist.

He caught a whiff of Kristin’s shampoo, and he spun around, half expecting to see her in the doorway, her hair wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her pink silk robe slipping open, affording him a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beneath. He recalled the feel of her in his arms, the welcoming softness of her skin.
No. No. I can’t,
he heard her say.
I’m sorry. I just can’t.

“Okay, enough of this,” Will said out loud, banishing such thoughts from his brain as he walked toward the nightstand by the side of the bed.

The gun was hidden at the back of the nightstand’s top drawer, exactly where Jeff had said it would be. Will was trembling as his hand closed around the barrel, trembling even more when he lifted the small weapon into the air and turned it over in his palm. He’d never been this close to an actual gun before, other than in the movies or on TV, never touched one, certainly never held one in his hand. His mother had been adamant about not allowing even toy guns in the house.

“Ah, but boys will be boys,” Will muttered now, transferring the gun from his right hand to his left and then back again. Its weight surprised him. As did the unexpected feeling of power he felt surging through his body. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the dresser and blushed at the look of excitement he recognized on his face. What the hell does Jeff want with a gun? he wondered, although he already knew the answer.

Jeff was going to use the gun to kill Dave.

And he expected Will to be his accomplice.

No, not his accomplice, Will thought, amending his choice of words. As far as Jeff was concerned, his little brother was no more than a delivery boy. Right, that’s all I’m good for, he thought. A gofer. An errand boy. One who aids and abets without ever actually having to do any of the dirty work.

A thinker, not a doer.

Will’s fingers curled around the handle of the gun, his index finger stretching for the trigger. No wonder Kristin had turned him down. No wonder Suzy had chosen his brother over him. No wonder Amy had looked elsewhere. “You’re sensitive,” his mother had once told him. “That’s a good thing. Women respect that.”

Will laughed. Women might respect a sensitive man, he decided, but they slept with his brother.

And now his brother was planning to kill Suzy’s husband.

Could he let that happen? Could he play any part in it at all?

Will knew that Jeff was a decorated, highly trained soldier who wouldn’t be squeamish about firing a gun. Who knew how many men he’d killed in Afghanistan? And Dave Bigelow was a bastard who probably deserved to die. The world would likely be a better place without him.

And yet, he was still a human being. A respected physician whose talent had undoubtedly helped save many lives. Who was Jeff to decide Dave Bigelow had forfeited his right to live? Was this really his decision to make? Jeff might be angry; he might be misguided; hell, he might even be in love. But was he a murderer? Would he actually be able to kill a man in cold blood?

Especially for a woman he’d known less than a week.

Maybe Jeff just wanted the gun for protection, Will tried telling himself. Dave was one scary guy after all. He’d made threats. He’d even put the moves on Kristin. There was no telling what he was capable of doing, especially if Suzy were to leave him. He might come after Jeff, come after all of them, with a gun of his own. So maybe Jeff was just being cautious.

Who was he kidding? Jeff had never been cautious a day in his life.

And now Jeff was planning to kill Dave in order to be with Suzy.

How had this happened?

What did they know about Suzy anyway? That she was from Fort Myers? That she lived in Coral Gables? That she liked pomegranate martinis?

Was it possible she’d set this whole thing up, playing one brother against the other, one friend against the next, that she’d been using all of them to get what she wanted—to rid herself of an abusive husband once and for all? And once that mission was accomplished and Dave Bigelow was dead, would she disappear in a magical puff of smoke, leaving them behind to deal with the all-too-real fallout? Would she care if Jeff were caught and sent to prison for the rest of his life? Would she even visit? Did she have any feelings for Jeff at all?

Will decided he couldn’t let his brother take that chance. Yes, he’d go to the motel, but only to try to talk some sense into Jeff. He’d leave the gun behind. Jeff would be furious at first, Will knew, but sooner or later he’d calm down, eventually maybe even thank him.

Will felt beads of perspiration stringing their way across his forehead, and he marched into the bathroom, balancing the gun on the side of the sink as he splashed cold water on his face. It was then he realized he was no longer alone, that someone else had entered the apartment. “Hello?” he called, hiding the gun in the back of the cabinet under the sink behind a stack of peach-colored towels, then walking into the living room.

Tom was standing in front of the sofa, wearing a stained checkered shirt over torn skinny jeans, his dark hair uncombed and greasy, one arm crossed over the other, a stupid, shit-eating grin on his face. He literally reeked of beer and cigarettes.

Will felt his heart rate quicken. “Your mother never tell you to knock?”

“Your mother never tell you to close the door?” Tom countered.

“Jeff isn’t here.”

“I know that, dipshit. Who do you think asked me to come over?”

“Jeff asked you to come over?” Why the hell would he do that? Had Jeff not trusted him to come through for him? Did the brother he barely knew know him better than he knew himself?

“Apparently he called you when he couldn’t get ahold of me,” Tom said, not even trying to mask the drunken smugness in his voice. “It appears you’re no longer necessary, little brother. I’m to tell you your services are no longer required.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can handle things from here on out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Look, I’m not gonna argue with you. This is coming from big brother himself. He doesn’t want you involved, told me to tell you you’re a philosopher, not a fighter.”

A thinker, not a doer, Will thought. Hamlet, not Hercules.

Not even the delivery boy.

“So, if you don’t mind, since I was nice enough to drive out here, I’ll just grab my gun and be on my way.”

“It’s not here,” Will said, praying the look on his face didn’t betray the lie on his lips.

“What are you talking about? Of course it’s here.”

“It isn’t. I already looked.”

“Then you didn’t look very carefully.” Tom pushed past Will into the bedroom. “There’s only so many hiding places.”

“I’m telling you it’s not here,” Will reiterated as Tom headed straight for the end table beside the bed as if directed there by radar. He pulled out its top drawer, tossing it on the bedspread and quickly rummaging through it. “Maybe Kristin threw it out,” he offered as Tom upended the drawer in frustration.

“She wouldn’t do that.”

“It was kind of freaking her out, having a gun in the apartment.”

“Kristin doesn’t freak out,” Tom said, turning his attention to the dresser.

“Well, then, maybe she gave it to Lainey,” Will improvised, instantly regretting mentioning her name.

“What are you talking about?”

Will took a step back, as if Tom had physically pushed him. “Nothing. I was just—”

“When would she have given it to Lainey?”

“When she was here the other day.” Will tried to smile, managed only a sickly little half grin. “Nobody told you?”

“No. Nobody told me. What was she doing here?”

“She came to see Jeff.”

“Why would she want to see Jeff?”

“How should I know?”

“You’re full of shit,” Tom said with an angry shake of his head. “Had me going there for a bit though, asshole.” He began emptying the dresser drawers, discarding their contents on the floor. “Damn gun’s got to be here somewhere,” he insisted, dropping to the floor and peering under the bed.

“It isn’t,” Will said, relieved Tom seemed to have moved on. “I told you I looked everywhere.”

“Shit.” Tom staggered back to his feet, returned to the living room.

“So, what now?” Will asked. “Do we call Jeff, tell him there’s been a change of plans?”

“Who said anything about a change of plans?” Tom sneered. “Tom never goes anywhere empty-handed.”

“Meaning?”

Tom pulled up his shirt, proudly displaying the Glock .23 tucked into his belt buckle. “Got the others waiting in the car, all loaded and ready for action.”

“You’re one sick fuck.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from you.”

“Shit. No wonder Lainey left you.” The words were out of Will’s mouth before he could stop them.

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “What’d you say?” He took several steps toward Will. “What’d you fucking say?”

“Forget it.”

“The hell I’m gonna forget it. First you make up this shit about Lainey coming to see Jeff. Now you’re saying she was right to leave me?”

“I’m just saying you probably scared the shit out of her.”

“Damn right I scared the shit out of her. Damn cunt deserved to have the shit scared out of her. And she’s not going anywhere, I can promise you that.”

“’Cause she’s your wife, right?” Will said, trying to keep Tom talking, to keep him from leaving, from delivering those guns to Jeff.

“Till death do us part,” Tom said.

“So you’ve got a right to scare the shit out of her.”

“I’ve got a right to do whatever the hell I want with her.”

“Like beat her up if she doesn’t listen?”

“If the mood strikes me,” Tom agreed.

“So, tell me,” Will prodded. “What makes you any different than Dave?”

“What?”

“Why does Dave deserve to die and you don’t?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It seems to me you’re cut from the same cloth.”

“Speak English, for shit’s sake.”

“Do you ever listen to yourself?” Will demanded. “Have you ever actually thought something through to its logical conclusion?”

“I’m thinking the logical conclusion right now would be to shoot your ass.”

“I’m trying to tell you that you’re about to kill a man for thinking exactly the way you do,” Will argued, not sure where he was going with this but determined to keep talking. “For trying to keep his wife in line. I would have thought you’d admire someone like that.”

Tom looked confused. “This is different.”

“How is it different?” Will felt his mouth go dry. He was dizzy and in need of a glass of water. He couldn’t keep this up indefinitely. It was only a matter of time before Tom, drunk and stoned and stupid though he was, tired of all this sophomoric sophistry and left the premises. Still, it was crucial to keep him here, keep him away from Jeff. If Will could succeed in keeping them apart, at least for tonight, then maybe he could avert the tragedy he felt certain was coming.

“It’s different because it is.”

“Because Jeff says so?”

“Because it
is
so.”

“You’re gonna help my brother kill a man because Jeff has the hots for his wife,” Will stated more than asked.

“Sure.” Tom shrugged. “Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because it’s immoral? Because it’s illegal? Because it’s stupid, and you’re gonna get caught?”

“We’re not gonna get caught.”

“Spoken like a true convict. Tell me, Tom, what are you getting out of this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, clearly, Jeff gets the girl. But what do you get? Is he pay-ing you?”

Tom looked genuinely offended. “Of course not.”

“So he gets the girl, and you get satisfaction for a job well done?”

“I guess.”

“Provided, of course, you don’t end up on death row.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Why?’ Cause you never screwed up before?”

“Jeff doesn’t screw up.”

“No, but you do. Or are you forgetting about what happened in Afghanistan?”

“What do you know about that?”

“I know you screwed up,” Will said, sensing he was once again on dangerous ground but unable to take a step back. “I know Jeff came home with a medal, and you got turfed out on your ass.”

“Guess that’s just the way it goes,” Tom said, his eyes narrowing again, turning mean. “Jeff always comes out smelling like a rose. He always wins. You oughtta know that better than anyone, little brother. He stole Suzy Pomegranate right out from under you. Oh, wait. She was never actually under you, was she? Jeff told me you have a bit of a problem in that department.”