Rules of Survival (Entangled Embrace) Read online

  Deeds kicked the bed again. The whole thing shimmied and shook to the point I worried it might collapse. “Time to go get my money.” He smiled sweetly. “Then you’re free to go.”

  As he turned to head toward the bathroom, Shaun said, “I overheard him on the cell. He already called Jaffe. Arranged to meet him at a truck stop off the interstate just after noon.”

  “Shocking,” I said, wiggling my fingers in an attempt to gain some feeling back. I’d dozed off with my arm above my head and at an odd angle. It took a few tries, but eventually, I started to feel the pins and needles. “Patrick isn’t going to make it in time, is he?”

  “He’ll make it,” Shaun assured me. He looked 100 percent convinced, and it made me a little jealous. I missed knowing Mom had my back. The complete and utter certainty that came with knowing there was someone in your life who would always be there.

  Only she hadn’t.

  “Pat has never let me down.”

  “First time for everything,” I said as Deeds emerged from the bathroom fully dressed in an obnoxiously white polo shirt and black pants. He swept up his bag and unlocked my arm from the headboard as he hummed an annoying tune.

  You would have thought he’d at least be a little hung over. I’d counted on it, hoping for a slight distraction, but he seemed chipper and alert. “Time’s a wastin’,” he said, pulling me from the bed, and in turn, forcing Shaun off the floor.

  Maybe if I’d shut up yesterday instead of trying to stall, he would have cut Shaun loose and just delivered me to Jaffe. Now, when he found out I’d lied and there was no money, he was going to kill us both out of spite. I shot a panicked look at Shaun. He caught my gaze and simply smiled.

  Deeds, oblivious to the exchange, herded us toward the door, swung it open—and froze.

  “Morning, Grayson.” Patrick stood in the doorway. Arms folded, he lounged against the frame, wearing an absolutely furious expression and blocking every inch of our exit. I’d seen him pissed off dozens of times in my life. The time we led him on a wild-goose chase through the Everglades in Florida, only to wait until he came stumbling out of the brush, nine hours later, to send his prized Mustang careering into the swamp. The look he wore that day didn’t come close to how he looked now. “Mind handing over my kid and my mark?”

  Shaun smiled, justified, and I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I never thought I’d ever say this—and Mom is probably rolling in her grave—but holy shit am I glad to see you.”

  Deeds rolled his eyes but held his ground, planting himself between Patrick and us. “Pat. Long time no see.”

  Patrick pulled his jacket away from his waist. A silver flash in the morning sun caught my attention. A gun. “Mind handing over my kid and my mark?” he repeated.

  Deeds chuckled, but he took a step back. “Gonna shoot me, Pat?”

  “Not like anyone would miss you,” Shaun said, attempting to push past.

  “He don’t have the balls,” Deeds countered, putting his arm out to block Shaun’s path. But I could hear it in his voice. He was worried maybe Pat did have the balls.

  “I’m willing to put that theory to the test,” Patrick said, voice dangerous. He had one hand on the gun, ready to draw, and the other resting against the frame. “Are you? One last time. My kid and my mark. Now.”

  As it turned out, Deeds wasn’t willing to put it to the test. He shoved Shaun and I outside, dropped the gun and kicked it across the threshold, and slammed the door closed behind us.

  Patrick glared down at us for a minute before lifting the shackle chain and eyeing Shaun. “What possessed you to run all the way out here? We talked about this! She’s like dynamite looking for a place to explode and you chained yourself to her? What the hell were you thinking?”

  But Shaun didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “I think we’re the ones who should be asking questions right now, Pat.”

  …

  We drove for two hours and stopped at a local dive. A diner called Pete’s. If I hadn’t been about ready to chew my own fingers off as an appetizer, then start on my toes, I would have been grossed out by the grease-stained walls and food-caked menus. The smell wasn’t any better, either. It was like someone was in the kitchen singeing hair.

  “This is surreal,” I said, trying to get comfortable. The seat was wobbly and kept detaching from the bench. If I moved the wrong way, I’d topple over.

  “What is?” Shaun asked as the waitress set down our drinks. Coffee for Patrick—even though he looked like he needed something a bit stronger—Coke for Shaun, and hot tea for me. Mom hated coffee. I’d kind of inherited her opinion. I was trying not to gag as the smell from Patrick’s cup wafted across.

  I inclined my head toward Patrick, who was seated across from me. “I spent my whole life running from him. Now we’re sitting down to tea?”

  Patrick made a disgusted face. “Keep your tea, kid. Stuff always made me sick.” With a sigh, he gestured between us and said, “And I don’t like this any more than you do.”

  “So let me go and everyone will be happy,” I tried. Hey. Couldn’t hurt, right?

  He let out a loud snort. Several people at surrounding tables glanced our way. “Ya got a better chance of seeing pigs run Wall Street.”

  All I could do was stare. “After everything that’s happened—you’re still going to turn me in?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “So, you’re going to let me go?”

  “I didn’t say that, either.”

  God. He was confusing! “You’re kind of a tool, you know that?”

  He bent forward, the corner of his upper lip curling downward. “And you’re kind of a brat.”

  “Name-calling?” I said. “Really? That’s where we’re taking this?”

  Patrick sat back and shrugged. “You started it.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, an adult?”

  “You were already driving when I called last night,” Shaun jumped in, taking my hand. He gave it a slight squeeze.

  Patrick hesitated a moment before leaning across the table and snatching Shaun’s leather jacket from the seat. Grabbing a handful of the lining by the lapel, he yanked down hard. The lining ripped.

  Shaun paled. “What the fuck?”

  Patrick ignored him and crammed his hand into the opening. A moment later, he pulled out a small round chip. “I couldn’t trust you not to go getting yourself in trouble. I’ve had you tagged for years, kid.” He set the chip on the table. “Turns out it was a good idea.”

  Shaun looked horrified. He picked up the chip and turned it over in his fingers several times before setting it back down on the table with a snap. “You LoJacked my leather?”

  “Get over it,” I said, turning to Patrick. Shaun couldn’t possibly be upset. The damn thing had saved our lives. “Bigger issues right now.” There were a lot of questions that needed to be answered—but first thing was first. I held up our shackled hands. “Keys?”

  Patrick shook his head. “Not on me. I have them at my hotel, though.”

  Fantastic. I would have been convinced he’d done it on purpose—payback for all the crap Mom and I had put him through over the years—if I wasn’t so sure he wanted Shaun nowhere near me. After all, I was dynamite looking for a place to explode, right? He was worried I’d take Shaun right along with me. I wasn’t ready to admit it, but I was worried about that, too.

  “The Oak Ridge Mall,” I said, moving on. I didn’t know how much time we had. For all I knew, Patrick had called the cops. The real ones. “We told you to meet us there, but fake FBI showed up instead. You told Jaffe where we were, didn’t you?”

  His lips twisted. “I didn’t tell anyone crap. You think I’d take a chance on Shaun’s life? I knew something was up. I wouldn’t put him at risk.”

  “Then explain how they knew we’d be there,” I challenged. “You were the only one who knew.”

  “When Shaun told me what happened, I didn’t understand at
first,” Patrick said, reaching for his jacket. He pulled out his cell. “That first day when I met with one of Jaffe’s men, they made me leave everything at the door. After you told me you were ambushed, I started to think. Then, when I opened up my cell, I found a trace.”

  “A trace?”

  “A bug,” Patrick amended with a roll of his eyes. “They bugged my phone.”

  “I knew there was a reasonable explanation,” Shaun said. There was a look of smug satisfaction on his face that, a few days ago, I would have found irritating. Now it was just endearing. It was Shaun.

  “Fair enough,” I said cautiously. It made sense—especially seeing how much he genuinely cared for Shaun. But there was still more. Deep breath. I could do this. This wasn’t Patrick, the bounty hunter who had made Mom’s life miserable, chasing her to the ends of the earth and back. This was Patrick, the man with the answers I needed to make sense of this whole mess.

  I hoped.

  “Like I said to you on the phone, when you found me at the cabin, I was there to get something. A letter.”

  “From Mel,” he said with a nod.

  “Yeah. Only those guys busted in and I didn’t get a chance to read it. Not really.”

  “She only had time to skim it,” Shaun interjected. He’d rescued his jacket from Patrick and was stuffing it down between us, where I assumed he thought it would be safe from further assault. “That’s how we found Mick’s name.”

  Patrick tapped the table impatiently. “We went over all this before.”

  “I don’t know what it is she did to you, but you’ve been chasing my mom for years. You know a lot about her. Where she’s been and what she’s done… I saw a part in the letter about a last job. Something went wrong. Someone got hurt. Do you know anything at all about it?”

  He didn’t look happy. “A little over a year before you were born, Mel decided to give up the game. She and her partners had one last job planned, and then they were done. But you’re right. The job went badly. An innocent person was killed. A teenager,” Patrick finished after a deep breath.

  “They killed a kid?” Shaun’s eyes went wide.

  “I’m not clear what happened. Mark Bengali—”

  “Bengali,” I exclaimed. “Deeds mentioned that name!”

  Patrick nodded. “He was a stockbroker with a huge bankroll who Mel was romancing. She was getting ready to clear out, but something happened and his kid was killed. Mel had been living at the house and her prints were everywhere. She was seen fleeing the scene covered in blood and ended up the main suspect.”

  So far, everything fit with what the letter had said, except his concept of timing. “This happened the year I was born, you mean,” I corrected. “The note I found at the cabin said she decided she wanted to quit when she found out she was pregnant.”

  Patrick blinked.

  Shaun got a kick out of his shock. “Allow me a moment to revel in this, because Pat believes himself infallible. You got your intel wrong, man. It happens.”

  “So, then that would make you eighteen. Not seventeen.”

  “Yep.”

  He watched me for a moment, and I did my best not to squirm. His scrutiny was weird and uncomfortable. Like he was trying to see through a lie—because I’d lie about my age, right? Maybe in twenty years or so, but not right then.

  “Anyway,” he said after a long moment. “I think I’ve figured out who’s responsible for your mother’s death.”

  Shaun slapped the table. Coffee from Patrick’s cup swished and slopped over the edge. “And you’re just telling us this now?”

  Patrick rolled his eyes and ignored him. To me, he said, “I think Jaffe is really Mark Bengali.”

  Shaun slumped back in his seat. “Because he thinks she killed his son…”

  “I’ve done some research. Bengali has been on the move over the last fifteen years. He’s been in six of the last twelve cities you and your mom were in at the same time.”

  “Revenge…” Shaun nodded. “So you think he’s been tracking them?”

  “That would be my guess. He certainly has the resources. If he’s been following her all these years, then he knows about Kayla. It’s possible that the reason he’s still pursuing you is because he doesn’t feel justified quite yet. She stole his son. He’ll steal her daughter. An eye for an eye.”

  Hearing him talk about Mom like she’d committed the murder pissed me off. He might have been hounding her for almost two decades, but he didn’t know shit about her. Not really. “Thinks she stole his son. Mom didn’t kill that kid. I think one of her partners did.”

  Patrick’s expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, and said, “Yeah? Well she was with her partners, so even if she didn’t pull the trigger, she was an accessory. Plus, she took the money.”

  “How do you know she took the money?” I countered. Deeds thought she’d taken it, too. I’d shot out a random number in a panic. Nearly one million. If that was even close to the amount stolen, I think I would have known if she had it. There’s no way someone living like Mom could have spent that much in eighteen years—much less in the nine months before I was born.

  Patrick glared at me, but said nothing.

  Shaun tapped the table. “Wait—you said you didn’t have specifics—you just said pulled the trigger. How do you know it was a gun that killed the kid?”

  Patrick sighed. “Expression, Shaun. My point being that she was guilty by association, at the very least.”

  “Well, then that brings me to another question—could this Bengali guy be stalking my dad, too? Do you have any idea where he might be?”

  Patrick took a swig of his coffee. Making a face, he grabbed the sugar jar and tipped it over the cup for a few seconds. “He’s not far from here. In Dutchess County New York. Living under the name Hank Friedman.”

  I bit down hard on my tongue. He knew where Mick was. Suddenly I was angry again. “I’ll bet you have an address for him, too, right?” I seethed. “Why my mom? Why chase her all these years when you knew where the other guy was? What the hell did she do to piss you off so badly?”

  “I only just found Mick Shultz. After you brought up his name, I went looking. I didn’t know where he was before that.”

  I slammed both hands against the table from underneath. The couple at the next table gave us a dirty look. “I don’t believe you.”

  Patrick smiled and downed the rest of his coffee in a single gulp. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

  Shaun placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled back gently. “What about the third person?”

  Patrick raised his empty cup high for the waitress to see. “Third person?”

  “There were three partners. Mom, Mick, and another one. I think it might be a girl. The name starts with a T.”

  Patrick’s expression changed. He set the cup down and closed his eyes for a second. “The third person wasn’t a woman. It was a man.”

  “Well, do you know the guy’s name? This Bengali guy might be looking for him, too.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Bengali isn’t looking for him or Mick. He doesn’t even know they exist. They worked behind the scenes setting up the jobs and squaring things away. Mel was the only one working out in the open most of the time.”

  I tried to swallow, but for some reason, couldn’t. A thought started squirming around inside my head, and even though I couldn’t quite catch it, I felt sick. Despite how I wanted to ignore it, things were starting to make sense. “What was his name? The other partner…”

  Patrick’s eyes found mine and stayed there. In all the years he’d been chasing us, I’d never hated him as much as I did right at that moment. The squirming thought came together, and before he spoke, I knew what the answer would be. It was in his eyes.

  “Tanner.”

  “Tanner?” A chill swept through the room. Next to me, Shaun’s eyes went wide and he tensed. I could sympathize. He’d been lied to—just like I had. For a fraction of a second, I hated Mom almost as
much as I hated Patrick. As far as I was concerned, she should have told me the truth about her partners—both of them.

  Patrick turned to Shaun. There was regret in his eyes. Something that might have made another person feel sorry for him—but not me.

  “Patrick Tanner.”

  Chapter Twenty

  For the longest time, none of us moved. There was no conversation, no breathing. Just…nothing. Patrick’s admission had sent the world spiraling into a black hole.

  “Are you shitting me?” Shaun hissed under his breath, finally breaking the silence. He slammed a hand down on the table again, this time with enough force to knock Patrick’s cup completely over. The waitress had just refilled it, so cream-colored liquid crept across the table and dripped over the edge and onto the floor. None of us made a move to mop it up.

  “Shaun—”

  “No way…” He slipped from the booth, pulling me along. “You never thought you should tell me this? All that time we spent hunting Melissa Morgan—you always lecturing me on keeping personal feelings out of the job? Kayla was right, wasn’t she? This was one big piss-fest. You had a beef with this chick because she stole the money—money you helped steal—so you were determined to drag her in and see her burn for it?”

  “You’re wrong,” he said to Shaun. “That’s not what it was about. Not all of it.”

  “Then what?” I asked. It came out low and I could barely hear myself speak, but it was enough. Patrick heard me just fine.

  “Yes, I was angry. I put the scams together. Plotted them out and did the research to make sure things went off without a hitch. Mick made sure our tracks were covered. The guy was a master at disappearing. Then there was Mel…” He shook his head. “She and Mick betrayed me. They stole all that money after I worked so hard to map the entire thing out. But the murder? That was too much. We were bastards. We took a lot of things that didn’t belong to us—but life wasn’t one of them. It was my fault the kid was there that day. I made a mistake with the schedules. I needed to make it right by making sure his killer was caught.”