Читать книгу Loving Baby - Tyler Anne Snell - Страница 11

Chapter One

James Callahan thrust his hands deep into his pockets and braced against the cold. It was ninety-two degrees outside but only thirty-eight in the freezer. When he’d set up a time to meet a man named Sully the Butcher, James hadn’t thought the place would be in a meat locker at the back of a restaurant downtown. It was a little too clichéd for his tastes. But he was nothing if not flexible.

“You wait here, old man. Or should I say, Padre. I’ll go get ’em.”

The young man—and that was being generous—was standing so close that the heavy scent of cheap aftershave invaded James’s senses. Not in a good way. Whoever this kid was, James bet his dad would be coming home that night to a nearly empty bottle of the stuff. Assuming he had a dad who was around. Usually people who nicknamed themselves Queso and worked for a man called Butcher didn’t have a normal home situation.

“I can see now why you have to make a reservation for this place,” James quipped. He tilted his head to the hunk of meat hanging off a hook right behind them. “It’s pretty crowded in here.”

James busted out a wide grin at his own joke, but Queso wasn’t amused. His exit was accompanied by an eye roll. The man guarding the door—with no nicknames that James knew of—kept his post without moving a muscle. Not that he needed to. Those muscles were thick and tattooed until there was more ink than bare skin. He didn’t need a nickname. His purpose was to intimidate without saying a word.

James bet he was great at that. Sully might not be world famous, but he did a good job of keeping his name in the minds of the criminal underworld throughout the state. His network wasn’t as big as that of the locals running the city of Kipsy a half hour away, but he didn’t let that stop him from dipping his toes into the rest of the county’s affairs. Still, regardless of Sully’s lack of infamy, if anybody found themselves in his freezer with muscle guarding the door, they had every right to worry.

But while James wasn’t a criminal, he wasn’t exactly a nobody, either.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the golden savior himself.” On cue, a small-statured man walked in and spread his arms wide. James was surprised for several reasons. One, the man was wearing a pink-collared shirt, khaki shorts and golf shoes. Two, he looked closer to James’s age of thirty-two than the old, weathered man he had been expecting. “Can’t say I ever thought we’d meet like this, but who am I to question fate?”

He extended his hand, and James shook it.

“I have to admit, I thought you’d make me wait a lot longer in here,” he said by way of greeting. “Make me sweat it, so to speak.”

Sully laughed the thought off.

“I’m not trying to get information out of you, Mr. Callahan. In fact, I hear it’s the other way around. And that is what interests me. As for the freezer?” He shrugged. “You know how the gossip wheel turns in this place? That doesn’t stop just because we’re not your average residents. If I don’t keep up appearances, then that might send the wrong message to some of my associates. They might start questioning me. And I don’t like questions.”

“But you agreed to meet me.”

Sully nodded. His hair, golden, thick and curly, was just another piece that didn’t seem to fit the man or his reputation. Then again, James knew that images didn’t always go hand in hand with reality.

“I don’t like questions, but I do like mysteries,” Sully informed him. “And it seems you walked into a big one.”

“Gardner Todd’s death.”

Sully nodded, and his humor dropped a few pegs.

“What happened to him is...troubling,” Sully admitted.

“That’s a nice way to put it.” James pulled a picture out of his pocket. “As is the man who presumably shot him.”

Sully took the picture and was polite enough to examine it like he’d never seen the image of the dead man before. James bet there wasn’t a cop or criminal who hadn’t already seen it. It wasn’t every day someone got the jump on the Alabama Boogeyman.

“You don’t think he was the one who shot Gardner?” That surprised the man. “I thought the sheriff’s department linked a gun he owned to the one that took out Todd.”

“They did, and I do think he shot him,” James conceded. “But what I don’t get is why.” He tapped the picture with his index finger twice. “This man’s name is Lester McGibbon—”

“An unfortunate name,” Sully interrupted to add.

“He lived in Atlanta and was suspected of corporate espionage but later cleared,” he continued. “The man drove a Prius, had a soft spot for rescue dogs and took his son on fishing trips almost every weekend during the summer. He was white-collar crime through and through. So why did he come all the way to southern Alabama to kill the infamous Gardner Todd?”

James could feel his adrenaline spiking with every new thought. Even if he’d asked himself these same questions during many sleepless nights.

“So that’s why you went looking for me,” Sully said, a grin pulling up his lips. If they had been anywhere other than inside a freezer, James would have mistaken the man for some rich tourist, getting ready for a trip down to the beach a few hours away, perpetually retired and two seconds away from pulling out a margarita and donning a visor. “Because ole Lester was white-collar crime.”

“It seems while everyone around here is still getting their hands dirty with armed robberies and drug deals, you’ve upgraded.”

Sully’s grin widened. Surprise mingled with pride lit his features, and his stomach rumbled with a laugh.

“Seems like the Bates Hill Savior is more well connected than I thought,” he said. “And here I thought you only spent that fortune of yours on good deeds and photo shoots, not collecting rumors.”

“They’re not rumors if they’re true,” James pointed out.

Sully conceded to that with a shrug.

“I suppose not.” The humor once again began to fizzle out. “Though I’d love to meet the people who provided my name and contact information to you. But I suppose you’ll keep that to yourself.”

James nodded. “You suppose correctly.”

For a moment, James thought Sully would make it a point to find out the sources James had used to track the criminal. Sully might have taken his people off the streets and put them into offices, but that didn’t undercut his abilities. Especially when he was trying to get something he wanted. You didn’t get the nickname Butcher for no reason. However, he returned the picture to James and went back to the original topic.

“After the media released Lester’s name, everyone in my line of work researched him. Not to mention, after he shot that woman cop, the entire county full of law enforcement tore through who he used to be. What makes you think I can answer questions all of those people couldn’t? And why, for that matter, do you even care about what happened to Gardner Todd?”

James lowered his voice. Not to speak more quietly, but to convey what he said next was fact.

“Because I’d owe you one, and having a favor from James Callahan is gold in your particular line of work. The rest is none of your business.”

A pregnant silence followed. It was just for show. James knew the moment the word “favor” had left his mouth that Sully was hooked. He was, at heart, a businessman first and foremost. He traded in deals and favors.

“That’s quite the offer,” he said after a moment. “No strings attached?”

James held up two fingers. “More like conditions,” he said. “No one gets hurt or killed for this information.”

Sully snorted. “You apparently haven’t heard of my persuasive charm. Who needs brutality when you can just smile and get what you want?”

James fought the urge to roll his eyes and continued. “And you call this number when you get anything.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. “That’s a private number. Only I should answer it. Which means you and/or any of your associates shouldn’t feel the need to stop by the house. Sound good?”

He could tell Sully wasn’t a man who was used to adhering to conditions he didn’t set, but again, he was staring at the golden goose.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Callahan.” The conversation was finished. They both knew neither one had any more to say. It was just theater when Sully motioned to the door. “I’ll see what I can find.”

Together they walked through the kitchen—past the staff and workers who didn’t bat an eye—and to the back door that led into the employee parking lot. Queso stood next to the door, wearing slacks and a buttoned-up shirt that hung awkwardly off his thin frame. He zipped to attention as Sully neared, and James was reminded of being in boot camp back in the day. Respect and a little fear. The driving need to prove oneself.

James knew that need well.

“Take Mr. Callahan back to his car,” Sully greeted him, then narrowed his eyes at the young man. “And make sure you go the speed limit this time. We’re in small-town Alabama. Not street racing through the city trying to win a big score. The cops here won’t have a hard time getting to you if you’re blowing through the streets.”

A look of quick shame followed by embarrassment crossed Queso’s face. Sully cracked a grin. “Then again, I’m sure James here could sweet-talk his way out of it. Last I heard, he was on particularly good terms with law enforcement in these parts. Especially the sheriff’s department.”

This time James didn’t fight the urge. He rolled his eyes.

“I’d stick to the speed limit if I were you.”

Because even though he’d killed Lester McGibbon before he’d had the chance to send another bullet into Riker County’s chief deputy, James had spent the last four months learning the hard truth about Suzanne Simmons.

She didn’t like him.

Not one bit.

* * *

“NO, SIR.” SUZY looked the sheriff dead in the eye and shook her head again. “There’s no way I’m doing it.”

Billy Reed chuckled. Just like he often did when he thought Suzy was being unreasonable. He’d made the same sound when he’d suggested she liked Jonathan Flynn in the seventh grade and even had the same look when he’d tried to set her up with Rick Carmichael right out of college. There were many more examples throughout their nearly lifelong friendship, but those two came to mind. Or rather, how she’d felt about those two specifically. It was a feeling she associated with the name Billy was trying to attach her to now. She may have loved the sheriff like a brother, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think he’d lost his mind from time to time.

“I’m not asking you to date him,” Billy pointed out, most likely knowing where her thoughts had gone. “I’m asking you to represent the Riker County Sheriff’s Department at the town-hall social tonight.”

“The social being held at the James Callahan estate,” she interjected.

Billy chanced a look of mild exasperation.

“You know, he’s not a bad guy. He single-handedly brought that town out of poverty. Not to mention he decided to make it his home. With all that money he could have his own island somewhere, but he chose Bates Hill, Alabama. That’s got to count for something.” Billy’s brow drew in. The look didn’t last long. “Though what he did for you is enough to say he’s okay in my book for life. I don’t understand why you’re still so against him.”

Suzy crossed her arms over her chest. She felt defiant. Protective. And she was trying to hide the scar between her breasts, even though her shirt was already covering it.

“I don’t trust him for the same reasons you like him,” she said simply. “His life trajectory doesn’t make sense. A trust-fund kid, party animal, gives the tabloids enough material for years before disappearing. Then bam! He shows up to a smaller-than-small town to put it back on the map ten years ago with no reason other than he just wanted to do something good?” She shook her head. “Sounds like a movie I wouldn’t even rent.”

“Just because we don’t know his life story doesn’t mean you should write him off.” Billy’s face softened. “And just because Bates Hill and its residents are under our jurisdiction doesn’t mean we need to know all of their secrets.”

“True,” she conceded. “But then, why was he out there that day, Billy? Why was James Callahan, of all people, at an abandoned saw manufacturing warehouse that just so happened to house the body of a murdered Gardner Todd?”

Billy’s eyebrows knit together. No matter what he said next, Suzy knew he wasn’t buying what he was selling. At least, not all the way.

“He was looking at real estate for one of his businesses. We even verified it with his attorney who showed up afterward. You already know that, and still you don’t believe him.”

It wasn’t a question. Still, she responded to it.

“I believe that money can buy a lot of things,” she said. “Including the loyalty of everyone around here. For all we know, his attorney spun the exact tale he wanted him to.”

“So you think, what? James hired Lester McGibbon to kill Gardner and then shoot you?”

Suzy could tell that Billy didn’t like being blunt about her being shot. It had been four months—four long months—and she still didn’t like it, either. That bullet hadn’t just hit her; it had very nearly killed her. Even now, she was still technically on leave from the department, unable to do field work for another month.

“No, I don’t think he hired Lester,” she admitted. “But I do think he’s connected to Gardner. Somehow. And he’s hiding it.”

“Then what better reason than to go tonight? You can represent us and satisfy your curiosity.”

Suzy tilted her head to see if she had heard him right. “You’re saying you’d be okay with me asking him some questions?”

Billy nodded. “If you think there’s something there, beyond the answers he’s already given us all, then who am I to stop you?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression suddenly stern. “Just whatever prodding you do, please keep it reasonable.”

Suzy couldn’t help but smirk. “When have I ever been unreasonable?”

The sheriff was smart. He didn’t answer.

* * *

QUESO WENT FIVE over the speed limit. James decided not to comment. Though the urge to get beneath the teen’s skin almost won out.

Teen. That was what James really figured the dark-haired boy was. A teen who worked for an up-and-coming criminal organization that was tapping into white-collar crimes.

James wanted to give him a speech, to question his motives and push the boy to create different life goals, but then he remembered himself at that age and couldn’t bring himself to deliver any lectures. What advice could he really give the boy that would ring true? He doubted repeating the speech James had gotten from his father all those years ago would light the fire that had moved him.

It had only been chance that, after his father had stopped yelling, the younger James had run into the bar where Corbin Griffin had been spending his last free night before taking off to San Antonio for basic training. The then twenty-year-old had shown James a way to prove himself outside of fame and fortune.

His joining the Air Force had surprised everyone; finding purpose and peace during his time with them had surprised him. Nine years after leaving, James still felt that swell of pride and gratitude for the time spent at his Special Operations job. Even when things had gotten hairy.

No, Queso needed his own Corbin Griffin. James doubted he would listen to him. Still, he wasn’t going to say nothing. After the car rolled to a stop in the parking lot James’s truck was in, he drew back and met the teen’s stare.

“I don’t know if Sully will get your help on what I’m looking for or not, but either way, it could be dangerous,” he warned. “I suggest you stay away from it, but I’m sure that might only make you want to do it even more. Either way, if things get too hairy, you can reach me here.” James pulled a card from his wallet. It had a different number on it than the one he’d given to Sully. “Or if you just want a different option altogether.” He shrugged. “A few of my companies have scholarship programs that could use hardworking entrepreneurs. If that falls into your wheelhouse.”

Queso cut a grin. “Haven’t been called an entrepreneur before,” he said. “Doubt a fancy title like that would even stick to someone like me. Don’t you think?” Sarcasm. It blanketed his tone and posture. An invisible defense mechanism that James himself had used many times before in his youth. “Why don’t you run along there, Padre, and leave your troubles to the boss?”

James got out of the car, hands up in defense. He left the card on the seat. Queso eyed it but didn’t say anything. Maybe that was a good sign.

James finally got what he was hoping for. As he watched the little Miata take off down the road, thoughts of Suzanne Simmons were replaced by Gardner Todd.

And his killer.

If he could find out who wanted him dead, then maybe he could figure out Gardner’s secret.

What did you want to tell me, brother?