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Chapter eight
Remy
The door is barely shut before I hit the redial button on my phone. Jovich answers on the first ring. "What have you got?"
I didn't expect to hear from him so shortly after the last call. Hopefully, that means he has answers.
"Nobody has seen Vazquez in a week."
Not the information I was looking for, but I trust Jovich isn't telling me because he thinks I want to hear his voice. "Am I supposed to care for his safety?"
"No. But you may be interested to know the last person he met with."
I let myself into the huge master suite and turn the lock behind me. "Which is?"
"None other than Alexandre Davos."
"Son of a bitch." I exhale. It isn’t exactly a shock, but it’s a little bit of a disappointment. "I can't say I'm surprised."
Davos is, for all intents and purposes, my boss. He was an old friend of my father's up until recently when he edged my father out of their business. It’s been nothing but bad blood between them for the last year. And yet, Davos is still a fucked up extension of my family. I hate him for what he did to me, for what he does to the world, but he’s been fair to me even after the fall-out with my father. But if Vazquez has been hanging around with Alexandre Davos, there’s a good chance he’s no longer loyal to my family.
"There's more. Davos' great nephew is Tristan Ryan. An old acquaintance of yours, I believe."
"I'm familiar with him," I say dispassionately. It’s been years since I last saw the Ryan kid, but he’s annoying enough that he’s not super forgettable.
I recall the scrawny kid who always followed me around when we were young, trying to insert himself into everything I did. I'd tolerated him because my mother had said it was important to be kind to him, and our families were friends, so I didn't have a choice.
I wouldn't say I ever liked him, but the last straw was when he told Katie Benson I'd taped a picture of her to my ceiling and used it to jerk off. That was the day I punched him in the face, got my first referral, and had my first kiss with none other than Katie Benson, who was apparently flattered by the news. Ryan transferred after that, and I'd never thought about him again.
"Yeah, so is Rhiannon. Apparently, she's been seeing him this summer."
"You're kidding me." I laugh. My sister was never fond of Tristan Ryan as a child, either. The thought of her growing up and stooping to date someone like him is ridiculous.
"Nope."
"Which means he's here in Cove Harbor?"
"He is staying with a friend just outside town. A small home in Marsh Harbor."
Marsh Harbor is a quaint place, and it isn't far. I could be there within the hour, but it would require leaving Rhea and Claire alone, and that’s out of the question. I've seen firsthand that they aren't exactly equipped to deal with any real threat, and after that anonymous phone call, there’s no way I can gamble with their safety.
"How fast can we get eyes on him?"
"Twenty minutes or less."
"Make it happen, Jovich." I hang up the phone and look around my parents’ old room with contempt. Unlike when they were alive, at least I don’t have to hide it now. I don't want to stay here. In fact, I'd not planned to step foot in this room at all, but it’s the closest to the hall and near the girls. If anything happens, I’ll be able to react a lot sooner. Time is crucial in those instances.
If I’d had my way, I’d have grabbed Rhea and dragged her right on the plane with me. She could sleep through the flight, and I’d be able to get out of this house that makes my skin crawl. I’m used to getting my way these days, but I can’t let Simon fly us back without getting a good night of sleep, so here I am.
I knew my father hadn't been home in over a year. Part of me suspects that as cold and distant as he was, it was too painful for him to be here without his wife. We own property all over the globe, but this is the home they raised their family in. Even if Johnathan wasn't a great husband or father, blood meant a lot to him. And though I had known for a while that their marriage hadn't been monogamous, my father was somehow completely beholden to my mother, wrapped around her finger. I often wondered just how much she knew about Johnathan's indiscretions, and just how deeply she was involved in his business affairs.
My mother's side of the bed had been closest to the terrace doors because she loved looking out on the beach. That’s where I go and open the nightstand. An old leather Bible is the first thing I see lying on top of a large, padded envelope. The gold foil cross etched into the cover seems to taunt me as I set it on the bed and withdraw the envelope. A few photographs flutter onto the duvet as I tip it over, letting the contents pour out. Along with them is a single, folded piece of paper.
I smooth the creases and glance over it at a handwritten letter.
Mary,
I hate to see you like this. Please know you always have a place in my home, as well as in my heart. All my love, J.
