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Twenty
The dayafter Max went with Abby to scatter her father’s ashes, he stood in the kitchen, cracking open a beer with Carlos while they waited for Nico and Farrell. They’d been in touch to set up today’s meeting, but this would be the first time he’d seen either of them since the death of Abby’sfather.
He was ready. Ready to finish what had been started all those years ago when Jason had targeted Cartwright Holdings for takeover. Ready to finish what Jason had started when he’d burned down Abby’shouse.
“How’s she doing?” Carlos asked the questionsoftly.
“Pretty much how you’d expect.” Max hesitated. He hadn’t had a friend in a long time, wasn’t sure he was ready to call Carlos something so personal. But next to Nico, Carlos was the closest thing. “Dealing with the ashes yesterday seemed to be cathartic. She’s been sleeping a lot sincethen.”
“Probably emotionally wrung-out,” Carlos said. “The accident alone would be enough to knock anybody back. Put it together with the fact that Draper was her friend, and I’m surprised she hasn’t gone to get himherself.”
“Give it time,” Max saiddrily.
Carlos was right: Abby was emotionally exhausted, recovering, regrouping. But she was a fighter. When she came out of it, she’d be out forblood.
“Is there anything I can do?” Carlosasked.
“You’ve been doing it — holding down the business, dealing with the men on the small stuff, being around when we need you.” Max met his eyes. “Thankyou.”
Carlos tipped his head. “That’s myjob.”
Max nodded, relieved that Carlos was equally hesitant to describe their partnership as a friendship. Maybe they were more alike than Maxrealized.
The doorbell rang through the house and Max set down his beer, hurrying for the hall before Nico — or more likely, Farrell — decided to ring it again and wakeAbby.
He opened the door and blinked in surprise when he saw that Nico and Farrell weren’talone.
“Max,” Nico said. “Hello.”
“Hey.” Max looked at the man standing between Nico and Farrell, a man who couldn’t have looked more out of place between the two men if he’dtried.
“This is a friend of ours,” Nico said. “We think he can help with theTangier.”
The man was almost as tall as Nico, but the similarities stopped there. Where Nico wore his customary suit — and Farrell slacks and a tailored shirt — the man between them was dressed in jeans and a white shirt unbuttoned far enough that Max caught sight of a Buddha pendant hanging from a cord around his neck. His hair was blond and shaggy, his face tan. He looked like a surfer who’d stumbled out of the water an hourago.
“Max Cartwright, this is Locke Montgomery,” Nico said when it became obvious Max wasn’t going to let them in without more information. “Locke, Max is running our Vegasterritory.”
“Are you having a bloody stroke?” Farrell said to him. “I’m half blind from the sun. Let us in, willyou?”
Max stepped back and opened the door. Nico and Farrell entered the foyer. The man named Locke followed, shaking Max’s hand on the wayin.
“Nice to meetyou.”
Max fought a flash of irritation. Who the fuck was this guy and why was he in Max’s house withoutwarning?
“There’s beer in the kitchen,” he said, leading them down thehall.
“Nice place,” Locke said as they passed through the livingroom.
Max didn’t respond. He wasn’t going to play nice with this guy until Nico explained why he’d brought him into thesituation.
He opened the fridge and pulled out three more beers while Carlos introduced himself toLocke.
“I’m going to need more in the way of an introduction before I can be entirely welcoming,” Max said, handing out thebeers.
Farrell grinned and looked at Nico. “I might have some competition for head asshole afterall.”
Max shrugged. “Not trying to be an asshole. This is my home. I want to know who you’ve brought intoit.”
