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That was three for three. Brett was moving fast. Since we were three for three, and I wasn’t sure what he’d do from here on out, we had to get the ball rolling, had to set the plan in motion. It was time.
I was prepping a late dinner when the front doorbell rang, and I stopped cutting up carrots to answer it. I’d taken off my suit jacket and replaced it with a dark gray apron—not my usual style, but I preferred not to get my clothes messy.
Ironic, I know, considering what I liked to do in my free time. Speaking of… it’d been so long since I went on the hunt for a predator. Once we took care of Brett Banks, I think I needed to stretch the muscles, so to speak.
I washed my hands, dried them on the apron, and went for the door. When I pulled it open, I saw Rick standing there, a sour look on his face. He didn’t appear happy at all. He was clad in his sheriff’s uniform still, his right hand resting on the gun on his hip.
“Alistair,” he spoke, “you know why I’m here.”
Nodding, I stepped aside and let him in. He didn’t step further into the house, though; he remained right where he was, in the front vestibule. When I did nothing but stare at him, he asked, “Can you get the boy? I really don’t want to have to drag him out of here.”
“He’s probably in the pool house,” I said. “Let me go get him.” I turned and left Rick alone, moving through the house silently. I made it to the door that opened out into the patio, where the pool was, and then I made a beeline to the pool house. Lately, Gareth had been spending less and less time in there, less time painting, because he was too busy being with Brianna.
And that wasn’t a bad thing. It’s what I’d wanted all along. I just… I hadn’t anticipated things being as messy as they were. Even if we didn’t have Brett Banks to worry about, Brianna was directly in the center of a three-way tug-of-war.
I walked into the pool house; Gareth used to keep it locked when he was inside, but not anymore. Another sign that things had changed. I found Gareth in the middle of a painting. His work always looked vaguely similar to me, except when he painted pieces inspired by Brianna. Then it was as if I could see into his mind’s eye and witness his artistic vision myself. Brianna brought it out of me, somehow.
Gareth lowered his paintbrush, his head turning as his eyes met my stare. “It’s time, isn’t it?” All I could do was nod, and he let out a slightly annoyed sigh, which revealed he wasn’t too thrilled about any of this.
Hey, neither was I.
“Will you clean this up for me?” he asked as he set the paintbrush down. “I like this brush. I don’t want it to dry out.” So confident he’d be back. If I had my way, he would. All of this would be over soon.
Sometimes, though, in order to win a war, you had to make sacrifices—and this was very much a war.
“Of course,” I told him, and I held up my arm, shepherding him away from his current work. I let him walk in front of me. He could make a run for it, though he’d assured me he wouldn’t try it. I’d spent damn near the last six years harping on him, trying to get him to understand that, sometimes, you had to do things you didn’t want to do, and sometimes you had to resist the things youdidwant to do.
Staying out of jail was priority number one, always, and yet here we were.
Gareth walked around the pool, and I was close on his heels. He held his head high as he pushed into the main house, strolling through the hallway as if we were taking a leisurely walk through the gardens. After a few minutes, we came upon the entryway, where Rick stood, waiting, and the moment he saw us, he reached behind his back and pulled out a pair of shiny silver handcuffs.
It could’ve been timed better, I had to admit, because right as Gareth surrendered to Rick, right when he put his hands behind his back and turned around, Brianna happened to come down the stairs—though she froze when she saw what was happening.
“What—” She said not another word, rushing down the stairs by taking two at a time. Her multi-colored hair was pulled back in a loose pony, though a few stray wisps around her face had evaded capture. “What the hell is going on?”
“Gareth Montgomery,” Rick spoke, his voice low, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Neo Banks.” The metal handcuffs clicked once he shut them over Gareth’s wrists, and as he began to rattle off Gareth’s Miranda Rights, his green eyes never left Brianna.
“Are you kidding?” Brianna rushed over in an attempt to get Rick to release Gareth.
“Brianna, I know, but I can’t…” Rick whispered, “This is how it has to be.” He looked at me, and then he gave me a short nod. Without saying anything else, he hauled Gareth out of the house, and Gareth let him do it.
Brianna chased after them, following them to his sheriff’s cruiser. “Rick, you can’t do this. You know he didn’t—you know he didn’t do it! What evidence is there—” She stopped when I came outside and set a hand on her shoulder, and I squeezed it gently. She turned her head and looked at me, wordlessly asking me to do something.
“I’ll get my lawyer involved,” I told her, though she’d stopped looking at me to watch Rick shove Gareth into the back of his car. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be safe at the station.”
Rick walked around his car, pausing before he got into the driver’s side. He tossed a glance at us, then looked away and got in. He started the car up and drove off, taking Gareth with him. Gareth, I saw, had turned around in the backseat, and he watched us as they drove away.
Once they were gone, Brianna shook my hand off her shoulder, glaring at me with barely contained fury. “You’ve covered up so much for him, and now you’re letting this happen? What’s really going on, Alistair? Because thiscan’tbe happening.”
“Let’s go inside the house.” I tried to reach for her, but she stepped away, furious. She looked as though she wanted to argue with me even more, so I narrowed my eyes and took on a commanding tone, “In the house, now.”
A tone she couldn’t dismiss so easily, and she knew it. She huffed, but she said nothing else as she stormed past me, stomping to the front door. Once I had the front door shut and locked behind us, I told her, “My office. I’ll be up after I preheat the oven.”
She blinked at me. “You’re making dinner at a time like this?” All I did was lift a finger toward the staircase, and she pursed her lips, giving me a pout I felt in my core. She groaned loudly, spun on her feet, and skulked up the stairs.
I waited until she was out of sight before going to the kitchen and setting the oven to the correct temperature. The chicken had been marinating since noon. I doubted Brianna would want to eat much tonight after everything that had happened, but right now, she was my priority. I’d make her eat if I had to.
Before leaving the kitchen, I reached behind me and took off my apron. I folded it up and left it on the island counter, and then I went to my office upstairs, where she waited for me, pacing the length of the room.
