Jeff Abbott - Cut and Run

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Whit said. ‘You know, I don’t hate you. Clearly I don’t, considering what I’m risking to save you. But an “I’m sorry” won’t cut it. Because I don’t believe you’d change a thing about what you did. You’ve had the life you wanted, Mom.’

‘How do you know that, Whit?’

‘Because you chose never to come home.’

She sat next to him. ‘I’d change one thing,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d have taken you with me. I nearly did. But Babe would have never let you go.’

‘You’re right. He loved his children.’

She winced. ‘I loved you, too.’

‘Abandonment is a strange form of affection.’

‘I was a strange mother.’

‘So, really, why’d you do it?’

‘Does it matter?’ She got up from the bed, went into the bathroom, washed her face, washed her hands. She came back into the room, mopping at her face, wiping it clean.

‘Does it matter why me and my friend might die trying to save you?’

‘In your heart, you’ve either forgiven me or you still love me. The human heart is capable of a lot more than it gets credit for.’ She folded the towel. ‘I’m not sure I still loved you a few days ago, Whit. You and your brothers were abstractions to me. I didn’t know you as men. I didn’t know the people you’ve turned into. I had no years of memories to tie you to me. Although God knows I’ve imagined. And I sacrificed more for you, years ago, than you’ll ever know.’

‘Like what?’

She pursed her mouth, like she had said too much. ‘It doesn’t really matter. If I tell you, I sound like I’m pleading a case for you to understand me. Or to love me. You either do or you don’t,’ Eve said.

‘Love doesn’t leave. It doesn’t die. People walk away from love. I love you because at the least you gave life to me and I loved you when you were with me. And I loved you when you were gone, because I wanted you back, more than anything in the world, I wanted a mother. Maybe this time I’ll be the one who walks.’

‘You haven’t walked away yet,’ she said and he heard the little tremble of fear in her voice, and he felt ashamed for what he had said, the pointless hurt of it. Nothing he said to her was going to hurt her the way she had hurt him. Words could not equal years of indifferent silence and for a moment he hated what she had done to his family with a depth that made his stomach turn.

‘I’m trying to save you, not change you,’ he said. ‘What happens if we make it through this? You run again? Or you suddenly decide you’re my mom for real.’

‘I’m never, ever going to let you go again, Whit. Not after what you did for me.’ She came, sat next to him, put her arm around him and for a moment her touch was like a memory, and he could see her cradling him against her arm and shoulder, sitting on their back porch, reading him a book, his brothers nowhere around. He wanted to believe her, with a thrum in his chest as hard and real as sudden pain.

‘Let’s order room service,’ she said. ‘You used to love pizza, I remember. Pepperoni with mushrooms, thin crust.’

‘It’s still my favorite,’ he said. His voice was hoarse but she didn’t seem to notice.

She called room service. He went back into his room, shut the door, showered fast, tried not to imagine Gooch with his nails being pulled out or a bullet tearing through brain matter or his penis stuffed into a blender or whatever bit of deranged sickness Paul and Bucks might inflict on him if all went wrong. He dressed and went back to her room. Eve sat on her bed watching the local news.

‘Nothing new about the murders or the shooting at the Pie Shack,’ she said.

‘We’ve clearly made the decision to trust Frank up to a point. Can we?’ Whit said.

She switched off the TV but kept her gaze fixed on the blank screen. ‘He loves me.’

‘That’s not always an indicator of loyalty.’

Now she looked at him. ‘Stop swiping at me. For a while, so we can function as a team.’

He gave her a smile. ‘I wasn’t jerking your chain. Besides, you’ve had an almost thirty-year break from Mosley-family sarcasm.’

She laughed. ‘Yes, that’s true. God, you boys had mouths.’

Her cell phone rang. Frank calling. Whit answered.

Frank’s voice was as hushed as if he were in church. ‘Paul’s getting his mother, kicking and screaming, off to Vegas now. If Paul’s working over Gooch, it will be soon.’ And clicked off, no good-bye.

Whit turned to Eve. ‘I want Frank sticking close to where they have Gooch. We need someone else to stick on Bucks.’

‘I don’t have a traitor in mind,’ she said.

‘Actually, I have an idea,’ Whit said. ‘But it’s really risky. More to me than you.’

‘Who?’

‘Her name is Claudia,’ he said. ‘And I’m going to ask her to go against her grain in helping us. But I need Bucks’ address.’

Eve wrote it down for him and he went into his room. God, this could be a mistake. If Claudia found out he’d left the scene of a crime, failed to report Gooch’s kidnapping, and harbored a fugitive – even if it was his own mother – she would lose all respect for him. Their friendship would fracture. Permanently. Claudia believed in rules, fiercely. He was breaking them right and left, caring that they were broken, knowing the pain of leaving a little of himself behind each time, but he was making the choice. She was his friend. She would help. If she could focus on Bucks, it could save Gooch without calling the police and having to turn over his mother.

He paced for a minute, deciding, and then called Claudia’s cell phone before he talked himself out of it. She answered on the second ring.

‘Are you speaking to me?’ he said.

‘Depends. I want you to answer my questions.’

‘All right.’

‘Are you really okay?’ she said.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know who killed Harry?’ Surprising him with the bluntness of her question.

‘I have a suspicion but no proof.’

‘Who?’

He swallowed. ‘A man named Greg Buckman, also called Bucks. He’s a former energy exec involved in a crime ring here. Doyle was delivering money for a drug deal. Bucks killed the banker for the money and Harry was at the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘Why was Harry anywhere around these people?’

‘Bucks is connected to the Bellinis.’

‘Where is your mom, Whit?’

‘I haven’t found her. Yet.’ The lie felt fine in his mouth and he closed his eyes.

‘So you rushed to Houston, on what, impulse?’

‘I wanted to be here if Harry found my mom. I couldn’t sit around waiting in Port Leo.’

‘The Houston police want to talk to you, Whit.’

‘Fine. When?’

‘As soon as possible. Why, are you booked today?’ Losing patience.

‘Not today. Tomorrow or Monday.’ When this had played out and he had Eve safely hidden. Where she couldn’t be taken away from him.

‘I’m sorry that your calendar is so full.’

‘If you want to help me, truly, Claudia, turn the police onto Greg Buckman. But he’s very dangerous.’

‘No. You should talk to the police with me. Or the DA’s office. I have a friend who works in Special Crimes; she can help us.’

‘I don’t want to talk to anyone but you right now.’

Claudia said nothing for several seconds then said, ‘I’m listening.’

‘Buckman lives at 3478 Alabama, number 12. It’s a fancy townhouse. He’s about six-one, maybe one sixty, thinning blond/brown hair, dresses very conservatively, like a Brooks Brothers poster boy.

He drives a silver Jaguar, late model. Vanity license plate of B-L-E-E-V.’

‘Believe?’

‘He’s a big fan of Chad Channing, the self-help guy.’ Frank had given him this information.