Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

He told himself it was the right thing to do, not just for himself but for Kendra. It was highly likely she would have died without his intervention. He’d spared her considerable suffering. And if she could have been saved, what sort of future awaited her? Years of reconstructive surgery. Plus, if Roben and the girl went to the police, and the cops put it all together, Kendra’d be spending her time in prison instead of the plastic surgeon’s waiting room.

Rhys, too.

No, it was better all around that Rhys put that bullet in her brain. Better for the client, too. Had she lived, she might have talked. Once the police had you in a box, you had to do what you could to save your own neck.

Would have been better if he’d gotten rid of her body, though.

At least he’d stripped her of any ID — not that any of it was legit — but even fake ID, once police had run some checks, would raise questions.

Would Roben and the girl report this? Hard to say. The girl would have to admit what she did. A confession would pose considerable risk if the cops didn’t buy her story. By the time Rhys boarded his plane out of Fort Wayne later that day, there hadn’t been a word online about her body being discovered.

He closed his eyes again, and this time, instead of remembering her as he’d last seen her, he pictured her coming to his motel room in the middle of the night, pushing him onto the bed, having her way with him . Her entire body was hungry, and when it was satisfied, she left. Kendra was no sentimentalist. If he’d been the one caught in the face with that bat, she would have handled things the same way.

“Well, here we go,” said the woman sitting next to him, unbuckling her seat belt. “The Pepsi’s found its way through me already!”

Rhys offered a thin smile and looked back out his window.

When he landed, he’d head home first, have a couple of scotches, take a shower, maybe find a woman — there were a couple he could call on short notice — all before breaking the news to the client and deciding where to go from here.

There’d been some suggestion, in a cryptic text, that another job, tangentially related to the one he’d been on, awaited him. But he wouldn’t need the bleach this time.

This one would be on the house. When you fucked up, when you were in the client’s bad books, you didn’t nickel-and-dime him.

New Rochelle, NY

When his call with Dorian was finished, Miles stood there in the storage facility corridor, unable to move. It wasn’t a symptom of his disease. It wasn’t his muscles refusing to respond. It was the shock of the news just delivered to him that had frozen him to this spot.

Chloe was not his daughter.

The hallway seemed to be spinning, and he threw out a hand to steady himself against the wall.

Chloe said, “Miles?”

When he said nothing, she ran to him, ducked under his outstretched arm, and put her arm around him. The phone was still in his hand.

“Who was it?” she asked. “Who called?”

Miles tried to say something but nothing was coming out.

“Is something happening to you? Do you need a doctor, because, like this guy is one. I don’t know if he’s the best guy but he might know something .”

“It’s... okay,” Miles whispered. “Just... something kind of came over me.”

“Who called?”

Miles moved his dry tongue around in his mouth, trying to create some moisture. “Dorian,” he said. “They did the test.”

“Oh,” she said.

“I know you said you didn’t want to know the results, but I might as well tell you.” Miles needed a second to form the words. “You’re fine. You don’t have it. Or anything else.”

Chloe’s face crumpled. “Okay,” she said, her lip quivering. “That’s good, right? Isn’t it?” She gave him a squeeze.

“It is,” he said, and squeezed her back. “It’s good.” He put his arms around her. “So happy.”

She hugged him back, and when she pulled back, tears in her eyes, she said, “So that’s why you went all funny? That’s how you handle good news? What would you have done if it was bad news?”

He offered something approximating a smile. “I felt a little overwhelmed.”

“Okay, well, this is all great, but remember you asked me to come to help you focus? The doc looks like he’s ready to wet his pants, so maybe we better go talk to him before he has to change his diaper.”

Miles nodded. “Okay, okay, let’s do that.”

Together, they made their way back to the open storage unit, where Gold had stopped shredding and was eyeing them like a cornered rat.

“How’d you find me?” he asked again. Rather than wait for an answer, he looked at Chloe and said, “Who are you?”

“Chloe Swanson.” She smiled and pointed a hitchhiking thumb at Miles. “This dude’s daughter.”

Miles felt those invisible blocks on his shoulder grow heavier.

On the way here, in the back of the limo, Miles had gone over with Chloe the questions he’d intended to ask Gold, but now he could hardly remember what any of them were. She was looking at him, as if wondering when the grilling would begin.

But Miles said nothing. Chloe looked at him expectantly, waiting. After a few seconds, she prompted him. “You up for this?”

Miles said, “Chloe, wait in the car.”

Her eyes popped. “Excuse me?”

“I want to talk to Dr. Gold privately.”

“Why?” she asked. “We’re a team. What’s the deal?”

“I’ve reconsidered.”

“You don’t have to protect me, you know. Whatever’s going on, I can handle—”

“Chloe!”

Her body trembled as though he’d zapped her with a taser.

“ Please go to the car,” Miles said.

A silence hung between them for several seconds. Finally, Chloe let out a theatrical huff and walked off. Miles waited until he could hear her steps on the stairs before focusing in on Gold.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” Miles said.

“Me? Who the hell do you think you are?”

Miles almost laughed. “You know, right now, I have no fucking idea. I thought I knew. But now, not so much.” He waved a finger at the pile of shredded paper. “If I could magically tape all that back together, would I find my name? And Chloe’s? And the others’?”

Gold said nothing.

“Your assistant says you’re falling apart. Does that have anything to do with Todd Cox? Or Katie Gleave? Or Dixon Hawley? Or Jason Hamlin? Or Chloe?”

“I don’t know those people.”

“No? You helped bring them into the world. Their mothers were all patients of yours. Want me to run through them?”

Gold stared at him. “No.”

Miles looked down and kneaded his forehead for a moment. “I thought I knew what I’d ask you, but that call... Those names I mentioned, according to the files, I’m their biological father.”

“How could you know—”

“Except I’m not, am I?”

Gold eyed him coldly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently... I’m not Chloe’s father. So maybe I’m not Todd’s. Or Katie’s. Or Dixon’s or Jason’s or Nina’s or Colin’s or Barbara’s or Travis’s. Maybe I’m no one’s fucking father.” He laughed. “How about that! All this worrying I’ve been doing, about these kids, whether they might develop what I’ve got, the plans I had to make their lives better, it’s all a farce.”

Gold was looking past Miles, as if planning an escape.

“So, what’s up, Doc?” Miles laughed sardonically at his own joke. “They’re dying, or disappearing. At first I thought, a wild coincidence, you know? No more. Not since the guy under the bed, the lady in the van.”