Carol Post - Dangerous Relations

The Lamborghini’s brake lights came on, and it jerked to a halt. Seconds ticked past. His father didn’t move. He’d probably already alerted security. And he was likely retrieving his own weapon. He didn’t go anywhere unarmed.

Soon headlights moved toward them from the direction of the house. The oncoming vehicle stopped, and one of his father’s security people exited, weapon drawn.

Ryan stepped from the Equinox, hands raised to show he was unarmed. “I’m Ryan McConnell.” The man wouldn’t shoot without a directive. And if the senior McConnell wanted him dead, it would have happened a long time ago. “I’m here to talk to my father.”

Ryan continued forward, his gait slow and even, his demeanor nonthreatening. The man stood stiff and alert, weapon aimed at Ryan’s chest. A tense silence pressed down on them, holding back the faraway sounds of traffic and an even more distant lone siren. Above, the sky had deepened to dark charcoal, dotted with the occasional star. There was no moon.

Ryan stopped next to the Lamborghini, hands still raised. The headlights of the security vehicle washed through the windshield, bathing his father in their glow. He wasn’t alone. Ryan’s stepmother sat in the passenger seat.

His father reached for the handle, and Ryan stepped back as the driver’s door opened. The older man swung out his legs, then unfolded to his full height. His hair had gone from dark to gray, with a smattering of brown, and time had forged a few more lines into his face. Judging from the coldness in his eyes, he still made a formidable foe.

The older man’s jaw tightened. “Get off my property.”

“We need to talk.”

“You made your choice twenty years ago. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Then listen.”

His father crossed his arms. He’d either left his weapon in the car or had it hidden beneath his jacket. But his eyes held the same animosity they’d held two decades earlier. Back then, disappointment had tempered it. Now that disappointment was gone, and all that remained was hatred.

“You’ve got one minute.” Ice laced his tone.

“Fine. I get it that Chloe’s your granddaughter. I’ll even accept that you’ve gotten attached to her. But Shelby is her aunt, and you’re not going to take Chloe away from her.” Because if Shelby lost the battle, he would, too.

“Boy, you’re sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“What happens to Chloe is my business. She’s my niece.” And he’d do anything in his power to make sure Robert McConnell didn’t raise her. It was one thing he and Shelby agreed on.

His father’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve said your piece. Now get off my property.”

Ryan moved a step closer. “Stay away from Shelby, or I’ll have her file a restraining order against you.”

“Don’t threaten me, boy.”

“I’m not your boy.”

The man’s lips curled back in a sneer. “You’re right. I only have one son.”

“And he’s locked up for the next decade or two. Enjoy that relationship.”

The older man flinched, almost imperceptibly. Ryan had struck where it hurt—his father’s only failures. Two sons, each a massive disappointment, for opposite reasons.

In elementary school, Ryan had looked up to the man with little-boy innocence. By the time he’d reached junior high, that innocence was gone. His father had begun to groom him, teaching him what it meant to be a McConnell. He’d taken Ryan to his clubs in Vegas, Reno, Portland and LA and walked him through in the morning hours, before the employees and any of the girls arrived. In the silence and stillness, a heavy air had hung over the empty establishments—dark and dangerous, but intriguing.

Ryan had also observed some meetings. The adults had talked in code, the phrases tough and mysterious, their meanings too obscure for his young brain to interpret. But one word always stood out. Every one of those intimidating men called his father “boss,” a title that would one day be his.

The power was heady. But another influence pulled him in the opposite direction—Kyle’s family. His father forbade the friendship, but his mother encouraged it. So weekends with his mom usually included time with the Gordons. In the end, Kyle’s father won the battle for his future. The man was nothing that his own father was. And everything he was not.

Ryan spun and walked back to the Equinox, ultra-aware of the pistol locked on his back. When he climbed into his vehicle and shut the door, a tense breath escaped. The hedges on each side of the drive kept him from turning around easily, but after executing a seven-or nine-point turn, he headed back toward the gate. It swung open in front of him. Seconds later, he pulled onto the road and accelerated, the engine revving as he left his childhood home behind.

Chloe’s custody should be an open-and-shut case. Shelby was the obvious choice. Or he was. Or both of them. But he couldn’t say for sure that every judge in the district was beyond accepting bribes. If there was one that could be bought, his father would find a way to make sure he got the case.

But that wasn’t all that weighed on him. He knew what his father was capable of. He just wasn’t sure how far he was willing to go to get what he wanted this time.

Ryan was the man’s flesh and blood. His father couldn’t order the trigger pulled, or pull it himself, without some agonizing.

Shelby didn’t have that advantage. Neither had the others who had crossed his father over the years. Men whose bodies had ended up in a back alley, or the Sammamish River, or locked in their own vehicles with a bullet through the head. Others had simply disappeared. There was never any evidence pointing to Robert McConnell. He was too good. Too careful.

But Ryan knew it. And law enforcement knew it.

Like those before her, Shelby was an unwanted obstacle. His father’s other victims would have recognized their mistakes and known the danger they were in.

Shelby didn’t. And seeing the fierce protectiveness in her eyes when she’d insisted she was taking Chloe, she wouldn’t give up the fight even if she did.

That left Ryan with one option. He needed to warn her, to convince her he was on her side. To do that, he was going to have to get her to hear him out. She already didn’t trust him, so it wouldn’t be easy.

In fact, now that his father had paid her a visit, it was going to be nearly impossible.

Shelby sat at her desk, a stack of cash in front of her. Music blared through the diner, a 1980s tune. The girls insisted they could get through cleanup faster with peppy music. Today it was Jeri’s turn to pick what played, so she’d brought in a Def Leppard CD. Not Shelby’s first choice, but as long as the work was getting done, she could listen to anything.

She tore a deposit slip from the pad and laid it next to the stack of cash. After transferring the currency and coin figures from the Post-It onto the correct lines, she stuffed everything into the zippered bag and locked it in the safe. Tomorrow morning, she’d slip out and make the bank run.

When she exited the office, Jeri was mopping the diner floor in time to “Bringin’ On the Heartbreak.” Tessa and Pam were apparently working in the kitchen.

Shelby stepped through the swinging metal doors, and Tessa looked up from the cast-iron griddle she was curing. An easy smile climbed up her cheeks. That wasn’t unusual. Whatever the task, Tessa radiated cheer.

Hiring her to fill the position of assistant manager three months ago had been one of the best decisions Shelby had made. With Tessa in charge, everything seemed to run as smoothly in Shelby’s absence as when she was there. Though Shelby hadn’t gone on a real vacation in years, several situations recently had taken her away from the diner for the day.