Only my older brother Maddox and Arturo Flores know the truth, along with Arturo’s daughter and his lieutenant, who Maddox also happens to be fucking. Hell, by now they may be married, but I don’t know how that works in a three-way relationship.
I expect to be sent to Arturo and let him be the go-between, but that’s not what Booth wants me to do.
“You want me to go to Denver? In December? What the hell for?”
“It’s my hometown. It’s a beautiful city in the winter. Don’t you ski?”
“Dude, I’m from Los Angeles.”
“They have ski resorts in SoCal.”
“Ski resorts are for the rich. We barely made ends meet when I was growing up. I’ve never even seen snow.”
“Well, it’s not like we’ll have time for skiing anyway. Denver also happens to be where Senator Katherine Longo lives. She chairs the committee in charge of this operation. She’s the one who can make this deal happen fastest.”
“No shit, a US senator? I guess we aren’t fucking around.”
“I want this to work as much as you do, buddy,” Booth says. “So get your ass to the airport, pronto. I’ll meet you in Denver.”
I clear my throat, conflicted as hell over what I need to ask, but like the fucking oracle he is, Booth pre-empts me.
“Not a fucking chance, Black. I can hear those gears turning. You’re in California, so you want to get in touch with your brother. I can’t let you do that. Stay on point so we can get this done.”
“It’s just a fucking visit. I can catch a direct flight from LA and be there in a few hours. You’ve been like a brother to me these past two years, but you aren’t Maddox. I need to talk to him, and I can’t do it over the phone. After what happened, I need this. He’s always been able to set me straight.”
“Not this time, buddy. Trust me.”
“What the fuck are you keeping from me? You know there’s no way in hell I’m not following through on this assignment. I’d fucking die first.”
“I don’t need you distracted right now. If I tell you, will you promise not to go to LA? To head straight to the San Diego airport and get on a goddamn flight ASAP?”
Not liking the direction this conversation has headed, I say, “Spit it the fuck out or I’ll never make you another goddamn promise as long as I live.”
Booth mutters a soft curse, but gives in anyway. “I spoke to your brother last night just before things went to shit. It’s your mom. She had a stroke.”
My hearing goes fuzzy for the rest of our conversation. I vaguely catch his warning to stay on point and to get to the airport, but when he hangs up, I think he realizes that’s not fucking happening.
I immediately call my brother, but get no answer. It’s just as well, because I’ve almost reached the street corner I was headed toward. I’ll stay on fucking point, but that point now includes getting my ass to LA before I do anything else.
My ride is sitting pretty outside a dive bar, the security lights glinting off a pair of chrome tailpipes. The bar is still lit up with music pumping out of it, and whoever owns this bike is likely three sheets to the wind already. Not that I need to rationalize, but I’m about to save the asshole from a DUI.
I pull my hood up and skirt the parking lot, scoping the spare, windowless cinderblock building for cameras. There’s one just above the door, but it’s aimed toward the driveway. It’ll probably catch me at the edge of the frame, but from this distance in the dark, my face is obscured.
I slip up to the motorcycle like I belong there, then squat by the engine, reaching beneath for the wires. Within a breath the ignition turns over and I climb on, donning the helmet left behind and keeping the engine at an idle as I roll it to the street before kicking into gear and riding off.
It’s fucking cold without proper attire, but my rage warms me from the inside out, and the beard I grew to enhance my new persona keeps my face toasty as I cruise toward the interstate.
I’m about to hit the on-ramp when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull onto the shoulder and fish it out to look at the screen. It’s a text from Maddox.
“Who is this?”
“Who do you think, shitbird?” I tap back.
Less than two seconds later, the screen lights up and the phone buzzes with a call.
“Are you back? Please fucking tell me you’re back,” Maddox says before I can even say hello.
“It’s complicated.”
“Of course it is. It’s never fucking simple with you, is it?”
I grit my teeth and sneer, “Oh hey, brother, it’s great to hear from you for the first time in three fucking years. Glad to know you’re alive!”
Maddox sighs. “I love you, brother. You know this. But I don’t really have time to chat. Are you in town?”
It’s 2AM on a Sunday night, so the fact that he sounds this agitated and impatient makes the back of my neck prickle with dread. My older brother is the rock of the family. Nothing fazes him, so Mom’s condition must be pretty bad.
“Not quite. But Booth told me about Mom. I can be there in three hours. Two, if I haul ass. Just don’t tell him if he calls you.”
“Please don’t come if it’s jeopardizing your assignment,” he says, though he isn’t that insistent about it. He wants me there.
“Tell me what happened. Do I need to make a detour to pay Dad a visit?”
“Jesus! No. You need to stay the fuck away from him if you don’t want to blow your cover. He isn’t worth it. She had a stroke during Christmas dinner. She’s stable but they had to do surgery to relieve swelling on her brain, and they put her into a medically induced coma.
