Did he know her humble roots, and where did he get his money? Michael kept coming back to that, but Arabella Jax knew nothing about her daughter’s relationship with Randall Vane, knew nothing about her daughter at all.
The girl was fourteen when she ran away…
Michael had all these questions, and as much as they burned, he didn’t need the answers to save Julian. He had the file, and it would be enough. Chatham County was a powder keg, and the file would be the torch to light it. He touched it briefly and ran through the steps he would take. He looked for flaws, found none, but had to make one stop first, and that was at the Iron Mountain Home for Boys.
He found Flint in the same bathrobe with a bottle of the same booze in front of him. He nodded once at the sight of Michael, then knocked back what was left in his glass. “Have you found revenge too sweet a song to ignore?”
“I beg your pardon.”
Flint poured another glass, waved it in a vague circle. “Have you come to kill us after all?”
“I have no fight with you, Mr. Flint. In fact, I wish you both well. Where’s Billy?”
“Doing the things that Billy does.”
“I need to ask you a question.”
“Then, sit, drink.”
Michael sat, but no glass was offered. Flint was bleary and loose, the kitchen a mess around him. “Has anyone ever come here looking for me? Asking about me? It might have been a long time ago?”
Flint squinted, sipped. “So many boys, so many years.”
“You would remember this person.”
“Can you describe him?”
Michael described Stevan as best he could. “He would have asked about Julian, too. He would have either threatened you or tried to bribe you. He would have been very smooth or very unpleasant.”
“I remember him, now, an unpleasant man with an expensive suit and an attitude. He came some years after Julian was adopted. Threw some money around
“His name is Stevan Kaitlin. Is that familiar?”
“Vaguely, yes. Stevan. But I don’t think he gave a last name. And the other one. What was it? Otto, I think.”
“Otto Kaitlin?”
“No last name for him, either, but he was an older man, calmer, kind of in the background, but very intent. Just sat there and took it in.”
Michael nodded because it made sense, then put a hundred thousand dollars on the table and ignored the way Flint choked on his liquor. “If anybody else comes up here asking the same question-cops, anybody-I want you to tell them the truth. Tell them his name was Stevan Kaitlin and that he wanted to know all about the senator. Feel free to mention Otto, too. Can you remember that?”
Flint’s eyes stayed locked on the cash. “Yes.”
“It will happen soon. In a week or two. Police or FBI.”
“Week or two…”
“Just tell them the truth. Afterward, you should take Billy and leave. Find someplace new. Start fresh. No more gambling. No more drinking.” Flint touched the money, and Michael stood. “Mr. Flint?”
Flint looked up from the cash. He was drunk and overwhelmed. Michael spread his hands on the table, money between them. “The compassion you’ve shown for Billy is a rare thing in this world.” Flint’s eyes drifted to the money, then snapped back up. “I almost killed you the last time I was here. I was angry, you understand? It was that close.” Michael held his thumb and finger an inch apart, and Flint, either frightened or full of regret, tucked his hands in his lap as Michael leaned even closer. “Every day since then has been a gift. Every day from now forward is also a gift. Every minute. Every hour.”
Michael straightened.
“You’re a compassionate man, Mr. Flint, and I think you deserve a second chance.” He slid the money across the table. “Ask yourself what happens to Billy if you drink yourself to death, then give yourself a break. This place messed up a lot of people, but it’s just a place. You can move past it.”
Flint looked up, eyes red and raw. “Is that what you tell yourself?”
“It’s what I’m coming to believe.”
Flint reached for the bottle. “Maybe it’s not that simple.”
“And maybe it is.”
Flint poured another glass and put it on the table.
“Take the money, Mr. Flint. Start fresh.”
“I’ll tell the police what you said.”
Michael sighed deeply. “Give Billy my regards.”
Flint nodded, glass untouched. He stared at it for long seconds, then tucked his face into his hands, his whole body shaking as Michael turned on his heel and left.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Michael hit the Chatham County line close to dusk, and found the road empty by the mailbox with blue reflectors. He parked on the grass shoulder a half-mile down and watched the dirt track that led to a house full of dead mobsters. No police. No movement. He checked the sky for aerial surveillance, and then craned his neck to check the gas station lot two hundred yards behind him.
It looked quiet, he thought, the air hushed and warm as the sun made its slow burn through the trees. But still, he was patient. He waited, watched; and when the last light grayed out, he drove in. Within seconds, he knew the site was undisturbed.
Ignoring the barn, Michael drove straight to the house, lifted the file and got out of the car. He stepped carefully, and made his way to Stevan’s room. Nothing had changed there, either. At the bedside, he replaced the file where he’d found it. He took one last look around and then left, satisfied.
Forty minutes later, he had a room in a decent hotel. He showered, changed and found the senator’s number in his phone’s memory. The call was answered on the first ring. “I wondered if you might still like to meet?”
“Michael, I was just thinking of you.”
“Would you like to have brunch tomorrow?”
“Are you back in town?”
“Just this moment. Do you still want to discuss Julian?”
“Of course, my boy. Of course. But why wait? My evening is free; I just poured a drink. Join me. I have the most wonderful study in which to drink, and the best selection of scotch this side of the highlands.”
“All right.”
“Shall we say, half an hour? Just give your name to the guard at the gate.”
Michael squeezed the phone hard. He thought of the file, then of blackmail, betrayal and the price of a political career. “Half an hour.”
Abigail was not a drinker. Drinkers lost control, made mistakes. Drinkers were weak. But tonight Abigail made an exception. It came in a clear glass bottle, and it burned going down. But, that was okay.
