Blood Trust

Her heart skipped a beat. She wondered how one word could carry such pain and heartache.

“Rachel, what is it?”

“It’s Larry.” Her husband.

“Is he okay? Has he been in an accident?”

“You could say that.” Rachel gave a shuddering laugh that collapsed into a fit of sobbing.

“Rachey, for God’s sake, is he okay?”

“You know, for once in my life I don’t give a shit.”

Uh-oh.

“Hang on. I’ll be right over.”

Closing the phone, she beckoned to McKinsey, who was already coming away from the door, shaking his head.

“What’s up?”

“It’s Rachel. There’s an emergency.”

“Is she hurt?”

“Yes, but not in the way you mean. I’ve got to get to her house.”

McKinsey took one look at her pinched, white face and said, “I’ll drive you.”

“I can—”

“The fuck you can,” he said. “I haven’t seen your hands shake like that since the night we spent doing Jell-O shots.”

* * *

JACK REACHED out, grabbed Paull, and hauled him to his hands and knees.

“Those shots came from where Alli’s hiding,” he said as they crabbed their way toward the brow of the ridge.

But Paull pulled at him. “This way,” he said, moving off to their left.

In this direction, the ridge was high, wilder, rockier. From the moment they slid over the top they were exposed, but they tumbled over without having their heads blown off, scrambled down the other side, a steep drop off that pitched them off their feet. It was impossible to keep their equilibrium as they tumbled head over heels. Jack tried to roll, but they had gained too much momentum. All he could do was relax his body in order to decrease the risk of breaking an elbow or a rib.

The bottom was even rockier than the ridgeback itself, and for a moment the two men lay stunned, their breathing ragged and irregular. Then Jack coughed heavily and rolled over. Paull was on his knees, head wagging slowly back and forth while he tried to focus his eyes.

“Come on!” Jack said.

Paull whipped his semiautomatic off his back and fingered the trigger. He nodded and they struck out through the dense brush and stands of trees to where the boulder marked the spot where Alli was hiding. Jack signaled and they split up, approaching the boulder from either side. Jack wondered why all the firing had stopped and was now acutely wary of a trap. But the thought of Alli spurred him on.

Both men came around the boulder’s blocky sides at once. Alli stood up when they appeared. She wasn’t alone. Beside her was Thate, grinning like a lunatic. He was armed with a handgun and an AK-47.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said with a jocularity Jack found eerie. “It took you long enough to get here.”

“Alli, are you okay?” Jack said.

“She’s fine, Jack.” Thate raised an arm and six heavily armed men appeared from out of the forest.

Paull was apoplectic. “I told you. Godammit to hell, I told you.”

* * *

“HE’S LEFT me, Nomi. Left me and the kids.”

“What? Just like that?”

“He’s got a girl—a girl, Nomi! Maybe twenty-two or -three. Jesus!” Rachel ran a hand through her hair. She was, as usual, dressed impeccably, in a Michael Kors black-and-white polka-dot dress. Gold rings on her fingers, diamond studs in her ears, and a string of black pearls around her neck. She wore a pair of suede Christian Louboutin high heels. “You read about these things happening all the time—even to women you know—but, God, you never think it’ll happen to you.” Tears squeezed out of her eyes. “It’s like getting a terminal diagnosis.”

Naomi led Rachel into the living room and sat her down on one of the severe Italian sofas. McKinsey was outside, waiting in the car.

“No, it’s not, Rachey.” She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “And how do you know how old she is?”

“Because the fucker showed me photos of her! Can you fucking believe it? He’s proud of her, wanted to show her off.”

“A twinkie? I wouldn’t have thought it of Larry.”

Rachel groaned. “If only! She’s in her twenties and has a law degree from Harvard, which means she’s both younger and smarter than me.” She buried her face in her hands.

Naomi looked around the huge living room, filled with everything money could buy—carved Lalique crystal, a Calder sculpture, paintings by De Kooning, Basquiat, and Richter that would grace the walls of any museum of contemporary art. And then there was the explosion of photos of the family at graduations, parties, parasailing in Cancun, hiking in the Himalayas, snorkeling off the coast of the Maldives. And, finally, set aside in a space all its own, was a gleaming Steinway baby grand piano Rachel had unsuccessfully pushed both children to play.

“What about the kids?”

“What about them?” Rachel’s words were muffled by her fingers.

Naomi tossed her head. “Where are they?”

“Out. Anywhere. I don’t know. I tried their cells, but they’re not answering.”

“We should find them.”

“Good luck with that.”

Naomi touched the point of her sister’s reconstructed chin. “Rachey, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Rachel lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but the Botox protected her forehead from the folds of extreme emotion.

“I’m so sorry. I know how close the family is.”

Rachel made no response. Instead, she took in the grand room.

“He’s going to screw me.”

“What?” For a moment, Naomi thought she hadn’t heard right. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll ask around, we’ll get you the best divorce lawyer on the East Coast.”

“Are you shitting me?” There was fire in her sister’s eyes. Apparently, the period of mourning was over. “My soon-to-be ex-husband is the best divorce lawyer on the East Coast.” She wrung her hands. “Dear God, what d’you suppose my future is going to look like?”

Naomi was taken aback. “Rach, aren’t you the least bit—”

“What? The least bit what?”

“Isn’t there any chance to reconcile?”

“Don’t be dense. Larry’s been cheating on me for months—maybe years. This”—and here she used a four- letter expletive that made Naomi shudder—“is probably one of a long line of heifers.”

“I know he’s hurt you, but—”

Rachel shook her head. “Don’t you get it, Nomi? He’s made up his mind, and now he’s going to rape me. No decent attorney will stand up to him and he’s tight with every judge on the bench.”

“Surely you’ll get the kids. And he’ll have to pay child support as well as alimony.”

“What he’ll give me is a pittance.” Her fingers balled into fists. “I want my money, my home, my security. I won’t have shit when he’s done with me.” She began to sob again, and then she wailed, “I want my life back.”

Naomi sat back, feeling lost and helpless. Is this what life came down to, money? Is that all there was after the golden glow was gone? For the first time since they had been adults, she looked clear-eyed at her sister. For years she had bought into Rachel’s fairy-tale existence. But who was Rachel, except an adjunct of Larry, a possession not very different from the De Kooning or the Basquiat? She was cast off, like the Steinway, a presentation piece that had outlived its usefulness.