Page 128 of Double Bucked

Everett frowns at him. “Say it louder, please.”

“Secret agent!” Ransom hollers. He waves dramatically toward Everett. “Hey! We got a bona fide double-oh-seven over here!” Not a single person looks up from their conversation. He settles back into his seat. “See? You may as well say you’re a purple people eater from planet Zoron. No one cares.”

Everett glares. I get us back on track. “What did they say?”

“I sent them images of the crowd from the Equestrian Club. They did facial scans and ran them through the database.” He pulls his satchel into his lap, unlatches it, and takes out his iPad. His fingers fly over the screen. “They sent me back this.”

On the iPad is a picture of Arris. Young. He could be in his twenties. His hair is jet-black, his jaw squared and strong. Those same, deep-set eyes, though.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Who is this, you mean?” Everett says. “Sergey Guskov. Born in Russian. Lost his parents at a young age. Was inducted to the criminal organization, Oculus, where he quickly learned how to buy and sell women. By twenty, he had a lucrative trafficking operation. He was shut down by Wolfpack Operatives, his organization dismantled. However, when they were transporting him to the United States, he managed to escape. No one has been able to locate him ever since.”

“Until now,” Ransom says.

My heart is pounding in my chest. I stare at the image of the hard, calculating man on the screen.

“He gave me my first horse,” I hear myself say. “He treated my father like a brother. I just…I know it’s silly, but I can’t imagine him going into my father’s room and pulling the trigger.”

“It’s because he didn’t,” Ransom says. “It was his son. Loren.”

We both stare at him. “What?”

Ransom rubs his thumb up the side of his water glass. He stares at the condensation. “The night Mr. Preacher died…I heard someone run through the house. Couldn’t catch them. But they got whacked in the back of the head with one of Mr. Preacher’s traps.” His eyes lift, meeting mine. “I saw a mark on the back of his head today.”

“Then that proves it,” Everett says. “Arris. Loren. The Benefactors’ Society. They’re all involved. Whatever they have planned, I believe they’ll execute it during the festival tomorrow.”

“So we should be there,” I say. “So we can stop it.”

“No. Not we. You should be nowhere near the festival,” Everett counters. “You’re the one they want, remember?”

“Right.”

No Belleflower Festival. No Belleflower Queen.

I take a lengthy swallow from my beer.

The boys mirror me.

“So what happens now?” I ask.

“I’ve informed my team,” Everett says. “They’re going to come in and infiltrate the festival. They’ll break it up. Arrest Arris and anyone involved. He’ll be in jail. Where he belongs.”

“Where he belongs is six feet under. He killed my father.”

“A man you hated,” Everett reminds me.

“It’s complicated.”

Those blue eyes hang on mine. No judgment in this. Just open acceptance. “What would you have me do? Tell me, and it’s done.”

My heart pinches. I think?—

The invitation. Loren. Daddy. Arris—no. Sergey.

“Nothing,” I say. “You’re right. It’s out of our hands now.”

We don’t talk much after that. We finish our lunches. Everett makes me recount the conversation with Arris, and I give him snippets of details, without revealing the invitation. He tilts his head now and then as though processing each new piece of information. Everett’s tall body is splayed out, his arm resting across the table. His hand bumps Ransom’s occasionally as they share fries. There’s a small, subtle shift between the two men. I can’t put my finger on it.

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