Page 29 of Ride the Whirlwind

“It's my pleasure.” Matthew offered the boy a warm smile. “Here you are.” He guided him to a large armchair and put some decorative pillows around him. “Are you comfortable enough?”

Rowan nodded, then gestured with his head in Fabian's direction. The man discreetly cleared his throat, then started talking in a thick voice. “Today, The Base had a special visitor, a kid named Martens who came all the way from San Francisco to bring Alasdair a letter...from Ardan.”

“Is Pater...is he alive? Like, right now, as we speak?” Tarrin's expression was a mix of joy, hope, and disbelief as he waited for the man's answer.

“Yes, my dear child,” Fabian said in his warm, soft voice that reminded the boy of his father's. “He's in San Francisco, and I'll go tomorrow to get him home. Alasdair and The Special Ones will accompany me while your Grumpa Lance will have the most important mission: to take care of you while we are away.”

Fabian's words were followed by a moment of heavy silence, then everybody started asking questions at the same time. The man patiently waited for the young ones to cool down, then offered them an abridged version of the events that happened to The Base during that day. Once he finished, everyone let out a loud gasp, shocked by the twisted, but true story.

Matthew intervened in a low voice, saying he also wanted to go to San Francisco to meet Graeme MacGowan and deliver him a message. The former CIA agent also said he hoped to find a job there because there was nothing to keep him in New York City. The last part was spoken in a melancholic voice that broke Fabian's heart.

The sound of tires on the driveway made Lance cast a questioning look in his husband's direction, but the man shook his head, confused, and left the library, walking to the main door to greet the unexpected guest. He opened it; eyes wide at the sight of the leather-clad, solidly built man standing in the doorway.

“Where is the goddamn thief and filthy whore who left me and stole my car? Come here, bastard. Let's go home! You are in for a hell of a punishment.”

“This is my house, and the people living here are either my family or my guests,” Fabian spoke in an ice-cold voice. “You should go where you came from, mister, or else...”

“Or else, what, old man? Do you know who the fuck I am? I have so much money that I could buy the fucking house and own the asses of everyone inside.” The man shouted loud enough for everyone in the library to hear him. “Get out, Matty boy, and maybe I won't whip you to death,” he continued.

“Listen here, you little worthless piece of shit. The show is over.” Fabian grabbed the man by the lapels of his expensive coat, shaking him like he was a rag doll. Take your obscene corpse from my lawn, or I’ll beat the shit out of you, skin you alive, and bury you in a deep hole. Do.You. Understand. Me?”

“Y—yes sir. Sorry, sir.” The man shrunk under Fabian's hard stare, then climbed into the car and drove away.

“Granddad for the win.” Tarrin wiggled his fist into the air. “It seems that you earned yourself a protector.” He turned to Matthew, grinning.

CHAPTER 22

“Are you sure about this? Absolutely, positively sure?” Lester Ames cast an incredulous look in Ron Dawson's direction, shivering when the man nodded. “But...the images with him beaten to death...”

“I know, boss, I was there. I watched that piece of shit falling to the ground under the beasts' bats, fists, and kicks. I'm even more shocked than you are,” the cop replied, still shook to the core by the encounter with Ardan's ghost, as he called Everly.

“It—it's impossible.” Ames vehemently shook his head. “No one would survive the kind of injuries those inmates inflicted on him. The guy you met must have been a doppelganger of sorts, someone who sported an uncanny resemblance with MacNamara.” Ames paused for a while, thinking intensely, a frown creasing his forehead. “How did that man react when he saw you?”

“He was all smiles and sweet talk, kept babbling something about that goddamn rescue center, but his eyes had this devilish glint every time he looked at me.” Dawson stared blankly ahead for a few moments, then continued in a shaky voice. “Boss, there are very few things that impress me in any way, but this man...he scared the shit out of me.”

“And the news you brought scared the shit out of me.” Ames sighed, scratching his chin. “I'm in deep shit, Dawson, and I'd appreciate if you would keep silent about what you've told me.”

“Come on, boss, you know me better than that,” the cop protested. “There is something I didn't tell you because I didn't consider it important, but in the light of my encounter with the devil possessing MacNamara's body, everything that happened that day suddenly became very relevant. The immortal bastard's cellmate, Brodie, is also missing.”

“This is...let's say our problems just doubled.” Ames felt how his blood was slowly turning cold while shivers ran down his spine. “Thank you for letting me know. Keep an eye on that bloody place and let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary. Those fuckers are plotting some nasty shit; I can feel it deep in my bones,” Ames said in a low, almost whispered voice.

“Yes, boss, of course. I still think everything is a masquerade carefully staged by that Fabian Bloom fellow and the other old, disgusting pervert, his so-called husband, and I'm going to prove it,” Dawson spat, leaving his seat and heading to the door.

“I wish you good luck, my friend.” Ames nodded, the cop's words making him a little more optimistic. Maybe, he could pass the responsibility of eliminating MacNamara to his San Francisco partner, who would benefit the most from it. Taking the phone from the desk, he speed-dialed the man's number.

“I really hope this is an emergency because I've told you not to call me unless it's absolutely necessary,” a man's voice croaked at the other end of the line.

“I want a part of the money you promised me. Cash,” Ames' answer came promptly, in a cold voice. “No offense, but since the two of us partnered up, I haven't seen a dime from you, and I had to spend a small fortune out of my own pocket for services that benefited you, too.”

“What? Are you out of your mind? Haven't I told you that I have to find the will first? The idiot who spent all day in his father's library and would have given me an indirect helping hand in finding it is gone. The crazy old man kicked him out of the house. To make things worse, the FSB started questioning my loyalty to them.”

“This is not my business,” Ames replied in the same indifferent, cold voice from earlier. “I either see at least one of the many millions you promised me, or I'm out of the game. I'm not fighting that immortal demon MacNamara for nothing.”

“Wait a minute...You said the bastard is dead. How come...hello? Don't hang up on me, goddammit!” the man shouted into the phone, but the line was already dead.

Shit. Shit. The man started to pace up and down his bedroom, clutching the phone in his hand. He should have imagined a mercenary like Ames would drop him like a rat abandoning the ship that was about to sink. The man didn't doubt that his associate meant every word he said, and that was a big problem because he didn't have that kind of money.

He could borrow the amount from the loan sharks he was collaborating with, but even they would ask him what the money was for, not to mention the exorbitant interest he would have to pay. Had he found the will, the man would have been in the position to negotiate with the bastards from FSB, and, if they wouldn't have agreed with his requirements, he would have gone to Graeme MacGowan.

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