Page 42 of Shattered Dreams

I scoff. Sometimes I still don’t know if she likes spending time with me or if I scare the fuck out of her. I guess at this point, it’s a little of both.

I know for a factshescares the fuck out ofme.

Baby and I go for a run, and she enjoys stretching her legs. We run along the Renegade, the sun that finally came out of hiding gleaming against the water. I feel unsettled in a way I dislike, which is unusual because I can normally shake things off without a problem. One of the few things that tore me up was Viv saying she didn’t want to share her life with me. After that, meeting another woman and starting a family hadn’t been on my radar—I hadn’t wanted it tobeon my radar—then Zarah stepped into my path and everything I ever wanted changed in an instant. I want it all and I am one greedy son of a bitch to admit it.

Exhausted, Baby and I head back to the apartment. I shower, and standing under the hot water, get myself off, daydreaming about fucking Zarah against the wall, her slender legs wrapped around my waist. It doesn’t do much to lessen the tension coiled in my body, and after I dry off and get dressed, I pop open a beer and make a sandwich, feeding Baby half.

My apartment feels like a pair of faded, worn-out jeans—comfortable, but maybe not enough anymore. My place has no chance in hell of competing with the Maddoxes’ penthouse, and after spending time with Zarah there and her tub the size of Lake Superior, I’m keenly aware of how small my space is, even if I do have the loft office.

I settle at the table Zarah bought me, Max’s lockbox sitting in the middle of it. I should read more of his journal, but Ihate reading the entries that have Zarah in them, no matter how briefly she’s mentioned.

I look to the CD cases instead. They aren’t labeled, and there are several. I run upstairs and grab my laptop and plop back down into my seat. Luckily, my laptop is old and has a disc drive, though I never use it. If I want to watch something, I buy the digital version or check if it’s streaming somewhere, and if it’s not available like that, I don’t watch it at all. The CD whirs in the drive, and I wait for the screen to light up, but it doesn’t. I frown. Are they empty? Max wouldn’t leave me empty CDs. Oh, wait. I never have my audio turned up when I’m online.

The voices are low, and I increase the volume. I still can’t hear anything, and I run back up to my loft and snag my earbuds off my desk.

Going back to the start, I replay the CD, crank the sound as high as it will go, and push my hands over my ears.

“Why is this taking so long?”

Pause.

“The weapons were delivered. My contact said everything went as planned.”

There’s scratching, maybe fabric rustling.

“They can’t have more for less.”

Pause.

“Yes, I know, but Black won’t accept less than agreed upon, and he shouldn’t have to. As soon as the president is declared unfit—”

A sigh.

“I know how long, goddammit. The studies are going well. Quiet Meadows isn’t your concern...I have that under control. The guns are your business. Do your job, or I’ll tell Black, and trust me, unlike me, he’s more than willing to step in the shit.”

The audio stops and the drive ejects the CD.

Even though the voice was faint, it’s clear who was speaking. Max recorded his father on the phone, talking to someone about weapons. He and Clayton Blackwereworking together, and it was something illegal, too. Breaking the law with Black while fucking his wife. My stepfather is a class act.

What would Rourke get out of a black arms deal?

Was Black splitting profits? Rourke doesn’t need the money. I look at the properties of the CD and the date indicates Max created it three years ago. Zarah was still in Quiet Meadows. I wonder if this is why Max decided to look into Lark’s and Kagan’s deaths. If Stella hadn’t busted Zarah out of Quiet Meadows, I wonder if Max would have.

In the three years since Max recorded this, what’s happened? Quiet Meadows was shut down. Did they accomplish whatever it was they were doing there? And once Black was taken into custody, who picked up where he left off? Rourke? Willow’s been under surveillance all this time. She wasn’t selling weapons.

Maybe because of Clayton’s and Ash’s arrests, whatever plan, or plans, Rourke was talking about fizzled out.

Max couldn’t have known I would wait so long to settle his estate. I let a year go by before I went to see his attorney and read his last wishes.

Whatever he wanted me to look into then, maybe all that is said and done.

It wouldn’t hurt to feel Rourke out, but after I listen to the rest of the CDs, I’m turning them over to Zane and he can forward them on to the FBI. I won’t hang on to them like I did Mallory’s watch. I won’t let Rourke go free, not if he was doing something illegal. Politicians are liars, but Rourke never seemed dirty, not if you don’t count him shoving his dick into places it doesn’t belong.

Out of curiosity, I flip to the last entry in Max’s journal.

Tonight, we go to the governor’s mansion. Everyone’s pumped. I’ve written my brother a letter, left it with my attorney, and hid everything vital I want Gage to have in the event of my death. I can’t know what will happen tonight, only that we’re dealing with murderers and I’m no stranger to the wrong side of the law and people thinking they’re above it.

I’ve been receiving death threats since going to the NTSB’s offices in DC. They aren’t anything I haven’t dealt with before—a journalist always shoving his nose into other people’s business will do that. I haven’t told Zane. He won’t let me go if he knew. He’d keep me here at the Crowne or force me to go to the penthouse with Zarah and Ingrid.

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