Chapter 6 - Ghosts in the Mojave Dust
The name Garrett Parker echoed through the small speaker of the security monitor,
striking my chest like a physical blow,
and suddenly the air in the master bedroom turned into liquid ice.
My hands began to shake so violently that my knuckles knocked against the edge of the polished mahogany desk,
the sharp click sounding deafening in the heavy silence of the third-floor vault.
Two years.
For two whole years,
I had lived with the cold,
hollow certainty that Garrett was dead at the bottom of the Colorado River,
his rusted pickup truck having plunged through a guardrail outside Bullhead City after a drunken poker game went sour.
The police had found his wallet in the mud,
they had found his cracked watch tangled in river weeds,
and they had told a twenty-six-year-old mother of two that her abusive husband was gone forever.
I had cried that night in our leaky trailer in Yuma,
not out of grief,
not out of mourning,
but out of a shameful,
gasping relief that my babies would never again have to hide in a bedroom closet while he broke beer bottles against the kitchen counters.
Now,
staring at the high-definition screen as Nathan’s cold voice tore the veil off Victor’s treason,
the suffocating ghost of my past came clawing its way back into my throat.
He wasn’t dead.
He had faked his death to dodge two hundred thousand dollars in gambling debts to the riverboat bookies in Laughlin,
leaving me with his collection notices,
his eviction warrants,
and two starving children to feed on forty-seven cents.
Behind me,
Noah looked up from the giant pillow fort he had constructed across the down comforter,
his little brow furrowing as he caught the wild,
stricken look on my face.
“Mom?”
Noah asked,
his voice trembling slightly as he set down a velvet bolster.
“Did the bad men leave the big room downstairs yet?”
I swallowed hard,
forcing my hands to unclench,
forcing the terrified scream trapped in my ribcage down into the deepest,
darkest cellar of my soul.
“They’re leaving soon,
sweetheart,”
I lied,
turning away from the television screen so my son couldn’t see the terror bleeding through my eyes.
“Mr.
Brooks is just finishing some family paperwork.”
“Nathan said we get to swim in the other pool tomorrow,”
Lily chirped from the floor,
completely oblivious to the venom that had almost stolen her breath fifteen minutes earlier,
her small fingers happily dressing a porcelain doll Clara had brought from the nursery storage.
“He said the orange fish in the garden like strawberry muffin crumbs.”
Before I could answer,
the heavy electronic deadbolt of the master suite hissed with pressurized air,
and the solid steel blast door swung open on oiled hinges.
Nathan stepped into the room.
His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the throat,
his sleeves were rolled tightly past his thick forearms,
and the dark shadow of ruthless authority still hung over his broad shoulders like a storm cloud.
Behind him,
Marco remained stationed in the outer hallway,
an automatic rifle held in a low-ready position across his chest as the heavy door clicked shut once more.
The moment Nathan’s eyes locked onto mine,
the icy detachment on his rugged face cracked,
replaced by a raw,
penetrating focus that seemed to strip away every defense I had left.
“Clara,”
Nathan said,
his voice low and gentle as he nodded toward the adjoining playroom.
“Take Noah and Lily inside to pick out a cartoon on the cinema screen,
please.
Their mother and I need to speak in private.”
“Come along,
little ones,”
Clara whispered softly,
ushering Noah and Lily through the arched oak door with a warm smile that masked the terror of the morning.
Noah hesitated for half a second,
his hazel eyes searching Nathan’s face with that strange,
haunting maturity that poverty forces upon young children.
“Did you fix the bad lemonade,
Nathan?”
my seven-year-old asked quietly.
Nathan slowly crouched down,
bringing his towering frame down to Noah’s eye level,
his large hand resting firmly on the boy’s shoulder.
“The lemonade is gone,
Noah,
and nobody will ever bring anything into this house that isn’t safe for you and Lily again,”
Nathan promised,
his tone solemn and unyielding.
“You did an incredible job keeping your sister safe by the pool today,
and I am very proud of you.”
Noah’s chest puffed up just a fraction of an inch,
a tiny hint of color returning to his pale cheeks before he turned and followed Clara into the media room.
The instant the inner door clicked shut,
I crossed the room in four frantic steps,
stopping just inches from Nathan’s chest as the tears I had been fighting back finally spilled over my eyelashes.
“He’s alive,”
I whispered,
my fingers digging into the fabric of his rolled-up sleeves as if he were the only solid anchor in a world that was caving in beneath my feet.
“Garrett didn’t drown in the river,
Nathan.
He was never dead.”
Nathan’s hands came up,
resting on my waist,
warm and steady through the thin linen of my ivory wedding dress.
“I know,”
he murmured,
his thumbs brushing against my hips with a calming,
grounding pressure.
“My men intercepted the security feeds from the northern rail yard in South Tucson forty minutes ago.
Julian’s associates paid off a night clerk at the riverboat casino in Laughlin three months ago,
looking for leverage against you the second Victor’s spies spotted your name on the state assistance records in Yuma.”
“Why?”
I cried,
shaking my head in utter disbelief.
“Why would Victor and Julian care about a deadbeat gambler from a trailer park?”
“Because they were looking for a weapon to destroy my claim to the family charter,”
Nathan explained,
his dark eyes boring into mine with dangerous intensity.
“If you were still legally married to Garrett Parker,
our marriage license today would be invalid,
the Brooks trust would have defaulted to Julian at noon,
and my mother’s legitimate assets would have been seized by the board.
When Victor learned that Garrett’s death certificate was filed without a body ever being recovered,
he had Julian track Garrett to a flophouse in Las Vegas and paid him two hundred thousand dollars to come to Tucson.”
Nausea twisted in my gut,
sharp and bitter.
“And the poison?”
I asked,
my voice trembling with a mother’s murderous rage.
“Did Garrett know the cyanide was for his own children?”
Nathan’s jaw tightened,
the muscle along his cheek twitching as his grip on my waist grew firmer.
“The burner phone texts show Julian told him the children would be locked in the west cottage while you were eliminated,”
Nathan answered coldly.
“Garrett didn’t care who drank the lemonade,
Emily.
He only cared that Victor promised to wipe his gambling markers clean and put him on a flight to Costa Rica with a hundred thousand dollars in cash tonight.”
A ragged,
broken sound escaped my throat,
and I buried my face against Nathan’s shoulder,
shuddering as the scent of cedarwood,
gunpowder,
and clean linen wrapped around me.
For three years,
I had run from motel to motel,
working fifteen-hour diner shifts,
counting pennies on desolate desert highways,
all to shield my children from the monster who was supposed to protect them.
And now,
the very man who had terrorized our lives had returned to finish what he started,
funded by the wealthiest crime family in southern Arizona.
Nathan’s arms wrapped around my back,
pulling me flush against his chest,
his chin resting against the crown of my hair while his heart beat a steady,
powerful rhythm beneath my cheek.
“Listen to me,
Emily,”
he whispered against my ear,
his voice vibrating through my bones.
“Garrett Parker is not a ghost,
and he is not your master anymore.
He is a cowardly rat hiding in an abandoned warehouse two miles south of the freight depot,
and before the sun sets over these mountains,
I am going to make sure he pays for every tear you and those children have ever shed.”
I pulled back slightly,
looking up into his dark,
uncompromising gaze,
my fear suddenly overtaken by an icy,
primal clarity.
“Don’t just send your men,
Nathan,”
I said,
my voice dropping to a harsh,
May you like
deadly whisper that shocked even myself.
“Take me with you.”
