Catching Sin, page 29
I swallow hard and nod. He looks so similar to his deceased cousin that I don’t mistake him for a minute.
“The man who carried out that order was detained as part of a high-stakes gambling cheat at The Turner Grand today. I’m sure Mister Turner can direct you further on that.”
The man in the suit with an FBI badge around his neck reaches out his hand to me. “Thank you.”
We shake hands. “You as well.”
“He killed the kid in the corner,” Jake explains, now on the ground beside Maddox’s body. “His name is Morgan Fair. Isabel and I saw him do it. He also threatened my life, the life of my wife, as well as Maddox’s. We can testify to that if need be.”
“We’ll do ballistics and run the scene because we have to, but Luke is right. I think it’s pretty clear what happened in here today,” one of them says, her eyes scanning about the room. “Yep,” she drawls. “I think we’ll have this all cleared up within a few hours.” She smiles and winks at me like we share a dark secret. Maybe we do.
Jake turns to Luke, his brown eyes dark and angry. “You’re late.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But you didn’t give me much time. We got here as quickly as we could. From the looks of it, you all handled it even if it wasn’t how you wanted it to go.”
Jake shakes his head at Luke like he can’t figure it. “No one was supposed to die today other than Conti. Whether they deserved it or not.” Jake drops to his knees beside Maddox’s body. “Come on, man,” Jake coaxes, his hand lightly slapping Maddox’s cheek. “You gotta take a breath. I know it hurts, but your girl is freaking the fuck out and just—” Jake pauses, glances around the room at all the agents.
“Killed Anthony Conti for you,” Luke Walker finishes with an air of disbelief to his voice. “It’s fine. It won’t change our report on what happened here.”
I shake my head, my body trembling violently now that the last of the adrenaline has abandoned me. I just killed a man. Anthony Conti. My Anthony Conti. Shot him I have no idea how many times, but the agents are placing him in a bag like they’re not even going to do an investigation. I’ve seen enough crime dramas to know that they don’t typically do that so quickly. Just what the absolute fuck is going on here? Who the hell is Luke Walker? Clearly, he’s a hell of a lot more than an executive for Grant Technologies.
Luke finally releases me, and I stumble forward on newborn colt-like legs, my eyes glued to Maddox. I can hardly hold my weight up as I stare down at his body. He’s still on his stomach. There is still a ton of blood everywhere. His face is still ashen white.
But he’s breathing.
“Fuck,” he hisses quietly and a sob I didn’t know I was capable of emitting flies past my lips. I drop to my knees, my face in my hands as I start to lose it. Big, ugly, hiccupping, I can’t breathe crying.
“This hurts more than I thought it would.” I hear him exhale a loud coarse breath. “Isabel?”
I can’t respond. I’m too busy losing my mind because he was dead. He was dead! I felt his back and confirmed he wasn’t breathing. I stepped in his sticky, red blood. If he really is alive, I want to kill him all over again for putting me through this.
“You were dead!”
“Baby,” he puffs like it really does hurt him as he slowly rolls onto his back. His beautiful blue eyes blink open slowly and he scans the scene around him before settling on me. Screw the scene. There are people everywhere doing whatever it is they do. But Jake is still on his knees, directly beside Maddox, and I can’t move. I can’t move.
“You son of a bitch. I hate you!” I seethe, swatting the air when the stupid ass reaches for me. “How could you do this to me? How could you not tell me? How could you let me believe it was real?”
“Come here.”
I shake my head, but my resolve is faltering. Part of me wants to go to him. To have him hold me, feel his beating heart. He’s alive. As in, not dead. “He shot you. I saw him shoot you. I stepped in your blood. You weren’t breathing.”
“I’m sorry,” he hums, his voice strained. “He did shoot me. That’s not how he typically does things. He was supposed to order his goon to do it and then we were going to kill Conti. That didn’t happen the way it was supposed to. Nothing did. Regardless, I took precautions way before we got here when I changed in my office. I’m wearing a jacket made from Kevlar and these are fake blood packets. But it wasn’t supposed to go down like this. You weren’t supposed to be here.” He reaches for me again, resting his hand on my knee. “I am so sorry, Isabel. So very sorry.”
I shake my head some more, my tears undeterred. “I thought you were dead. I believed you were dead. I shot him. I killed him because he killed you.”
“Isabel.” His voice is gravel dipped in acid. “There is so much you don’t know.”
“No,” I yell, shoving his hand from my body. I don’t want him to touch me. “There is so much you don’t know. You stupid bastard. Imagine what that felt like for me. Imagine if the roles had been reversed.” He blinks, his expression anguished, cloaked in regret. His eyes glass over, and I don’t care, because he may think he has a clue, but he doesn’t. That was the worst moment of my life—and that’s saying a whole lot.
“I know exactly what that feels like.” His hand finds mine. I let him hold it and he squeezes me. “To believe the person you love is dead. I know. And it’s not something I ever wanted you to experience. Christ,” he blows out. “Izzy, baby.” He squeezes my hand again. A tear glides down his cheek as he stares into my eyes. “I love you and I’m so fucking sorry. Forever, I’ll be sorry for that.”
“I killed a man. He’s dead and I trusted you.”
“Isabel—”
“No! I trusted you. And you just shattered that. You let me down. I’m a murderer. I’m no better than he was.”
It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.
But it did and now I have to live with that. “I never want to see you again.”
I stand up slowly and drag my focus away from Maddox, who is suddenly rendered silent. Good. I can’t handle his stupid words. I turn around and watch as they zip up Anthony Conti. It’s the last I’ll ever see of him, so I watch until he’s completely covered. I’m hit with the worst, most painful pang of guilt. Justin. I just killed Justin’s father. Conti was evil and brutal and dark, and yes, he did deserve to die. I don’t regret that he’s dead. I regret that I pulled the trigger. Now I have to go and tell my brother that I killed his father.
Thirty-Two
ISABEL
* * *
I walked out of that warehouse alone. Maddox was sitting up by that point, wiping at his face and body. He continued to beg me with his eyes, but I couldn’t stand the sight of him.
Maybe if I hadn’t just learned how badly I had already been duped by Conti I would have felt differently about what Maddox did. Maybe I would have had a stronger appreciation for all he went through and tried to do. I get Jake Turner’s role in this. It’s his company. His wife. And to some extent, I get Maddox’s role, too. But god, I’m so tired of people lying to me. Of people hiding the truth. Jake followed me out, but I told him what I told Maddox.
I never want to see either of them again.
I went home and waited patiently for the police or the FBI to knock on my door.
To come and arrest me.
They never did, and I didn’t have the stomach to go online and look up whatever was being reported. Not having a television with cable occasionally has its benefits.
I land at Bradley Airport just outside of Hartford, Connecticut on a bright sunny day not even twenty-four hours after I shot a man. The hospital Justin had surgery at is about forty minutes from the airport. I rent a shitty little car—the cheapest one they have—and then somehow find my way there without causing a huge accident. I don’t drive. I mean, I have driven. My mother had a car and I used to run errands using it, long before I even got my license. But I haven’t driven in a very long time and to say it scares the crap out of me is an understatement.
Yet, I’m grateful for the focus driving requires.
Last night, being home alone with my thoughts was brutal. Maddox didn’t come to me. I was relieved for the most part, but still, there was that small piece of me that waited. That hoped. That thought if he really loved me, he’d come and fight for me. He didn’t. So, this morning, I got up, packed up every stitch of clothing I own, got in a cab and went to the airport with no real intention of returning. I mean, what is there for me in that town now? Nothing. I no longer have a mob boss holding me hostage. I have no job. No boyfriend.
I’m free.
It’s as liberating as it is debilitating, because what the hell am I going to do now?
Checking in at the main desk, I’m given a visitor’s sticker and directed where to go. Justin spent the night here, but when I spoke to the doctor prior to my connecting flight, he informed me they’d wait for me, but they were planning on discharging him today. Justin can go back to his school, to his dorm, but he just had surgery. The doctor assured me Justin was already on the mend and would do fine back in his dorm. “Teenagers are resilient and heal quickly,” he had said.
And when I enter Justin’s hospital room, I see he is correct. Justin is walking around his room, his cell phone to his ear. His wrist isn’t in a cast the way I thought it would be. It’s in a splint of sorts. He’s also not in one of those hospital gowns. My brother is wearing gray track pants that say Hollister Prep Lacrosse and a matching t-shirt. His light brown hair is all over the place, and wow, my baby brother got tall. And handsome. I smile at that, noticing for the first time that he’s turning into a man.
Justin catches me hovering in the doorway to his hospital room and a smile erupts across his face. I see nothing of Anthony Conti in him, and that alone has me crossing the room and wrapping my arms around his neck despite the phone still pressed to his ear. “I gotta go, man. My sister just got here. Yeah. Later.”
He tosses his phone on the hospital bed and hugs me back with equal ardor. “What the hell happened?” he finally asks, stepping back and cupping my face with his uninjured hand. I have a bruise on my temple from where Morgan hit me. Justin scans toward the door and when he feels comfortable enough that we’re alone, he follows that up with, “It’s been all over the news and since there isn’t much else on the televisions here, I’ve been watching.”
I puff out a breath and step back, my eyes growing watery before I can stop them. “I’m so sorry.” I drop to the edge of his bed and he follows me, standing before me expectantly.
“Your boss killed him?”
“What?” My head whips up to his. Justin has pretty green eyes. Something I’ve always wished I shared with him even if they match our mother’s. “What the hell do you mean?” I shake my head. “No.” I swallow and take a breath to steady my racing heartbeat. “I killed him.”
He hisses out a low whistle, glancing once more toward the door. “No. You didn’t.” His eyes meet mine and the meaning behind his words is unmistakable. “NBC and CNN just informed me that a Maddox Sinclair of Turner Hotels killed Anthony Conti in self-defense after Conti killed an intern and shot him.”
“Morgan Fair,” I supply because his death, his part in all of this, has been difficult to swallow.
“Right. He’s the intern.” He bobs his head.
“Justin . . .” I trail off, unsure how to start. So, I chicken out with, “Are you okay?” I motion toward his wrist. “Why are you standing. You just had surgery.”
“On my wrist, Is. Not my feet. I’m fine. My wrist hurts, but they give me stuff for it and I’m all good. My season is over, which sucks, but I’ll be back for junior year. You’re not getting around talking about this.”
“Stupid little brothers,” I grumble, and he laughs. Falling back on his bed, I bring my arms up to rest above my head. I stare up at the drop ceiling, noting the various stains and trying not to think about what those could possibly be from in a hospital.
“He was your father.” I’m greeted with silence. Not even an exaggerated intake of breath or shift of movement. No, this is the type of silence that acts like a pause. Like he’s waiting for me to follow that up. I chance a peek at him and he’s staring down at me.
“Did he tell you that?”
I nod.
“And you didn’t know before? Never figured it out?”
I shake my head against the white linen of the uncomfortably firm hospital bed. He half-grins, but there is no humor in that smile. It’s pained and angry.
“I did. Know, I mean.”
“You did?” I sit back up.
“Yeah. Mom told me shortly before she died. I saw him tailing us. Tailing you, and I told her about it. I was afraid to worry you. We had no shortage of creeps in our neighborhood or hanging around our place, but this guy was different. She told me he was my father and once Mom died and he held on to you like a prized doll, I kept my mouth shut.”
“So, you just never told me?”
His gaze shifts as does his posture. “I . . . He was an evil man. Even at twelve I knew that. I was embarrassed that he was my father and I knew how you felt about him. How much you hated him and the things he made you do. The things he did to you that you never told me about. I was afraid you’d think less of me if you knew.”
Shit. Now I’m crying. I stand up and snake my arms around him once more, burying my face in his chest.
“When did you get so big?” I muse, a half-laugh gurgling around my tears.
He squeezes me back and I think this might just be one of the most perfect moments ever.
“I could never ever think less of you. Ever. I’ve never been anything but proud of you, Justin.”
“Good. Because I feel the same way about you. I know all that you’ve been through. All that you’ve sacrificed for me. One day, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“I did all that because I didn’t have much of a choice with Anthony Conti. None of that stuff was because of you. And everything I did because of you, I don’t regret, and I don’t need you to make it up to me. I’d do it all again a million times over.”
“He’s not yours. Your father, that is. In case you were wondering.”
I step back and wipe at my face. “I know he’s not. The man had plans for me that did not mesh with a father-daughter relationship.” I scrunch up my nose. It’s still beyond my comprehension that he wanted to marry me. Maddox put it correctly when he referred to me as his obsession. That’s what it was. An odd, sick obsession forged when I was only a teenager. I guess the one thing I can be grateful about is that the man had one limit, and child molestation was clearly it. I shudder to think of the alternative.
“I’m glad he’s gone.” His whispered confession eases some of the tension from my shoulders. Loosens the knot in my stomach.
“Me, too,” I admit.
“What are you going to do now?”
Justin sits on the edge of his bed, taking me with him. Tossing his arm over my shoulder, he pulls my head to his. We sit like that for a moment. Me thinking. Him waiting.
“I want to go to college. I think I want to be a teacher.”
“Then go to college. Become a teacher.”
“I’m in love with my boss. The one taking the fall for me.” That’s what Maddox is doing, I realize. Taking the fall. He didn’t have to say he was the one who killed Anthony Conti. Those agents in that room under Luke Walker’s command didn’t seem to care about how it went down, just that it was over, and that Conti was dead. But the public was going to find out. A story like that couldn’t stay hidden long. Especially with Morgan’s death. Maddox stepped up so I wouldn’t have to. So it wouldn’t be me in the public eye, having questions thrown at me.
“Does that mean you’re going back to Vegas?”
I let out a breathy laugh. “I told him I never wanted to see him again.”
“Why?”
“Things got pretty intense in that room, and I thought Maddox—that’s his name—was dead. I thought Conti had killed him. It broke me,” I concede. “I couldn’t stand the thought of him being dead, and I shot Conti because of it. I’m not sure I would have otherwise. I didn’t want to marry him. I didn’t want to be part of his sick world and depraved plan. But killing him wasn’t exactly what I had in mind as part of my exit strategy.”
“And you resent this guy Maddox for that?”
“Yes. I did, I mean. I don’t know how I feel about any of it anymore, in truth. But he didn’t fight for me, either. He let me go.”
“Or maybe he’s giving you time to cool down.” Justin meets my eyes, a hint of a smile curling up the edge of his lips. “You’ve got a temper, Is.”
I bristle at that, even though I know he’s right.
“Don’t give me that look. I know you know it’s true. You’re quick to burn and slow to cool sometimes. Maybe he knows that about you. Maybe he’s just waiting it out.”
“Aren’t I worth getting burned for?”
He chuckles. “Yes. But there is a difference between getting burned and being incinerated.”
Touché.
“Regardless, I think I’ll stay for a little. Just to make sure you’re back on the mend. I’m sure March in Connecticut is lovely. Cold as fuck, but lovely.”
“March is actually one of the shittiest months here,” he laughs the words. “But I’d still like you to stay. Even if it’s just for a little.”
Thirty-Three
MADDOX
* * *
Jake and I sat in the living room of Morgan Fair Senior’s house for over an hour. We explained how his son died. Except, about ninety-five percent of what we told him was a lie. He didn’t need to know the truth. He didn’t need to know what his son was really up to all the months he had been working for Turner Hotels. That his son repeatedly went behind his back and plotted with a known head of an organized crime ring.
