Dean looked at the framed photograph sitting at the corner of his desk, an unsuspecting and blissful family stared back. He wanted to grab it and yell at them, warn them of the impending danger. It was too late. With the death of his son, Dean Jr., came a darkness that he had never experienced before. Hate and fury filled his heart, turning him into the dark and sinister monster he was now. All he could think about was vengeance, wanting to punish anyone who dared to live a life free from hurt, especially Dr. Daniel Fallbrook.
This man and his faltering surgical skills had taken Dean Jr. from him, and retribution would be paid. Dean had worked out a plan, a devious, life-altering scheme. It took patience and manipulation, but it had worked out so well.
Fallbrook had taken his son, so Dean would take Tristan.
It was a joyful day when he had learned of Tristan Fallbrook’s interest in his daughter, Fiona. It took convincing, but in time she agreed to see the boy. Dean didn’t want him dead; that would be too easy. Instead, he wanted to take him from his charmed life. He wanted to rip him from his family and destroy every piece of his future. At the time, Dean had no idea that it would work so well.
Before he knew it, Tristan had fallen in love with Fiona. After that, it was easy to lure him into Dean’s world. It was the best result he could have hoped for. Everything had worked out perfectly—except for Fiona.
She resented her father for making her stay with Tristan. When she was younger, she didn’t really mind. Dean kept her well paid, a sort of bribe for her part in the scheme. When they relocated to California, she fell in love with another man. She begged her father, pleaded with him to let her break it off. But he would not agree.
Dean got what he wanted. He’d destroyed Tristan, but at the cost of losing his daughter. Fiona rarely spoke to her parents these days. She married a man her father never met and they lived in Northern California somewhere. His need for revenge had destroyed them. Sure, there were e-mails and photos, but it was not the family he’d dreamed of.
Now that Fallbrook had left the organization, he would have to be dealt with. Dean had kept him around for a while, waiting to see if he would be of use. His patience had worn thin and now the boy represented one more loose end that needed to be tied up.
When he received the photos of the girl from Mort, he almost didn’t believe his eyes. Tristan was with her. His unmistakable tattoos giving him away.
Dean drummed his fingers on the top of his desk and wondered how he’d never connected the two before now. When he’d been after Earl Delaune, they would have been children. Dr. Fallbrook hadn’t shown up on his radar until two years after the chief and his daughter fled. Another six months went by before Fiona came home talking of a boy named Tristan Fallbrook.
He’d never known that Fallbrook knew the Delaune girl, but once he learned that they were hiding out together, he dug into their past and was delighted with what he found. Now that he knew they were connected, he could use the girl to hurt Tristan. It was almost too easy. He grinned and bowed his head in amusement. The thought was so satisfying he almost screamed with joy. Of course he didn’t. He was a man of restraint.
A knock at the door broke the silence of the room.
“Enter,” Dean said.
“We just received word that Mort will be arriving in three hours with the girl. I’ve instructed him to take her to the South warehouse for holding.”
Dean nodded.
“Thank you, Barry.”
He waved his hand, dismissing the man, and sat back in his chair
20. Magnitude
The brightness of a celestial body.
After making the call to Tristan, Alex told Monica that he was heading to New Orleans. They had no idea if Josie left on her own or if she’d been taken. Either way, he had a gut feeling that Josie was still alive. Monica couldn’t stand by and do nothing. She decided to accompany him.
They flew out the next morning. They spent an entire day with Tristan working out plans from downright stupid to borderline suicidal. Alex watched Tristan, who bounced haphazardly between grieving for Josie and insisting on her survival. He resembled a tiny boat being thrown about in the middle of a raging sea. They did their best to comfort him. Bitsy and Daniel gave their son and the two strangers space in their home, offering anything they could to help.
It wasn’t until Tristan received a call from one of Moloney’s men that he was able to regain control of himself. Barry had called to let him know that Josie was still alive and being held at Moloney’s Tchoupitoulas warehouse. The trio were in the car and on their way before the phone call ended.
“How far is it?” Monica asked.
She sat on the edge of the backseat, her fingers gripping the seat in front of her. Tristan took a sharp turn quickly and she flew against the door.
“Twenty minutes,” he answered. “Put your seat belt on.”
Monica nodded and buckled up. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath when they flew through a red light. After they cleared the intersection, she exhaled and said a prayer.
“What’s the plan?” Alex asked. “I don’t have my piece, man. Couldn’t get through airport security, you know?”
Tristan’s fingers curled around the steering wheel as he eyed the upcoming intersection. He pressed harder on the gas and ignored the horns and screeching tires left behind.
“There’s a pistol under your seat.”
“¡Simón!”
Alex reached under the seat and pulled out the gun. He checked the clip and slid it back in.
“What about me?” Monica asked as they reached the Crescent City Connection.
The wide Mississippi River stretched beneath them as Tristan and Alex gave each other knowing glances.
“You’re staying in the car, mami. We can’t be worried about you and Jo,” Alex answered.
“What? That’s crap! I could help. I’m great at distractions.”
“No,” the two men answered in unison.
Monica crossed her arms and looked out the window as they entered New Orleans. It was a beautiful city and she wished that she’d come here under better circumstances.
“I’ve been to this warehouse before,” Tristan said. “There are two doors. One at each end of the building and a large loading dock on the street side. Our best bet will be to enter the farthest door since that one is blocked from street view.”
“Okay. Then what? How many men you think they got?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know. At least three. They’ll all be armed. I hope they’re still there.”
“What if they’re not?” Monica asked.
Tristan blew through another intersection, barely avoiding a moving van.
“Then we’ll be too late.”
The silence enveloped them and the interior of the car felt like it was shrinking. The outside world flew by in a blur of cars and buildings. Tristan’s muscles ached from the intensity. He needed to be there now.
They parked a block away on a residential street. Tristan placed his own gun in the waistband of his jeans and turned to Monica.
“Thank you,” he said. “For everything you did for her.”
Monica shook her head, freeing the tears she’d been holding back.
“And thank you,” Tristan said, turning to Alex. “You took care of her. No matter what happens, know that Josie cares about you both.”
“Stop that,” Monica cried. “This isn’t good-bye.”