In the space of a heartbeat, Sean’s years of training and combat experience took over. He inhaled deeply as the world pulled into sharp focus, his brain, his body registering every detail as though the world was moving in slow motion. He could hear his own heartbeat, see the faint tremor in Krista’s hand as she stared the thug down with an unwavering gaze. He wanted to reach out and grab her hand, tell her he’d gotten himself out of worse clusterfucks than this, reassure her that he’d keep her safe.
He remained silent, motionless, his muscles coiled as he waited, ready to spring into action at the first opportunity.
“I think we do it anyway,” said the smaller thug, who gave a smug laugh and reached down to give his groin a squeeze.
The big guy shot his cohort a nasty smile, and in that nanosecond of distraction Sean launched. He dove at Krista, knocking her to the side out of the beam of light, and rolled after her. The big guy yelled and the spray of the semiautomatic kicked up puffs of dirt on the ground next to him.
A hot sting erupted in his calf. Sean ignored it and shoved Krista in the direction of the car. He ducked and rolled as another bullet whined past his year. He turned, lashed out with his booted foot, and caught the smaller thug in the chest and kicked his wrist hard enough to snap his forearm and send the gun flying.
The smaller thug lay gasping and Sean dove after his gun, trying to use the smaller guy for cover as more gunfire peppered the air. He just managed to hook his finger on it when a booted foot caught him in the ribs.
“Don’t even think of it, asshole.” Sean grunted in pain as the boot pressed into his hand, grinding the bones together as the guy reached down to retrieve the gun and then tucked it into his waistband. He pointed the guns at Sean. “On your knees. Hands where I can see them.”
Sean obeyed, half blinded by the beam of the flashlight, and prayed he’d hear the sound of the squad car starting up as Krista made her escape. Come on, what was wrong with her? He was most likely a goner, but she could get herself out of here.
The night was silent except for the smaller thug’s groan of pain as he breathed around cracked ribs, and the elevated breathing of the bearlike thug as he closed in for the kill.
“Hard to make it look like a murder-suicide if you hit me with that,” Sean said.
“Don’t worry, asshole. We always have a plan B. And a C and a D if that doesn’t pan out.”
Suddenly Sean saw something, a shadow of movement behind the guy, but in the glare of the flashlight it could have been a trick of the light. Sean gave away nothing. Silently and quicker than he would have imagined, a hand came up and hit the thug with something on his neck. His body jerked and convulsed.
Sean rolled to the side as the thug squeezed the trigger convulsively, firing wildly into the air until he fell backward to twitch on the ground like a dying fish.
Taser, Sean realized as he reached down to take the semi. He heard a yelp as Krista hit the smaller thug with seventy-five thousand volts and stifled a laugh at the way she said breathlessly, “You like that? Do you?”
Sean searched both men for ID and came up cold, but he took the cell phone clipped to the big guy’s belt. He would have loved to wait for them to come to and ask more questions, but the way the night was going he wouldn’t be surprised if another wave of assholes showed up to make sure the job was done. Right now they needed to clear out and regroup.
“Come on,” Sean said, and he grabbed Krista by the arm. “Let’s go.” He pulled her to the car, pausing to pick up the second thug’s gun and the deputy’s sidearm.
“Wait,” Krista said, tugging at his grips. “They just killed the cop and tried to kill us. We need to report this and wait for the police.”
Sean yanked her to the squad car, opened the door, and half threw her inside. “Are you fucking insane? That was a cop who just tried to kill us. A cop who just set us up.”
“But there has to be someone we can call,” Krista sputtered as Sean walked around to the driver’s side. “We can’t just leave the scene like this.”
Sean slid into the seat of the cop car and gave a mental thanks to the universe for making Deputy Armstrong negligent enough to leave the keys in the ignition. He started up the engine and peeled out over Krista’s protests, and it was only when they were on the highway that he spoke.
“You need to get it into your head. Whatever you did, whomever you set off, they have connections to the system, to the police, to the people you think are supposed to help us. As of this moment, all bets are off.”
Krista sat numbly in the passenger seat of the squad car as Sean’s words and the reality of the night sank in. He was right. A cop had tried to kill them. An unassuming, small-town deputy whom she’d trusted on sight, and he’d tried to lead them to their death.
A wave of nausea rolled over her as she remembered the blood pouring from his chest, the wet sound of his breathing before they shot him in the head. “Pull over,” she said tightly.
“We shouldn’t stop—”
“Pull over!” she shouted, barely waiting for the car to roll to a stop before she staggered out, her stomach heaving up the few bites of the meal and the beer she’d consumed—God, had it been only a couple hours ago? It felt like a lifetime.
Sean rubbed her back with a surprisingly gentle stroke. Krista closed her eyes and tried to spit the vile taste from her mouth. The nausea faded, leaving the sting of humiliation in its wake.
“Sorry,” Krista said. “I’m not usually this squeamish. Not like I’ve never seen a dead guy before.”
“It’s a different deal when you actually see them die,” Sean said quietly, his hand maintaining that firm, even pressure as it stroked up and down her spine. “Not to mention when that gun gets pointed at you.”
Krista nodded and climbed back into the car. She felt marginally better, but still unable to focus on the tangle of questions whipping around her brain.
Suddenly the radio squawked to life. “Attention all units. We have just received word of an officer down. Deputy Armstrong has been shot and killed off Forest Service Road 14. Armstrong picked up Sean Flynn and Krista Slater after an auto accident. We believe Flynn seized Armstrong’s gun and has stolen his squad car. It’s unclear whether Slater is an accomplice or a hostage, but at this time Sean Flynn should be considered armed and dangerous. Approach with caution and use lethal force if necessary.”
“That didn’t take long for the guys to call in their story,” Sean muttered as he reached out and switched the radio off. Krista’s stomach rolled and she was afraid she might be sick again. What the hell had she gotten them into? “I’m sorry,” she said for what felt like the thousandth time since she’d visited him in prison all those months ago. “I can clear this up,” she said without conviction. “Just drop me in town and I’ll tell them it’s a mistake.”
“If I really believed for a second that that would work, I’d do it,” Sean snapped. “But even I’m not enough of an asshole to throw you to the wolves to save my own ass.” Krista couldn’t tell if the anger in his voice was aimed at her or himself. Either way, the relief that he wasn’t going to dump her on the side of the road to fend for herself was only barely edged out by the guilt over having dragged him into this mess in the first place.
“I don’t suppose you knew either of those guys,” Sean said as he pulled back onto the highway.
She shook her head. “I didn’t get a good look, but I don’t think so. You?”
“No.” Sean was quiet a few seconds. “You notice the smaller guy had an accent?”
She hadn’t. In the moment, she’d been too focused on the gun pointed at her face. But now that Sean mentioned it, in the few words the thug had said, there had been the distinct pronunciation of an Eastern European accent.
Could he work with Karev? Oh, God, what if none of this had anything to do with what she’d been digging up about Nate and had everything do to with that warning Karev had delivered? The warning she’d dismissed as empty posturing.
There was no good reason for Karev to come after her, but since when did the Russian mafia need a good reason to kill someone? If they thought she posed any risk at all, that would be enough of an excuse to take her out.
But all of this on the heels of Jimmy’s supposed suicide and her investigation into Nate’s past being exposed—it was too much of a coincidence. It had to be related.
“Did you ever hear anything about Nate being involved with the Russians?” she asked, not really expecting Sean to answer.
“Not that I know of, but then again I haven’t exactly kept in close correspondence in the past few years. Hell, he was dealing in high-end hookers. Anything’s possible.”
Krista pondered it for a moment. Nate was involved in prostitution and the Russians had their hands all over human trafficking in the Pacific Northwest. She grabbed her purse and fumbled around until she found her phone.
Sean reached out and snatched the phone from her hand before she could dial.
“What are you doing?” she asked, as he turned the phone off.
“What kind of a dumbass move is that?” Sean retorted.
“I need to call Mark and tell him there’s been a mistake about what happened with the deputy and then I want to call the investigator I’m working with to see if he can find any connection between Nate’s business and the Russians. Why are you looking at me like I’m an idiot?”
“Are you insane? They can track you through your phone. You of all people should know that. You have to have used it as evidence in a case.”
Krista closed her eyes and shook her head, calling herself a hundred kinds of idiot. Of course he was right. The combined trauma of the last hour and a half had mucked up her thinking so badly she hadn’t even considered how easy it would be for someone to get a bead on them through the cell phone’s GPS technology.
And whoever was after them had a long reach, far enough to get into the local sheriff’s department within half an hour of their crash. More than long enough to triangulate the signal and track their progress away from the murder scene.
“Give me my phone.”
Sean handed it back with a warning look. She rolled the window down a few more inches and tossed the phone outside. “Better?”
“Much.”
Krista’s stomach clenched as they came around a corner, half expecting the black SUV to come roaring out at any moment. Even if no one was tracking them through GPS, there were only two directions they would have been able to take the car. Now that the deputy’s body had been discovered, it was a good bet they would run into either the cops or the thugs before they reached town.
As though reading her thoughts, Sean pulled the car over to the side of the highway. He picked up the deputy’s handgun. “You know how to use one of these?”
Krista nodded. “I took a gun safety course when I joined the prosecuting attorney’s office.”
Sean checked the safety and handed over the gun, along with another clip he’d taken off the deputy. Krista took the gun and gingerly tucked it into her waistband, her skin recoiling at the cold bite of metal. She stuffed the extra clip into her pocket.
She stuffed her purse into her overnight bag as Sean took up the extra guns and the flashlight and got out of the car. Krista followed silently, not bothering to ask what his plan was.
His quiet, take-charge attitude went a long way toward soothing her frayed nerves. It was something she had sensed in him, even when she’d faced him across a courtroom. At the time, she’d read it as arrogance. Now she saw it for what it was: an innate confidence that made him a born leader. She could easily imagine him leading his fellow soldiers into the fray, fighting alongside them, and watching over them, leaving no one behind.
Just as he refused to leave her behind even though he had every right to. Her own personal knight in shining armor.
She gave herself a mental slap. God, she must have hit her head harder than she’d realized if she could imagine Sean Flynn as the hero of her private fairy tale.
Still, despite Sean’s anger and resentment toward her, Krista instinctively trusted him to keep her safe. Romantic delusions aside, tonight that made him a hero.
He kept the light off as he started down the shoulder of the road. His quick pace had Krista breathing hard. The half-moon cast a silvery glow through the trees, but not quite enough to illuminate the rocks and cracks before Krista stumbled over them.
She sucked in a sharp breath as she nailed her toe on a rock for the third time.
“There’s a trailhead into the national forest just up ahead,” Sean said, his arm a dark shadow as he pointed. “Once we’re on the trail we’ll slow down a little bit. Right now I want to get off the road.”
Even so, he slowed the pace a degree, enough that she didn’t feel like she was rushing headlong just to keep up. Every few steps he looked over his shoulder to check on her and every time she gave him a feeble thumbs-up.
They walked about a hundred more yards, and Sean illuminated a brown-and-gold forest service sign a few feet back from the road that marked the trailhead. “This should dump us out about two miles outside of Chelan,” Sean said.
When Sean felt they were safely out of sight he finally turned on the flashlight. Krista didn’t let herself fall more than a few feet behind. After about fifteen minutes of steady walking, Sean’s voice broke the darkness. “How long has Benson known you’ve been nosing around Nate’s past?”
Krista had to think a minute, redirect some of the energy she was using to keep forward momentum back to her brain. “A couple days.”
“Did you tell him you were coming to talk to me?”
“I get where you’re going,” she said, as everything in her rejected the notion. “Mark hired me out of law school. He’s like a second father to me. There’s no way he’s involved in this.”
“It’s a pretty damn big coincidence. He finds out, and the next thing you know I’m being set up by Deputy Numb Nuts and two thugs to take the fall for a murder-suicide. Benson would have access, contacts throughout the state…”
Krista shook her head even though Sean couldn’t see her. “Benson found out at the same time as just about everyone else in the Seattle PD when I had to explain how I just happened to stumble onto the scene of Jimmy Caparulo’s supposed suicide. People might not know the specifics, but it’s no secret I had a meeting set up with Jimmy related to an investigation. Anyone familiar with the case could put two and two together.”
Sean grunted as he shifted her bag from one arm to the other. “Excellent. So now we can add the entire Seattle PD to our suspect list.”
Krista bristled. “Even if that were the case—and believe me, it’s not—I think we can safely trust Cole, don’t you?” Detective Cole Williams, at the urging of Sean’s sister, Megan, had been instrumental in helping catch Nate Brewster, aka the Seattle Slasher, and proving Sean had been framed for the murder of Evangeline Gordon. Not to mention, Detective Williams was now engaged to Megan.
Sean stopped so abruptly Krista walked straight into his back, so big and broad it was like bouncing off a tree. “No fucking way. No way are we mixing them up in this. Megan’s been through enough already because of me. You dragged me into this shit storm, fine. I have nothing to lose. But stay the fuck away from them.”
Krista let the matter go as he resumed his march up the trail. But if she knew Cole—and Megan for that matter—once he got wind of what happened, he would be involved up to his ears whether Sean liked it or not.
Two hours later they were following the road into the outskirts of Chelan. “How are you holding up?” Sean asked as he scanned the road for any signs of traffic.
Besides the blisters rubbed into both heels, a stubbed toe she was afraid might be broken, and an ache in the arch of her foot that told her that her running shoes were way past their prime? “Fine,” she replied. “Now what?” she asked, leaning forward slightly to stretch out her back.
“How much cash do you have on you?”
Krista had to think for a minute if she had any. She was so used to paying for everything with a card she rarely carried actual bills. Then she remembered she’d gotten cash to pay the lady who cleaned her house every other week. “I think I have about forty dollars.”
Sean pulled out a money clip and thumbed through a few bills. “Seventy-two dollars. First thing we do is hit an ATM and get as much cash as we can.” He started walking again.
“But they’ll be able to track our cards.”
Sean didn’t pause. “We’ll be gone soon enough.”
At this hour, downtown was shut up for the night and they didn’t encounter anyone. They picked their way along the side roads, careful to stay out of the glow of the streetlights. Even though it was unlikely their pursuers would have tracked them here, with the news reports painting Sean as a cop killer, they couldn’t be too careful.
Fortunately, Chelan was small enough and low-tech enough. As far as Krista could tell, they hadn’t invested in the traffic cameras and exterior security cameras that had become so common in Seattle.
There was no avoiding the camera installed at the ATM, however, or the cameras installed in the parking lot next to the bank. Sean made sure the semiautomatic was tucked under his jacket, out of view. After they maxed out their ATM withdrawals and credit card cash advances, Sean grabbed her hand and walked quickly back toward Main Street and then turned down a side street and headed back toward the main highway.
After a few minutes they spotted the glow of lights from a roadhouse bar that was still rocking hard after midnight. The muffled wail of country and western music came from inside, and the parking area was crowded with pickup trucks and a handful of Harleys parked near the front.
Sean walked around the gravel lot, out of the glow of the single streetlight in the center of the parking area. He wove in between the rows of trucks, finally stopping at a dark-colored Ford that, as far as Krista could tell in the dark, was about eight years old. “That was a pretty cool thing you did with your car earlier,” he said as pulled the semiautomatic out from under his jacket.
The sight of the gun in his hand sent a shock through her tired body and brain. “Don’t tell me you’re going to shoot me over it.”
His surprised chuckle was warm and rich in the cold night air. “No,” he said. Krista heard the rustle of fabric and realized he was taking off his jacket. “But I’m thinking your skills might come in handy.”
She couldn’t see him in the dark, but there was no mistaking the sound of glass crunching as he slammed the jacket-wrapped butt of the gun against a window. Before Krista could so much as gasp, he’d reached in and popped the lock on the driver’s side door and slid in.
“No way,” Krista said. “I’m not hot-wiring this car for you.”
“It’ll probably take me twice as long, and we don’t have that kind of time,” Sean said, a familiar edge creeping into his voice.
Krista took a step back. “I’m a prosecutor. I can’t commit a felony—”
“Right now you’re a fugitive,” Sean said. “And if we’re caught, we’re as good as dead. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have plans to die tonight. And since you brought this shit to my door, I figure you owe me one.”
Krista got into the car. “Slide over.” Sean stood in the open doorway and held the light as she went to work. Cold sweat beaded on her face as she popped the covers surrounding the truck’s ignition tumbler. It took only a little over a minute, and with every move, Krista was aware that she was crossing a line.
No matter that Sean was right. They couldn’t trust anyone, not even the police, and they had no other reasonable way to stay out of reach of the men who had tried to kill them. She’d heard excuses like that for years in the cases she prosecuted. Heard them and dismissed them out of hand, convinced that there was always another choice that didn’t involve breaking the law.
After a lifetime of following the rules, and over a decade of working within the system to take down the bad guys, with this one simple act she was about to join their ranks. If she did this, would she be that much different from the so-called lowlifes she’d worked to put away?
The truck’s engine roared to life, and Krista slid over to make room for Sean and stared at her hands.
Sean pulled out of the back of the parking lot, avoiding the front of the bar. “Nice work.”
Krista looked over, and in the glow of the moonlight she could see a flash of white teeth and the admiration on his face as he looked at her.
She didn’t want to think about what it meant about her that the rush of warmth at his smile went a long way in drowning out her ethical crisis.
He was silent a few minutes as he took the highway just out of town and then turned the truck onto a forest road that forked to the right. “I know this probably goes against everything you believe in, but sometimes you have to break the rules to do the right thing.”
Krista looked at the hard line of his jaw, the shift of muscles in his arm, the flex of his big hands on the steering wheel, and she wondered how many rules he’d have her breaking before this was over.
“Relax, baby, you so tense you not letting me work.”
David Maxwell stifled the urge to smack the girl across the face with her condescending smile and playfully chastising finger. He grunted and shoved her face back into his lap and closed his eyes.
But nothing, not even the half a Viagra he’d knocked back with his scotch, could get his cock to go stiffer than half-mast.
Olga…Oksana…whatever-the-fuck-her-name was right. He was too tense, his gut a writhing knot of anxiety ever since his nephew Nate’s death, ever since that goddamn crusader Krista Slater started shoving her nose in Nate’s past.
Ever since she’d disappeared. Talia.
Gone without a trace after escaping a brutal death at the hands of David’s own nephew. He hoped she was dead. If he ever found her, he’d make her wish she was.
But God, she’d been good. Gorgeous, smart. And completely at his mercy. Nothing like these dime-a-dozen sluts that came over by the truckload from the Eastern Bloc. The ones they got were top choice, cream of the crop, supermodel beautiful, and desperate enough to do whatever was necessary to protect themselves and their families back home.
But despite their beauty, with their empty gazes, vapid smiles, and broken English, they were indistinct, indistinguishable to the point he might as well have been jacking off into a handkerchief instead of getting a blow job.
No one could ever compare to Talia. She’d loved him at first, so much so she’d practically glowed with it. All starry-eyed idealism, thinking he was going to pull her up out of the ’hood like she was some modern-day My Fair Lady.
She’d soon learned how far that was from the truth. And then she’d learned to fear him, because she knew without him telling her what would happen to her and her sister if she ever tried to get away or told anyone about their relationship.
David sighed, a slight smile pulling at his face, his balls tingling at the memory. Love or fear: He still couldn’t decide what look he liked better on Talia Vega’s face.
He rolled his neck and was just getting into it when the phone on the table next to him rang. His stomach tightened as he picked up. “Tell me it’s done.”
The second’s-long hesitation was answer enough. David’s half a hard-on wilted into nothing before Richardson spoke. “They got away.”
David shoved the whore’s head out of his lap, knocking her onto her ass as he rose from the armchair. “How the fuck did they get away?” He hit the girl with a mean look and made a shooing motion with his arm. She gathered her dress and shoes and hustled from his private suite. He waited until the door clicked shut before speaking. “I didn’t expect anything from that goddamn Ruskie but I expect you to make sure these things run smoothly. I had everything set up with the cop. What the fuck went wrong?”
While a car crash would have been an ideal way to get both Slater and Flynn out of the way—a high mountain road, an unstable ex-con driving too fast, maybe trying to kill himself and take the bitch who put him away—David knew better than to bank on it working.
So he’d accounted for some contingencies, made a few phone calls, and called in a few favors to get it done. The deputy had been clear on his mission, eager to get the money to help himself out from being underwater on the shitty little house he’d overpaid on. All he had to do was take a bullet to the arm and tell everyone that Sean Flynn had stolen his gun—wounding him in the process—killed Krista, and then killed himself.
The cop would never see the money, of course, because Richardson knew not to leave any loose ends and David wasn’t about to trust anyone he hadn’t personally vetted to keep his mouth shut. According to Richardson, Deputy Armstrong had played right along, right up to the part where he took a bullet to the head.
But fucking Sean Flynn hadn’t cooperated and somehow managed to get away from one of the most highly trained men on David’s personal security detail. Richardson was a goddamn fucking former Green Beret who was supposed to make sure that shit went down smoothly and as discreetly as possible.
“I take full responsibility, sir,” Richardson said, his tone echoing back to his military training. David had to give him that—unlike most of the pussies running around today, when Richardson fucked up, he didn’t try to spout excuses. “In an effort to make the scene as authentic as possible, I neglected to cuff Flynn or Slater. Flynn got the drop on Gregor, and while I was subduing him, Slater retrieved Deputy Armstrong’s Taser from his belt. They then escaped in Armstrong’s squad car.”
David pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, feeling like the top of his head was going to blow off.
“We spoke to our contact here and they’re circulating the report that Flynn killed Armstrong and has taken Slater hostage. Law enforcement across the state is on it. Once they have them in custody we’ll be able to take care of it.”
“You better hope they pick them up soon.” Thank God for small favors. There were a lot of people as motivated as he was to ensure Slater and Flynn didn’t unwind the thread that connected him to Nate Brewster.
His phone beeped, signaling another call. He grimaced when he saw who it was. Another interested party who wanted to make sure Slater in particular was taken care of. “I have to take another call,” he told Richardson.
He disconnected the call with Richardson and clicked over.
“You told me your man can handle it.” The thickly accented voice made David’s lip curl. He could picture the big Russian, cigarette smoke coiling around his head, his light-brown hair slicked back from his high forehead. The slightly almond-shaped eyes with a flat, dead expression that reminded David of a snake.
“Yeah, well it sounds like your guy was the one who fell down on the job.”
“If you let them just shoot in the head, straightforward like, we wouldn’t have this problem. You do this crazy thing, like James Bond movie, too many chances to escape.”
David rolled his shoulders and grasped for patience. He’d explained the subtlety necessary in taking out Slater and Flynn. “I told you, now that word is out that she’s been investigating Nate more closely, if she and Flynn show up murdered, there are going to be a lot of questions.”
Karev made an exasperated sound. “And you have all this power to make sure no one asks these questions, nyet? You telling me maybe my business is not as secure as you say?”
“You walked away from a murder charge two days ago,” David replied. “Did you forget I’m the one who called the judge?” The Honorable Judge Terence Phillips was more than happy to throw out key evidence in exchange for having a video featuring him being serviced by a beautiful young Asian remain hidden.
“Good, so everything is clear for shipment next week? Is very important.”
“Yes,” David snapped. Damned if he was going to let this headache with Slater and Flynn interfere with business.
Karev rang off with his usual warning: “If anything goes wrong, I cut off your `khu i and feed it to a pig while your wife watch, da?”
David hung up without a reply. Karev’s threat might have been humorous if it hadn’t been dead serious. He ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing when he saw the amount that came off in his hand. He sank back into the chair, feeling tired and suddenly really fucking old.
Working with Karev was a huge risk. The guy was batshit crazy, snake mean, and loyal only to himself. But the last few years of financial turmoil, combined with his wife’s determination to buy herself a senate seat, had taken a serious toll. As dangerous as Karev was, the partnership had been immensely lucrative for both of them, and as long as that remained the case, he’d stay in bed with the Russian.
The Russians didn’t operate by any rules but their own. If things go south, you have way more to lose than they do, his nephew Nate had warned. They have no loyalty and no qualms about turning on you, disappearing, and letting you take the fall.
Ironic that Nate had been the voice of reason when he was the one to blame for their current turmoil. David went over to the desk and pulled a picture from the drawer. A brunette woman with big brown eyes smiled into the camera, cheek to cheek with a blond-haired, blue-eyed toddler as she cradled a dark-haired baby girl in her other arm.
David had lost most of his sentimentality eons ago, but his heart twisted as he thought of what had happened to the mother and children in the picture.
His sister Heather, lost to alcohol and drugs, murdered by a boyfriend who abused her and her children. His niece, Sarah, whom he’d only met once, died when she’d accidentally locked herself in the trunk of a car on a hot summer day, hiding from her mother’s boyfriend to avoid being raped.
And Nate, the sole survivor, forever twisted from seeing his mother killed and stabbing the boyfriend to death in self-defense.
He knew it wasn’t his fault—that his sister made her own bad choices, that leaving his name and his past behind was necessary for him to integrate into the upper echelons of wealth and power.
Still, he never got rid of the guilt over the fact that while he’d been making money hand over fist and marrying into one of Seattle’s wealthiest families, the money he’d sent Heather had run out and she was living in that shitty house in a desolate part of eastern Washington, drinking herself to death, dating that lowlife who ended up bringing them all down. So even though he couldn’t claim him publicly, David couldn’t turn his back on his orphaned nephew.
He’d discreetly supported him, made sure he had a place to live and money for clothes, schools, and anything else he wanted.
And when Nate’s bloodthirsty streak had reared its head, David had done everything he could to channel those urges and cover Nate’s ass the few times it had been necessary.
This is what he got for trying to do right by his nephew. Sweating bullets as he and his stepson Carl worked to cover the tracks that led from Nate to them. Doing whatever was necessary, including ordering a hit on a prosecuting attorney, in order to keep the dark underbelly of his business hidden, to maintain his hold over everyone who mattered to make sure his business—and Karev’s—continued without interference.