“I was concentrating on something else.” She wondered if Mia was getting old enough to see through her smile. She would at some point, wouldn’t she? Vivian was screaming inside: This isn’t fair! Not again! Not Rex!
“Oh.” With a shrug of her thin shoulders, Mia let it go. Nothing bothered her for long. “Watch me, okay? I’ll show you my new dance.”
Mia was taking ballet lessons and, much to Jake’s chagrin, she often made up her own routines and insisted on performing them, even in public.
Vivian schooled her features into a pleasant expression as Mia leaped and twirled. No music played, but that didn’t diminish Mia’s enthusiasm. She danced just to move and she did it whenever the mood struck her. Costumes were more important to her than music, but this morning she hadn’t bothered to change into the tutu she sometimes wore all day.
Vivian believed her daughter had real talent, but ballet was far from her thoughts right now. The terror that’d begun to advance on her when she heard about Pat’s murder raced up to smack her right in the face as the meaning of what she’d just read went through her mind.
Rex is missing…Rex is missing…Rex is missing…
Where? How? Was he dead?
No, that couldn’t be. She was still in love with him. Maybe. Or maybe she only wished for what could’ve been. Even if her feelings weren’t quite that strong—even if desperation, familiarity and the need for a safe harbor had brought them together in the first place—he’d been a good friend and a talented lover, relief from the loneliness that had plagued her both before and after their breakup.
“Do you like it, Mommy?” Mia sang out.
Vivian’s face ached with the effort of maintaining her smile. “Of course. It’s beautiful.”
Beaming at the compliment, Mia lengthened her performance by stringing other routines together, ones she’d been taught in class that Vivian easily recognized. “Aren’t you going to clap?”
Vivian dutifully brought her hands together.
When, at last exhausted, her daughter finished, Vivian clapped again. “Bravo!” she cheered, but trying to staunch her tears only caused the lump in her throat to swell.
Fortunately, Mia seemed satisfied. She ran off to change and brush her teeth, leaving Vivian alone to deal with Virgil’s news.
Propping her chin on her fist, she returned to the computer. What could’ve happened to Rex? Virgil had given her very little information.
Hey, I hate to tell you this, but Rex is missing. Two weeks ago, he mentioned going to Los Angeles to see a woman he met on the internet. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen. He took off on his motorcycle.
Vivian didn’t have to wonder how he got off work. From what she’d heard, he was still doing jobs here or there for Virgil but was no longer a partner in their bodyguard company. He’d talked Virgil into buying him out shortly after they moved to Buffalo and had been burning through the money ever since.
I probably wouldn’t be so worried except that every time I call his cell, it goes straight to voice mail. I haven’t been able to reach him since the day after he left. And I know he wasn’t planning on being gone this long. I have a job coming up—told him he could have it. Lord knows he needs the money.
Apparently he wasn’t still burning through the money. He’d already finished it. She’d figured it was just a matter of time.
I’ve reported his absence to the police. They’re doing what they can, but I doubt he’s a priority. They’re searching for him as Wesley Alderman; I couldn’t give away his true identity without adding more risk. I didn’t see how it would help, anyway, to divulge the past. He obviously made arrangements to be gone, so they feel he might merely be delayed. And they have other cases they consider more urgent.
So what did this mean? Now that he was broke, had he returned to The Crew, where he could get an endless supply of the OxyContin he craved?
He’d die before he’d give either of us up. I just don’t know if we can count on him staying off the pills. And that could change the situation. He hasn’t done well since you left. Anyway, I had to warn you.
He’d never done drugs when she was with him. But she’d known they were a big part of his past. Drugs were epidemic to the gang culture he’d embraced at one time. And now he was back at it.
I’ll let you know if anything changes. Keep your eyes open.
V.
Vivian’s gaze strayed from the screen to the phone on the desk at her elbow. They’d agreed not to communicate by telephone; doing so would establish a traceable link between them. She didn’t see The Crew as being sophisticated enough to find and follow that link, but they could’ve hired a private investigator or someone else to do the tracking. Harold “Horse” Pew and his foot soldiers had certainly found them before. That was why they’d split up, to be cautious. But she had to talk to her brother, even if it meant breaking the rules. She missed him so much, hadn’t seen him in two years.
With equal amounts of trepidation and excitement, she dialed the cell-phone number Virgil had given her to use in case of an emergency.
She had a blocked number. Probably hoping it was Rex, he answered on the first ring with a quick and eager hello.
The tears she’d been holding back sprang to her eyes at the sound of his voice. “It’s me,” she murmured.
“Laurel.” He used her real name, then cursed under his breath. “I was afraid you’d call.”
She understood why he might not be happy to hear from her, knew he was worried about the risk, but his response stung all the same. Emails couldn’t replace personal contact. He had his wife. She had no one. She’d been so happy in D.C. After fourteen years of waiting for Virgil to get out of prison, she’d had family she could both love and trust, only to have him once again ripped away from her. “Don’t…”
He seemed to understand that she couldn’t tolerate being chastised right now. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“That depends on your definition of okay. I was doing great until Pat Stueben was murdered yesterday morning.”
“Who’s Pat Stueben?” Obviously he’d expected her reaction to the news about Rex, not this.
“A friend.”
“I’m sorry.”
The concern in those words made her feel a bit better. “He was more of an acquaintance actually—the man who helped me find this house, my—my Realtor.” Tears streamed down her face; she hadn’t adequately mourned Pat. The possibility that she or one of her children might be next had kept her grief bottled up, along with her fear.