Clay wasn’t sure it was the beans or the location, but he’d never had a coffee this rich before. They were finishing up with breakfast out on their private patio while looking out at the mountain range.
“Did you call valet to bring the car around?” Carlos asked without turning to look at him. Instead, he was transfixed by their surroundings. Clay didn’t mind. Santa Barbara was living up to its moniker of being the American Riviera.
“Yeah. I told them we’d be down in twenty minutes.”
“I can’t wait to take a tour of the Old Mission,” Carlos said. “I read it’s considered the Queen of Missions because it’s so beautiful.”
His love looked ready to take flight while he was going through the visitors’ guide for the area. Clay kept reminding himself Carlos never had accessed the world before. The thought of seeing a two-hundred-year-old mission was like hitting the tourist jackpot.
Through everything they’d seen and done, Carlos wore a look of wonder about him, and it was beginning to rub off onto Clay. Things he’d seen a thousand times over now shone like freshly polished silver. Carlos was breathing new life into Clay, making him question who the real tour guide was.
Through his love’s eyes, the world around him sprung to life, bringing him out of his own hibernation of sorts. He hadn’t realized that after his ex-fiancé had sucker-punched him in the heart that his life had turned monochrome. Nothing had been left to add to color until now.
“Yep, I know. But I think I’ll have a better appreciation of it with you by my side,” Clay admitted. “You about done with your coffee?”
With one quick gulp, Carlos emptied his cup and turned to face Clay. “Thank you.” His expression was full of emotion, and Clay couldn’t help but reach over and take him into a long hug.
“In such a short time, you’ve become the most important person in my life. I love you and want to spend all my time by your side.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.” It didn’t scare Clay to say that. Nothing had felt as real as what they had. Their kiss was sweet and over way too soon, as they all were. “Okay, let’s hit the streets and go visit a mission.”
The drive over took less than twenty minutes, and he was happily surprised to find ample free public parking. He noticed Mission Park located alongside the mission, full of trees and flowers, and a memorial rose garden. They’d have to take a walk through before they left.
“Excited?” Clay asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah.” Carlos smiled. “This getaway has been perfect. Thank you.”
“I’d take you to see the entire globe if that were possible, sweetheart.”
After another quick kiss, they got out of their car and headed over to the mission. Tour signs were leading them, but when they reached the front, they had to stop to take in the twin bell towers. The six pillar-like structures built into the stonework appeared almost pink in the sunlight, along with the trim and bell towers’ rooves.
“It’s even better than the pictures,” Carlos said as he snapped a few photos.
“It is awe-inspiring. I believe it had to be rebuilt a couple of times over the years due to earthquakes,” Clay mentioned as they stood among a growing crowd of tourists.
“I can’t wait to see inside.” Carlos grabbed Clay’s hand and took off toward the entrance. Clay couldn’t help but laugh at the joy this man was experiencing and was sharing with him.
The tour took them through the history of the mission. From the church to the Sacred Garden, arched hallways and doors, mausoleums, graveyard, artifacts, and the Franciscan monks’ robes, Clay watched Carlos soak it all up like a sponge. Clay couldn’t help but think of all the people that drove by this place every day, taking living here for granted.
“I’d love to stop by the gift shop,” Carlos said as he snapped a picture of the water fountain in the center of the Sacred Garden. “Maybe we can get a memento of our visit.”
“Sounds good,” Clay agreed.
Carlos went still.
“What’s wrong?” Clay glanced around the garden and walking paths. There were two families to the left walking in the opposite direction, an older man sitting on a bench in the shade twenty yards away, and what looked to be a group of students on a class trip. Nothing stood out.
Carlos shook his head and pulled out his map. “It’s nothing. For a moment, that older man sitting over there reminded me of Earl and I froze. I know logically that’s impossible, right?”
Clay understood that fear and knew it would take time for Carlos to become comfortable with the idea that Earl Roy was dead. They walked into the gift shop, which was crowded with the school group.
“You don’t have to worry. I read the coroner’s report. Earl isn’t coming back from a gunshot through his right temple.” Clay made sure to keep his voice low, not wanting to freak out anyone.
They moved over to the educational section, and Carlos was eyeing the Inside the California Missions DVD when he turned to look Clay in the eyes.
“Right temple?”
“It appears that way. The gun was in his right hand.”
“Earl Roy was left-handed.”
Alarm bells started sounding in Clay’s head. “Left-handed. You’re sure.”
“After so many whoopings, trust me, I know his dominant hand.”
Clay pulled out his cellphone. “I have to call the captain. They need to know about this.” The noise level in the gift shop seemed to rise. “We have to step outside so I can make the call.”
Carlos looked down at the DVD in his hand. It was the last one on the shelf. “I’ll go pay for this and come find you.”
“I don’t like leaving you alone.”
“Back through the door is the Sacred Garden. I’ll go directly there once I’m cashed out,” he said while looking around. “There is no one in here who could pose a threat to me.”
Clay looked around as well, and other than the staff and kids hurrying to use their spending money while the exhausted teachers tried to get a handle on them, they were alone. “Okay. It looks safe. But the moment you’ve paid, I’ll be right on the other side of that door.” He pointed at the old wooden door leading back inside the mission.
“Perfect. Go make your call. It might be important to the case,” Carlos said before stepping a few feet away and getting into the checkout line. “Go.”
With one final look around, Clay returned to the door and stepped back through. His fingers couldn’t dial fast enough. The information that Earl was left-handed and would have likely used his dominant hand to hold the gun had to be shared.
There still might be a killer out there.
***
Carlos realized his mistake the moment something cold and hard was pressed into his lower back.
“Put the DVD down and walk out of the exterior doors to the parking lot, or I start shooting,” a man said.
“You wouldn’t get away with it in here,” Carlos challenged. He wasn’t going to be a victim anymore.
“Who knows? In the ensuing chaos, one of LAPD’s finest might have to make the ultimate sacrifice to save the children.” The threat was real, and that kids might get hurt made Carlos decide to cooperate.
He set the DVD down on a nearby shelf and walked out the doors opposite from where Clay had gone. Though he hadn’t turned around to look at his kidnapper, Carlos knew the voice well enough.
“Why are you doing this, Jeremy?”
“Me? You’re the one that started all this,” Jeremy growled as he led them to a heavily tinted Suburban. “Get in. You’re driving.”
Carlos opened the unlocked door and slid in behind the wheel while his manager sat in the backseat with the barrel of the gun pointed at Carlos’s head. Jeremy threw him the keys, and he pulled out of the parking lot. In the rearview mirror, Carlos saw Clay running out of the gift shop before turning the corner. Then he lost sight of his lover, and they were heading to who knew where.
After a few turns down streets he didn’t recognize and miles away from Clay, Jeremy said, “Pull over up in that parking lot by the Walgreens and get into the passenger seat.”
He drove where he was told, shifted the vehicle in park, and with effort, he moved his body over the console to the passenger side of the vehicle. Before he had a chance to make a break for it out the passenger door, Carlos felt a sharp prick to his neck and turned to see Jeremy holding a syringe.
“Night, night, painter boy.”
Those last two words rang in his mind before his world went dark. That was what Earl used to call him.
Shit. He was a dead man.
***
Carlos woke sometime later with a pounding headache. Whatever Jeremy had used on him sure packed a punch, and he wondered how long he’d been out. He knew by now Clay was searching for him, and the police had been notified, meaning Miguel would know.
He looked around at the room he was in and was happy to find he was alone. Even though he suspected the only door was locked, he tried turning the handle anyway without success. He reached into his pocket to find his cellphone was missing, so he scanned the room for any means of escape.
The area he was in wasn’t overly dirty, but dust had settled over the floor, and the state of the fixtures told him nobody had been here in a while. The likelihood of him being found was slimmer if he was in an abandoned building.
He let out a deep breath and realized he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack, and his mind wasn’t racing in a million different directions. He was calmly analyzing his options and making plans for when Jeremy returned. A first he could credit to being loved and knowing he was worth loving.
He was furious for being taken away at gunpoint and locked up, and he desperately wanted to get back to Clay, but his ability to think this out wasn’t as impaired as it would’ve been six months ago. Why would Jeremy wish to hurt him, and how did he know about the nickname Earl had given him?
All questions he’d ask once the bastard showed up, which, as it turned out, wasn’t long. He heard keys jingling outside the locked door. Carlos stepped back and waited for his chance to take a run at the door once it was open, but the barrel of a gun poking through first had him rethinking that idea.
Jeremy walked into the room with a middle-aged blonde woman by his side, waving his handgun around like he was searching for something to shoot. Asshole.
“Ah, you’re awake, good,” he laughed. “I’d hate to have to carry you again.”
“Gee, sorry to put you out.” His time of taking people’s shit was long over.
“So, you’re Carlos Fernandez,” the woman said. “Somehow, I expected you to be cowering in the corner, as Earl had predicted.”
“You know Earl Roy? Who the hell are you?” Carlos didn’t recognize her.
“I’m the grieving widow, Sally Roy.” She moved her hands in a flourish any Vegas showgirl would be proud of. At least the ones he’s seen on those travel shows.
“Grieving widow, my ass. Which one of you pulled the trigger on the old scumbag?” The more he knew, the more he hoped to find some way out of this.
“I have to admit, that was me,” Sally said in almost a singsong voice. “But I can’t take all the credit. Jeremy helped.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“You remember the day I approached you about becoming your manager?” Jeremy asked.
“Yeah.” How could he forget it? “A couple months before I’d finished painting for the critics.” That was one of the low points in his life, and when Jeremy had approached him about a long-term contract saying all the right things, he bought into it. As his manager, Jeremy promised to take care of everything so Carlos could stay away from the limelight, and until now, Carlos had never questioned Jeremy’s intentions or honesty.
“Well, that wasn’t the first time we’d met, but you were much younger than the previous times. I can understand you not recognizing me since I used to have dark hair and a long beard when you were a child.”
Carlos looked closer at Jeremy minus his balding gray hair and clean-shaven face, and it took only a few moments for the image to snap into place. “Jeremy Redding.”
“Well, Jeremy Randolf, now, as you already know.” His laugh was cruel as Carlos realized who he’d been working with for over a decade.
“You were one of Earl’s associates back in the day.” Carlos had seen him on those rare occasions where his foster parents dragged out their golden goose to show off to the people making money from his suffering.
Carlos lunged forward, but Jeremy was quick to raise his gun. “Now, now, big guy. You in a hurry to die?”
“You fucking piece of shit. If I ever get my hands on you—”
“Yeah, yeah. Pitiful threats in your position. I used to set up buyers from all over the world. Imagine my luck when I came upon you years later trying to make all the big bad people believe you were a real artist.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Why risk me recognizing you and turning you in?”
“Money,” Jeremy laughed. “Of course. I saw what you could do and how fragile you were. It was so easy to make you believe I wanted to help you when everyone else didn’t trust you.”
“How did Earl end up involved in this?” Was this set up before the bastard went to prison?
“You might not have recognized me, but that old bastard had,” Jeremy growled. “Earl saw my face in an interview I’d done on your behalf, so we were forced to cut him in.”
“We?” He assumed that meant Jeremy and Sally, but who knew how many were involved. There’d been a lot of associates over the years.
“Me and my soon-to-be wife.” Jeremy wrapped his arm around Sally’s waist before squeezing her ass. Sally had to be in her forties while Jeremy and Earl were both in their sixties.
“I thought you were married to Earl?”
“It was the only way to keep tabs on the lunatic,” Sally groaned. “I’d bring him information from Jeremy, top-up his bank account, and give him an updated balance of his share.”
“You shared your percentage of the sales of my work?”
“Not exactly.”
“How much have you been skimming off my earnings?”
“A good thirty percent.”
“You fucking bastard.”
“Hey, what did you care? You never used the money. It sat there accruing interest until now. I took it out and used it as normal people do.”
“Normal people don’t steal and kill,” Carlos said. “And what the hell do you mean by now?”
“Your bullshit return to public life and relationship with an LAPD officer forced my hand. You couldn’t leave things the way they were. Soon enough, you’d want more control over your financial affairs, you would’ve noticed the mystery withdrawals, and then it would all be over. All the years and my hard work wasted.”
“Your hard work? You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve lived like a leech attached to me since my childhood. What the fuck do you know about real work?” Carlos was ready to blow.
“I’ve had to maintain appearances, attend charity events and gallery showings on your behalf. It was exhausting.”
This time Sally took a good long look at Jeremy. “You partied and played up to all those rich and famous people,” she said, sneering. “You never once had to deal with the dirty bits like Earl Roy.”
“Speaking of my dead foster father, did you kill him for the money?”
“No.” Sally laughed. “The idiot could’ve taken the money and disappeared, but no. The asshole had to follow you and risk our entire operation. He was obsessed with you and likely would’ve taken a shot if I hadn’t stepped in.”
“Forgive me for not thanking you.” Carlos knew Sally had to be as insane as the rest of them. “So, what’s the plan now?
“The plan is for you to disappear,” Jeremy said.
“Then how will the two of you continue to make money if I’m no longer around to paint?” Carlos wouldn’t ever be painting anything for Jeremy again, not because Carlos would disappear, but because Jeremy and Sally would be behind bars. Carlos was not giving up what it took so long to get.
“Don’t worry about us, Carlos,” his former manager said. “We’ll be fine with the life insurance money, and of course, being sole beneficiaries of your will should provide us with a lush life.”
“What? I don’t have life insurance or a will.”
By the cocky smile on Jeremy’s face, Carlos knew he was wrong. “You really should review each page of the paperwork you sign, painter boy.” Sally laughed.
“Let me get this straight. Sally is now the beneficiary of Earl’s portion, and you’re the beneficiary of my estate if anything ever happens to me. Don’t you think all that is going to seem a bit strange? Maybe bring up a few questions, especially if you marry Earl’s widow.”
“It’s all legal,” Jeremy stated. “Besides, we won’t be in the country long.”
“Except the part where you committed fraud, embezzled money, killed Earl, and if I’m staying with the plot here, my death as well.”
“All necessities. Now it’s time for us to go,” Jeremy said as he motioned with the gun for Carlos to move to the door.
Carlos walked to the door and was halfway through when he heard the gunshot. It took him a moment to realize he hadn’t been shot, and he turned around to find Jeremy’s body crumpled on the floor in the center of an ever-expanding pool of red.
He didn’t know what to do, so he froze to the spot waiting for Sally to shoot him as well. It crushed him to think he’d never see his brother and Clay again.
“Keep moving, unless you want to lay down beside him,” she ordered while pointing the gun at him. Where had she been hiding that?
“Didn’t want to split the money two ways? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not torn up about Jeremy being dead, merely curious.”
“The blow-hard deserved it. God, he never shut up. While Jeremy was out partying with the rich folks on worldwide tours, I had to deal with that perverted old man. They can both rot in hell for all I care. Now move, we have a plane to catch.”
Carlos continued down the hallway, trying to think of a way out of this because there was no way he was getting onto any damn plane, especially with this murderous crazy woman.
“Where are we going?” Keep her talking. Look for your moment.
“You’d be surprised how many no-name out in the middle of nowhere airfields there are. There’s a dozen off the top of my head where we can fly under the radar, land, and bury your body.”
“We? Didn’t you just kill the we?” Who the hell else was involved in this?
“Oh, honey, how naïve are you? Jeremy wasn’t ever part of my future.”
They stepped outside into the cool evening air, allowing Carlos his first opportunity to take in their location. Everywhere he looked, there was desert sand. He’d been kept in a large hangar, and the only light for miles was coming from the small plane waiting for them.
Someone came around the back of the small aircraft, and Carlos got his first look at Sally’s accomplice. He was young, maybe twenty-five, and looked to be the quintessential surfer dude, complete with long blond hair, shark tooth necklace, and board shorts. Could this get any more stereotypical?