Changes, p.27
Changes, page 27
Chapter 15
When Damon made the turn into the marina, there was a gate with an actual guard at it. Damon stopped and showed the man some ID, and they were waved on through. Lori waited until they were out of earshot of the guard, then said, “This place is pretty fancy, big bro. How much money do we have?”
“Not as much as I’d like. I called in a favor.” Damon drove the van along the quay, past a variety of expensive-looking boats, and then parked alongside a dark BMW sedan. “Okay. This is it. Now listen up. The boat’s owner is Alexey Turov. He’s a contact, but he’s not a friend. He knew Marston, so treat him as dangerous, and be real cool. He owes me a favor, and this boat ride is it, but I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”
“Then why do this?” Brian asked. “Why don’t we find somewhere else to go? Or, like, rent a boat?”
“Because this isn’t some day-trip. We need an oceangoing ship, and he has one we can hitch a ride on.”
“Hitch a ride where?” Lori asked.
Damon threw Brian a quick glance. “I’ll tell you when we’re on board.”
A chill like a cold finger ran down Brian’s spine. “How far are we going?”
“Far enough. I’ll carry your duffel.”
Two men in dark slacks and gray polo shirts got out of the BMW and came toward them. Damon got out to meet the older man who led the way.
The man said, “You’re Damon Kimball?”
“Yes.”
“ID?”
Damon took out his wallet, passed something to the man, who scrutinized it and handed it back. “And you are?”
“Mr. Turov’s captain. There’s three of you, right?”
“Yeah.” Damon jerked his thumb at the van. “My brother and sister.”
“All right. Come with me. Give Vic the keys to your van and he’ll get your stuff.”
Damon opened the side door and grabbed one of his bags and the duffel. “I’ll bring these.”
“Whatever you like. Vic can bring the rest.”
Brian thought he saw a split second of hesitation before Damon handed the keys to the silent younger guy, but the steady, cool expressions of the two men didn’t make changing plans look like a good idea. Damon said, “Don’t drop the big bag,” as he passed the key ring over.
The captain said, “This way.” When he turned toward the boats, Brian saw the bulge of a gun holster under the back of his shirt.
Damon caught him staring and gave a small shake of his head. “Come on, Bry. Lori. Let’s go.”
He didn’t want to follow Damon. He really didn’t want to go back to a world where people walked around armed all the time, and spoke of their boss in that tone of nervous obedience. But if nothing else, living around Marston for three years had taught him there was a time and place when it was safe to speak up, and others when it would be a very bad idea. The silent guy reaching into the back of the van made this feel like one of the bad times.
The captain led them down the quay and along a protruding concrete pier to the gangplank of a boat. Brian stared at the boat with wide eyes as he followed Damon and Lori. He’d expected something like the rich people cruised around Minnesota lakes with, but this was a whole different level of huge. It had to be a superyacht or megayacht, or whatever you called a boat bigger than a house. He saw at least four levels of windows in the sleek white hull, and the pointed front of the boat towered above his head.
The captain led the way up, aboard, and over to an elevator. This boat has an elevator! It was made mainly of glass, and didn’t look big enough for four. The captain touched a button and the door opened. “For the lady, and your brother, perhaps,” he said to Damon. “You and I can take the stairs.” He looked at Lori. “Miss, if you’d push for level C, the cabin level.”
Lori got in, and Damon shoved the duffel in at her feet. He said, “Go on, Bry.”
Brian’s feet wanted to glue to the floor. This boat was amazing and luxurious, with polished wood floors and clear glass and white railings, and the last thing he wanted to do was go farther into it. But he did. Stepped into the little elevator and let Lori push a button. The doors closed.
Lori glanced around as they sank down a level. “This is so freaking cool. Look at this place, Bry.”
“Yeah.” He pressed his lips together. What did Damon do to get us onto a boat like this? What will we have to do to get off?
When they stepped out, a floor down, Damon and the captain were waiting. The captain led them along a passageway and pointed to three open doors. “Those are your staterooms. Mr. Turov’s suite is at the end of the hall, of course. There’s a call button beside the door in each suite. A steward will be happy to assist you or answer any questions. Enjoy your trip with us.”
They watched him turn away and stride back to the lobby area, where he headed up the steep winding stairs, two at a time, and was gone to the deck above. Damon blew out a slow breath and turned to them. “Get your things put away. We’ll be on board for a couple of weeks. Remember we’re getting a ride from a powerful man.” He cupped a hand behind his ear casually, suggesting someone listening. “Until we arrive where we’re going, you’ll want to be careful guests.”
Lori asked the vital question. “Arrive where?”
“Uruguay.”
Brian stared at Damon’s bland expression.
Lori said, “I don’t even know where that is!”
“South America. The Atlantic coast. It’s the most stable and least dangerous nation down there, with a decent community of Americans, especially retirees.”
“So a bunch of old rich guys.”
“Shush. It’s out of the US, with acceptable hospitals where they won’t make you deliver that baby in shackles.”
“What language do they even speak there?”
“Spanish.” Damon’s eyes glinted. “I picked up some language lesson programs for you to study on the trip.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Just like that?”
“You want to go to prison? Have your baby taken away the moment it’s born?”
“No one’s caught us yet.”
“And they might not, ever. But why live in hiding when there are other choices? The weather down there is good, and I hear the food’s awesome. Cost of living is low enough for us to have the good life on what I have stashed away.”
Brian said, “I don’t want to go.” He’d meant to phrase it stronger than that, but standing up to Damon was hard.
Damon glanced at him. “They even have gay marriage. You might find a real boyfriend who doesn’t want to use you.”
“Nick doesn’t. I— No. I’m not going.”
Damon grabbed his arm and dropped his voice. “You don’t have a choice. To get out of the country without risk, we have to go by sea, privately. That means a boat, a decent one. That means Mr. Turov. He’s agreed to the three of us riding along when he leaves tomorrow. I’m not going to do even one little thing to jostle this man’s elbow. You hear me, Bry?”
Damon’s fingers bit into his arm painfully. The intensity of his gaze was old, familiar— and made Brian’s heart sink. “Yes.”
Damon let go. “Good boy. Relax and enjoy the ride. Even Marston didn’t live like this. Somewhere along the way, you can send a letter telling Nok Nick you’re all right.”
“And telling him where I’m going?”
“Uruguay has extradition, which means they might ship me back up here. So no, sorry. There’s other guys down there.”
Other men who’ll see me for who I am? Other men who’ll look at my chubby body and turn breathless with how much they want me? Other men who are full of fire and courage and anger, and who need me to keep them from flying apart? He couldn’t say any of that. He nodded.
Damon gave him a long, slow look. Brian wasn’t sure how much recalculating his brother was doing. Had Damon known all along there was a smarter guy inside him? Was Damon just ice cool and pretending he wasn’t surprised? Eventually Damon said, “You know what? Stick your bags in your rooms and let’s look around. It never hurts to figure out the lay of the land.”
Lori hefted her backpack, and gestured left. “Dibs that one. And I’m gonna use the john first.”
“They call it the head, on a boat,” Damon said. “Five minutes. Don’t fall in and drown.”
She lifted her lip at him in a silent snarl and went into the nearest room. Her attempt at slamming the door didn’t achieve more than a hushed thump. Damon turned to Brian, and for once the effort he made to pull out a smile was obvious. “She’ll get over it once she pees. I’d forgotten how grouchy pregnant women get. Come on, Bry. Let’s put your bag in here.”
The stateroom was as plush as the rest of the boat, with a wide bed, a giant-screen TV, wooden shelving, and upholstered chairs. Everything was white and cream and tan wood and colored glass. Brian felt big and awkward, like he might damage something just by existing.
Damon set the duffel down behind the bed and wandered the room, checking things out. “This’ll be pretty sweet, huh? You can play your movies on that screen, lie back and let the ocean rock you. I stuck a bunch of your favorite movies down in the bottom of this bag. You won’t get bored.”
“And I have to learn Spanish.”
“I heard we can get by pretty well with English down there, at least in the city.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“It’s done.” Damon came back around the bed and looked him hard in the eye. “I need your word, Bry. Brian. I need you to swear you won’t try to run off and screw this up for us. We’re walking on knives here, and once it’s done, we’ll be free forever. Promise me you won’t wreck it and kill us all.”
He licked his dry lips. “If it’s that dangerous, why do it?”
“One last gamble.” Damon’s gaze darkened. “I got spotted a couple weeks ago. Doesn’t matter by who. I solved the situation. But this is a last chance for you and me and Lori to finally live safely. I’ve been working on that for fifteen years. Got beat up for it, got fucked over for it, did shit I don’t want to think about for it. One last time and we’re done.” He took Brian’s chin in strong fingers, forcing him not to look away. “Promise me.”
Memories of those fifteen years flashed through his mind. Damon, always the big, strong one, the smart one. Damon bringing home food when the cupboards were bare, pulling a knife on that creep who grabbed Lori. It’d been Damon who kept him from the kind of life so many of the kids they grew up with had, doing drugs and being victimized by violence and selling their souls. He owed Damon. And in that touch on his jaw, hard and imprisoning, he also felt the love that had always been there. Damon rarely admitted it, but Brian had always known that as long as he had Damon, there was someone in his life who really cared. He still wanted Nick, like air to breathe, but he could wait.
“I promise,” he whispered.
Damon let go and gave him a firm nod. “So let’s check out the hot tub and the top deck.”
He followed Damon out, over to Lori’s cabin door for the expected wait. Once she came back out, lipstick fixed and hair combed and, presumably, bladder emptied, they took the elevator to the top deck. The view was great, and he could imagine it’d be amazing once they were out at sea. There was a seating area with comfortable chairs upholstered in deeply padded white vinyl. An unfamiliar flag on a short mast flapped, catching a cooling breeze. Damon grinned. “Not bad.”
Heading one deck down, they moved to the rail. Brian looked down. The water of the harbor was a muddy green, twenty feet below them, but the horizon was blue and wide. The deck above extended in a sleek line of shade, and the floor under their feet was wood so smooth Brian wanted to go barefoot on it. As they stood side by side, elbows on the rail, there was a sudden thump of running feet.
Several crewmen hurried up from below, all dressed in the same black slacks and gray shirts. They opened a door in the solid rail, and extended the silent, motorized gangplank to the pier. A moment later a dark limo pulled up alongside the ship.
Damon muttered, “That’s got to be Mr. Turov. Leave the talking to me.”
Brian turned and put his back to the rail. Beside him, Lori did the same. Damon stepped out slightly in front of them, and they waited.
The driver got out and opened the back door for a small, graying man in white pants and a loose powder-blue shirt. Another guy, pretty obviously a bodyguard, got out of the front passenger side and flanked the old guy as he spoke to the driver, then turned for the gangplank and came aboard, with the bodyguard two paces behind him. The captain arrived on deck just as Turov set foot on the boat, and he pulled up short and saluted. “Sir. Welcome aboard.”
Turov gave him a limited wave in return. “Thank you.” He glanced around, and his eyes narrowed as he spotted the three of them across the deck. “Damon. You arrived safely, despite the change of plans.” He had a faint accent, something European that Brian couldn’t identify.
“Yes. Thank you, sir.”
Turov walked over to them as his bodyguard watched the stewards bring luggage up from the limo. Damon took an extra step forward and held out his hand. Turov shook it, but looked past him. “You will introduce me to your family.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, of course. This is my sister, Lori, and my brother Brian.”
“Mm.” Turov moved to one side, reaching around Damon toward Lori. “Mrs. Marston. A pleasure to meet you. Vern and I were old friends. My condolences.”
Lori said, “Thank you,” and kept the handshake brief. Her tone was cool, and she didn’t try any flirting.
Turov gave her a long, slow look up and down, lingering at her rounded belly, then turned to Brian. “And you are Bry.”
He ducked his head, didn’t reach for Turov’s extended hand, and didn’t insist on being called Brian. Something glittering in Turov’s eyes had all his alarm bells ringing. Damon said, “We appreciate the hospitality, sir. We’ll stay out of your way on the trip and not cause any problems, I promise.”
Turov didn’t look away from his examination of Brian, but he gave Damon a negligent flip of his fingers. “There is no problem. I have wanted to meet this brother of yours for quite some time.”
“Meet Bry?” Damon’s tone was light, but the tension turned his back rigid. “Why?”
“Your brother is a prize indeed.” Turov smiled. “Vern sometimes liked to boast of his prizes, and how they could be used. I had thought at one point that I might borrow Bry for a certain job, but the situation resolved itself. And now here you are.”
“We’re just here for the ride you offered me.”
“Yes, of course. And you, Bry, do you like my yacht? It’s nice, isn’t it?”
He let his eyes glaze. “It’s nice. It’s the nicest boat I ever was on. And the biggest. It’s a big boat.”
“That’s true.” Turov smiled. “And when we get to my ranch outside Buenos Aires—”
“You promised to let us off in Montevideo.” Damon backed up a step as he spoke.
“Well, of course. So I will, if you still choose to stay there. But I bet Mrs. Marston and Bry would prefer to live in the luxury they’re familiar with. You can’t provide that, but I can. It’s the least I can do for these… treasures of Vern’s. Don’t you think so, Bry?”
“Think what? I don’t think. It’s not my thing.” He saw Damon take another step back— away from Turov, neat and silent as a cat— and he spoke faster. “I’m not a thinking thing. Thinking’s not my thing.”
A flash of annoyance passed over Turov’s face, but he said, “You know you enjoy a comfortable life. You’ll have that where we’re going. Good food, hot tubs and pools, and well-made clothes.”
“My clothes don’t fit.” He plucked at the loose folds of his shirt and raised his tone to a peevish whine, as Damon faded another step to the side. “I lost weight and they’re much too, too, too big.”
“You’ll have better ones soon.”
“I don’t want to go. I want to stay here. Where’s Benis Airs? I don’t think I like it.” It was easy to fall into Bry, as he saw the signs of Damon’s tension from the corner of his eye.
“You’ll like working for me. Vern had wealth but no real class.” Turov’s gaze cut to Lori. “With all due respect.” Although the curl of the corner of his mouth suggested he included Lori among Marston’s low-class things.
Lori said, “He was a British lord, you know.”
Turov laughed. “I can still give you much better. When we get to my ranch, you can have a house built to your specifications. I intend to keep you all happy there, as my guests.”
“I hate ranches.” I hate the way this conversation is going. He could tell Damon was worried. Or pissed. Sometimes the difference was so small it was hard to make out. Most likely both. Brian fought his scared instinct to become scrunched down and quiet. He could use Bry to test this man, and his change of Damon’s plans. Are we prisoners again? “I like Thousand Island, not Ranch. I think I’m getting off this boat.” He took a couple of careful steps, away from Damon and Lori toward the door in the rail.
Sure enough, Turov gestured to his bodyguard, who straightened and slid a hand toward his hip, exposing his holstered side arm. Turov’s tone was cold. “You’re not going anywhere. You will all stay where I tell you. Relax, and you’ll enjoy the ride very much, I assure you.”
A sudden thudding marked Damon’s move, a leap sideways and three running steps toward the rail on the water side. Turov shouted, “Stop him!”
The bodyguard drew and shot in the same moment Damon vaulted onto the top of the railing and launched himself over the side. A spray of red blood marked the bullet hitting, but Damon’s body vanished over the solid white partition. The bodyguard ran forward, and Brian did the same, blundering into the man as he got off another shot toward the water. The guard snarled and shoved Brian down violently, before turning to peer over at the water. Two of the stewards drew weapons as well, so Brian stayed where he was, huddled on the deck.
Turov snapped, “Did you get him?”
“I hit him,” the guard said. “Don’t know how bad. I don’t see him coming back up.”
