The Arrangement 22 Page 2

  Mel smacks Henry in the back of the head again, “No, you dumbass. You don’t, and since we’re not on Oprah, let's get moving. You two can kiss and make up later. That’d be something worth seeing, am I right?” Mel waggles her eyebrows at the tech guys, Marty, and me, while Sean presses his eyes closed, channeling enough patience not to kill her.

  CHAPTER 3

  The tech guys ring the doorbell. When no one answers, they walk around back and pull open a panel on the side of the house. They put something on a wire and nod at Sean. Marty heads to the back of the property, watching to make sure we aren’t ambushed.

  Sean, Henry, Mel and I enter the small, musty-smelling house through a back door. Twin beams of light cut through the darkness as Henry and Sean flip on flashlights at the same time. Something is beeping. Henry rushes off in the direction of the sound, Mel close behind him. I stay with Sean.

  “What are we looking for?” I ask, sweeping my eyes around the room. This room has old lady furniture and smells like mothballs.

  Sean drags the beam of light across the room and whispers over his shoulder, “Alarm system.”

  Mel’s voice comes from around the corner, her head poking from behind a wall of yellow paint with stuffed birds sitting on branches that stick out of the wall. “Got it. Come this way.”

  We walk into a small hallway closet that must have been a bathroom at some point. It’s now filled with security cameras and a hugeass computer humming quietly against the far wall.

  Henry snaps at me. “Come here and place the bead on top of the unit.”

  I hand him my bracelet, and he removes the bead, placing it on top of the enormous machine, but it doesn’t stay put. It rolls back. Henry frowns, glances around for tape, and pinches his hand across his brow when he doesn’t find any. “Design flaw. These should have an adhesive.”

  Sean offers, “We can stop and grab tape before hitting the main house. For now, do this.” He grabs a pencil and then places the bead in front of it. It stays put. “You’ll have to stay in here to make sure it doesn’t slip and fall off.”

  “Noted. I planned on it anyway.” Henry nods and points toward the screen showing the security feed. “Watch.”

  The image on the screen plays backward, showing us leaving the house in reverse, while the timestamp continues forward. It’s surreal.

  “It’ll look totally normal. We can walk around as we please, but the recording will show only the empty house.” Henry sits at the control panel, uses the keyboard to pull up the recorded video of us coming inside and deletes it. "The only proof we were here is now gone." He glances at Sean. “As long as no one comes around, this works fine.”

  “Do I need to take the bead when I leave?”

  Henry nods. “Yes, if it all possible. I only have two prototypes.”

  “Can’t you make another?” Mel asks.

  Henry rolls his eyes and gives her a contemptuous expression. “No, I can’t just make another. There’s not enough time or materials. Plus that little bead cost nearly a hundred grand to produce.”

  Mel glances at her wrist and grins. “So what you’re saying is I should sell it?”

  Henry walks over to her, lifts her wrist carefully and presses his finger to the bead. “If you sold it for six figures, you’d be a moron—as you so delicately put it. It’s worth millions.”

  Their eyes meet, and he continues to hold her hand for a moment. Mel shudders and blinks rapidly, before looking away. Damn, that’s funny. They had a moment. Mel isn’t going to like that.

  I smile to myself and ask Sean, “So what now?”

  Sean is wearing dark jeans with that sexy black sweater that clings to his chest and hugs his arms. Coupled with his scuffed shit-kickers, he looks like a badass. He pushes his hair back as he looks around the room, letting his eyes rest on me. His expression softens. “Now we dig through her stuff and see what we find.”

  “I’ll rummage through the hard drive and see what pops up.” Henry slips into a small chair in front of the computer and starts clicking keys, pulling up files, and rapidly scanning them for information.

  Sean wanders out of the room and down the hall. We come across another old lady sitting room, complete with rose-colored furniture and musty stench. Sean motions for us to head upstairs. When we reach the upper landing, he turns and gestures toward a bedroom door. It’s locked. He pulls out a small device, pushes it in the keyhole, and presses a button. The telltale sound of the bolt scraping open reaches my ears.

  Sean pushes the door slowly and glances inside before freezing in his tracks. He’s holding the door half open, half closed, immobilized. Rage flashes in his eyes only to almost immediately dissipate. The anger on his face morphs into something else, something unrecognizable.

  “Mother?" he asks. "What are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER 4

  I step around the door and peer past Sean to see her. Constance Ferro sits disheveled in a scorched red robe. Chains encircle her wrists and ankles, extending to rings bolted into the wall. I can’t process what I’m seeing. She died. Her funeral came and went. Constance is dead. I saw her severed arm. I watched Sean try to save her from the rubble when his home exploded.

  I blink, gaping at her. “What the hell?”

  Constance isn’t herself. She’s pale, weak, and seems equally shocked to see us. “Sean? How did you find me? How’d you know I was alive?” Her voice rasps and is no louder than a whisper.

  He stares at his mother, speechless.

  I walk over to her. “Who did this to you?”

  She arches a brow at me as I study the chain trying to find a way to free her. “You’re still around? Sean, it’s delightful to see your taste in women remains trashy even in the darkest of times.” Her tone lacks its usual bravado, but the old Constance is still in there, brewing beneath the surface.

  “Avery is my fiancée, and you will speak respectfully,” Sean says, his voice monotonous, without a trace of malice or anger.

  Constance laughs lightly as if at afternoon tea. “Be serious, Sean. You can’t marry her. Do you know who her father is?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She blanches. “Well, then. I suppose if you want to bring more murderers into the world—”

  Sean turns on his heel and leaves the room. His footfalls fade as the shadowed stairwell swallows him whole.

  I glare at Constance like she’s mental. “Do you want us to leave you here?”

  She laughs again like this is some cosmic joke. “You can’t free me. These restraints are mortared into the wall, and the key to the lock is with your charming half-brother. Tell me, did you have a reunion? Were there balloons and cake?”

  I kneel down and get in her face. “No. In fact, Vic already tried to murder Sean and me. The bastard wants to kill me then do unspeakable things to my dead body. So, no, we’re not besties and whatever he did to you—I know he has worse planned. Tell me, Connie, do you want us to leave you here for him? Or do you want to leave?”

  Her aging eyes turn glassy, and she swallows hard. I think she’s going to say something nice, but, instead, she hisses, “You won't get a dime of Ferro money.”

  I don’t respond to the statement. My brows lift and my arms fold over my chest. “Do you want to die here? It looks like Vic Jr. set everything up flawlessly. He likes to torment people, and, with the world thinking you’re dead and buried, he can take his time.”

  She shakes her head. “You can’t take me. He’ll know it was you and your true mission here will be ruined. Sean knows what he’s doing. Leave me. Come back when you’ve slaughtered that son of a bitch.”

  Her request makes my blood run cold. She means it, every word.

  “We can’t leave you behind—”

  “You can and you will.” Constance doesn’t say another word. She arches a single brow at me, a dismissal, my cue to leave.

  I make a strangled sound in the back of my throat and leave the room. I find Sean at the bottom of the staircase, sitting on t
he last step, his head in his hands.

  I place my hand on his back and lean into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. “So that happened.”

  “She’s alive, but I can’t save her. If I take her, Vic will know we were here. If I leave her, he’ll torture her. How am I supposed to walk away? She's my mother, Avery.” Sean looks at me, his blue eyes filled with pain.

  “I’m not sure it matters what you do—she refuses to leave. I tried to get her to come. She threw me out.” I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

  The corner of Sean’s mouth pulls up, and he smiles sadly, shaking his head. “Okay, we finish this.”

  “You’re going to leave her? Sean, I don’t have warm, fuzzy feelings for her, but she’s your mom. Sean? Sean!” I whisper-yell as he rushes from room to room, not mentioning his mom again. It’s disturbing how quickly he accepts this change of events, but he does. With newly found focus, he searches the rooms, carefully lifting papers, and opening drawers, sifting through their contents in the dark. Once in a while he pauses and shines his light on something, and then continues.

  I wander into the room with him and rummage through stuff. I find a notebook in a marble nightstand. The front has a list of regular grocery items, but the back has delivery addresses. It’s weird.

  There’s one entry per page:

  Carrots—5th Avenue.

  Rigatoni—Dix Hills.

  Parsley—Upper East Side.

  I frown as I look at it.

  Sean pads over and stops next to me, peering down over my shoulder. He’s close enough for his scent to fill my head. I wish I could wrap my arms around him and never let go. I show him the book.

  “Either she’s nuts, or this is a code.”

  Sean flips through the pages and nods. He takes it, snaps pictures of each page and tells me, “Put it back.”

  I do as he says, and when I place the book in the drawer, I pick up a brass letter opener. No one deserves to be left alone and defenseless with Vic Jr. I tuck it into my pocket and continue searching Black’s stuff. When we finish exploring the upstairs rooms, Sean passes by his mother’s room and closes the door. They don’t speak.

  It bothers me. “You’re not even going to try to get her out?”

  “Avery, she won’t come.” He stops and looks at me, those blue eyes pleading with me not to make a big deal out of this. “The best way to help her is to finish this and come back for her.”

  “But what if he moves her? What if he hurts her?”

  Sean takes hold of my shoulders. “He already has. There was a body at the mansion. It wasn’t Mother, so someone else is dead. If we free her, he’ll know we’re coming for him. I can’t risk it, Avery. If I have to choose who to save, Mother or you, I have no doubts—none.” His hands are on my shoulders, and he forces me to look him in the face.

  “Sean—”

  “Avery, I choose you.” His hands linger for a moment, and there’s an all-consuming sadness in his eyes that breaks my heart. He blinks, and it’s gone. The scary man dressed in solid black is back. His eyes darken, and he turns from me, disappearing down the stairs.

  I swallow hard and glance at her door, now locked again. I pull the letter opener from my pocket and pad toward the room before I kneel at the base of the door. I shove the metal object through the crack near the floor and hear it slide halfway across the room before coming to a sudden stop. At least now she can inflict some damage of her own.

  Constance’s voice comes through the door. “You still won’t get a penny.”

  CHAPTER 5

  We’re out and back in the van before anyone comes home. Sean’s motorcycle is parked in a luxury storage unit a few blocks away. It looks more like an airplane hanger than a personal garage. He stops, enters a key code, and then rolls us into a hugeass concrete room with climate control. Sean slips out of the van and turns the lights on. As they flicker to life, I realize we’re in a room the size of a football field and filled wall-to-wall with expensive vehicles—including a biplane, motorcycles, and race cars.

  We follow Sean out and everyone gapes, shocked. Henry drifts from the cars, toward the bikes, hands outstretched in a gimme pose, his eyes wide. “A 1958 Ariel Cyclone," he gasps. "It’s beautiful. Perfect.” His gaze drifts further, and he wanders over, staring as he swallows hard. “Is that a 1907 Harley-Davidson strap tank?” He’s practically drooling as he straightens, twists at the waist, and looks Sean full in the face. Pointing, he says, “I tried to buy this motorbike at auction. I offered $700,000 for it, but someone outbid me.”

  Sean grins. “You should have gone a bit higher. $715,000 was the magic number.”

  Henry makes a high-pitched giddy noise and asks to pet the bike. Mel and I stare at each other like they’re both mental—until she sees a cherry red sports car near the back of the hanger. “Holy shit! Is that a Bugatti?”

  Sean smirks and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, the Veyron.”

  She squeals “Holy shit!” and skips off toward it to plaster her face to the car window. She yells back to us. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you had all this stuff?”

  Sean shrugs. “The same reason I don’t walk around talking about the Island. I don’t tell everyone everything I own. It’s not a good way to win people over.”

  Henry rounds on him, alarmed, pelting him with questions. “Which island? Where? I bet mine is bigger.”

  Mel chuckles as she saunters back over, half skipping. “Rich guy problems. My island is bigger than yours," she mimics in a singsong voice. "Ha! Who wants an ugly, old-ass motorcycle they can’t even ride?”

  I smile and turn, noticing Justin and Geek Boy both wondering if they can touch a bike with the American flag painted on the gas tank, long handlebars, and sparkling chrome. They look up and ask Sean, “Is this real?”

  Sean nods and tucks his hands under his arms, smiling shyly. “Yes, I like old movies, and that’s an iconic American piece.”

  Sean is in his element for the moment, all worries forgotten. It’s sweet and shows a side of him I’ve never seen. It sounds stupid, but aside from the few times he’s flashed a wad of cash, I forget he’s rich. He rarely flaunts his wealth, and I’m pretty sure the sweater he’s wearing is from Land’s End or the GAP. I’d never have suspected Sean owned a priceless collection of vehicles because he doesn’t act like a condescending prick.

  Speaking of condescending pricks, Henry slaps Sean on the shoulder and stands next to him. “I had no idea you were the one who snatched that from me. I’d love to take the time to truly examine the piece later—if you’d like to show it off.”

  It’s an olive branch, a peace offering. Sean could tell Henry to fuck off, but he doesn’t. He simply nods. “Any time.”

  Sean hands Marty the keys to the bike he was riding the day we met. Marty jumps on the bike, kick-starts it, and agrees to buy tape from the store before meeting us at Black's. Marty revs the engine, letting it echo in the cavernous room, before pulling out to disappear into the night.

  CHAPTER 6

  When we climb back into the van, everyone settles in. There’s a little more space without Marty next to me, so I kick out my legs. Justin hangs out with Geeky Guy just behind Henry’s seat. Mel is sitting across from me, mirroring my pose and looking like she’s imagining driving that Bugatti.

  Sean steers us back toward the neighborhood we were in before, slowly meandering through the streets, killing time until Marty finds us.

  There’s still a lot of excited chatter about the collection when he interrupts, “I need to say something. It could change things, so you need to know. My mother, Constance, was being held at Black’s mother's house.”

  “The residence we just left?” Justin's voice betrays his shock.

  “Yes,” Sean replies darkly.

  Mel blanches, “What? Your mother was there? She’s dead!”

  “I thought she was deceased as well," Sean says, matter-of-factly, his hands never fal
tering as he continues to guide us toward Black's house. "Apparently, the body at the mansion wasn’t her.”

  I remember the arm, the ring on that slender female finger. I’m sitting in the back across from Mel again. “Why would your mother’s ring be on another woman’s hand?”

  Sean sighs, rubbing his face one-handed while turning the steering wheel with the other. When we round the corner, he confesses, “She was Mother's lover.”

  Everyone makes a sound of disbelief, questions erupting from every mouth but mine. They all talk at once, shouting over each other.

  Sean silences the van with one stern look in the rear-view mirror. “I don’t know how long or why she didn’t say anything publicly. Ask her yourself when all this shit is over.”

  I blink rapidly, wondering how Sean holds it together so well. If she were my mom, I couldn’t have left her there. I couldn’t have walked away. I glance out the window and see Marty streak by on Sean’s motorcycle. He waves at us, unaware of our conversation, unaware Constance Ferro is alive.

  The world thinks she perished in the explosion. Her funeral was televised uninterrupted, and throngs of mourners placed flowers at the foot of the Ferro mausoleum. Eventually, the front doors became inaccessible, and anyone trying to get near it had to wade through the waist-deep flowers surrounding Constance’s grave. She might be a nasty piece of work, but the public doesn’t feel that way. They mourned her like a lost princess. It was fascinating in a surreal way.

  When we pull up at Black’s, we repeat our process from before. The tech guys ring the bell. When there’s no answer, they dart around the side of the house and tamper with a wire. Apparently, that’s the phone line. The device they clip on it contains a computer chip designed to reroute any calls to Justin's cell number in case the alarm system dials out for help. He can then pretend to be whatever we need. That chip on the line is a failsafe.