I WAS OFFERED a plea deal when my attorney came to see me yesterday. Since my part in all this was simply being a man of the books—the white-collared crook—they want me to rat out the bigger names to the operation. The thing is, I don’t have many names. The men that do the runs are worth a lot more to the Feds than I am, but I’m not privy to that side of the business. The one name I am privy to is the one I know they want the most.
The king of the cartel.
But to cross paths with him would be a death sentence. I’ve learned that lesson. So I played dumb, kept his name shrouded in my arsenal. If I nark, I’m a dead man. It’s much safer for me in here—locked behind steel and iron.
No one messes with me much. Money buys safety, and I’ve got an endless source and people on the outside that make sure the steady stream keeps flowing. What isn’t available to me is being taken care of by Lachlan, whom I’m now calling.
The guard keeps watch outside of the laundry hall where I now work four days a week, earning a pitiful eleven cents an hour.
“Cal,” he greets when he finally answers. “How are you?”
“How the hell do you think I am? Did you take care of the money?”
“Yeah. All done. There was an event recently that was held for the charity, so it was easy to filter into the accounts.”
“And Declan?” I ask.
“What about him, sir?”
“Any suspicions from him?”
“No. He’s been distracted these days.”
“How so?”
“A woman. Elizabeth Archer. She appeared in town recently. He’s been having me follow her.”
I don’t bother to ask why. Time isn’t my friend at the moment, but I can only guess that boy will probably forever be fucked up when it comes to trust. He never told me anything about the shooting—who did it or for what reason. But I know it all boils down to Nina Vanderwal. All he told me was to feign his death to her if ever we should cross paths and that he wanted me to keep my distance from him. I agreed, and he disappeared back to Scotland to live in that estate he bought years back. I can’t figure that kid out or why he wants to wallow alone in practically the middle of nowhere.
I’ve yet to have anyone make contact with him, and as far as I know, no one has. He’s unaware that I’m sitting in jail for crimes he knows nothing about. Crimes I’ve been committing since he was a little boy.
“She’s staying in town close to him,” Lachlan adds.
“In Gala?”
“At the Water Lily.”
What the fuck?
“Declan was there?” I ask, wondering if he knows what was kept from him.
“It’s where Elizabeth is staying. He was there the other day for a couple hours in the middle of the night and then returned home.”
I’m not given the chance to respond when the guard slams the door open and shouts, “Time’s up, inmate!”
He snatches the phone from my hands and disconnects the call.
“What the hell happened to five minutes?” I sling in hostility.
“Price influx, bitch. It’s gonna cost you more next time.”
Grabbing my arm, he leads me out of the laundry room, and even though my bones burn to knock the living shit out of this *, I keep myself in check because I can’t be getting thrown in the block. I need to continue to have access to that fucking phone or find a way to get my hands on my own.
First thing I need to do is find out who this Elizabeth woman is that has my son going to the Water Lily. So I wait in my cell until rec time and then make my way to the phone bank where I can make my call.
“Cal, baby,” Camilla’s voice sighs into the phone.
I thank God that the values of this woman are slightly shady to accommodate being involved with a man who’s facing up to twenty-five years in a federal prison.
“How are you holding up, love?” I ask.
“I miss you. Trying to take care of everything on my own is drowning me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I need to see you though. I need you here this weekend.”
“Of course. You know I never miss a visit. Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I don’t want you worrying about me,” I tell her. “It’s just important that I see you.” I urge my words because what I need her to do for me isn’t something I can mention on these monitored calls because of the names involved.
“Callum,” she softly scolds, “You’re in jail. How can I not worry about you?”
“Ninety seconds remain.”
“Fuck!” Bracing my hand against the cinder block wall, I bark, “Did you send the money into my account?”
“Yes, but you know how slow they are.”
“I need you to call about it because I’m all out of time. I won’t be able to call you until I get that money.”
“I promise, Cal.”
“Thirty seconds remain.”
“God, I hate this,” she cries. “I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too. I’ll see you in a couple days.”
“I’ll be there. I love you.”