CHAPTER 29
Havre, MT
Gideon stood at the wall of glass at the back of his home. When he’d realized Kensington’s role in the acquisition of the stone, he’d purchased the twenty-acre spread in Havre. Construction had begun immediately, although he had never bothered to tell Kensington where he lived.
Encased almost entirely in glass, the home was a tribute to the clean lines of modern architecture and the style of Frank Lloyd Wright. It was an homage to the conspicuous consumption of the modern age.
No expense had been spared. As far as Gideon was concerned, if he was going to have to muddle through in this life, he was going to do it in comfort.
He stared at the sun as it slipped past the mountain peaks. The sky glowed orange, with strains of pink streaking through. There can be beauty here, he thought. As the last lights disappeared, though, so too did his wonder.
He couldn’t believe Paul was gone. They’d met two decades ago. They’d come across one another in an airport, the international terminal at JFK. That sense of connection was instantaneous. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much he had missed that link
It had been harder and harder to find his brothers as time passed. The world got larger and chance meetings became increasingly difficult. Before Paul, it had been three long lifetimes since he’d found a brother. And now, he was alone again.
Turning from the darkness, he strode back into the living room. He looked around, his mind barely registering the stone-faced fireplace or sleek contemporary furnishings. Instead, he pictured Paul’s body as that red-headed bitch shot him. He curled his fists, wanting to lash out. He should have finished her when he had the chance. She needed to pay…painfully.
But you didn’t make her pay, did you?
He crushed the voice down. Her eyes seemed to follow him day and night. They mocked him. They knew the truth. He pictured her sitting in that car, full of courage and determination, her eyes locked on him. And he had felt it… Fear.
For the first time in generations, she had made him afraid. And he had run.
It had taken him thirty minutes to fully heal. He cringed as he thought of himself, curled up, cowering like a wounded animal. She had made him afraid. By the time he’d returned, she was gone. It had taken some time, but thanks to the Senator’s contacts, he found out she’d gone to Chandler Headquarters in Baltimore.
“Chandler,” he whispered. Another wrinkle. Chandler’s involvement upped the risk. He wondered how much Henry knew. Had his mother ever told him the truth?
He needed to move faster. He couldn't let fear hold him back. But he also couldn’t let his need to defy that fear push him to make an unwise decision. Caution. He needed to move with caution. He reached over and pulled his phone off the ottoman.
He dialed. A voice answered, the Russian accent pronounced. “Yes?”
“Old friend, I am in need of your services, and that of some of your friends.”