Don't Stop Me (The McCabe Brothers)

Chapter 6, Don't Stop Me

Badra had last been seen at Creekside Coffeehouse in Bellevue, Washington, according to the brief report Vic had been texted from Tom, the private detective he hired for all manner of company business. The light-haired detective reminded him at times of a beach bum, and he dressed the part, with longish hair that dangled in his face. The man worked on his own schedule, but he was effective. Vic had used him many times in the past to find out everything he could about people and head off whatever problems were coming his way before they could become a train wreck.

He had to take a second and think how many years it had been since he had last seen her. Had she changed? Had she aged, or did she look any different? She'd been so young, slim, with long, sleek dark hair and eyes filled with so much mischief and personality—and those dimples. He'd loved everything about her.

His phone beeped twice with two messages from Tish Campbell, one a voicemail and one a text that if he didn't call her back, she was running with the story she had. In other words, she'd print bullshit that was far from the truth but enough to cause a pinch in his cash flow and an aggravation in his business, bringing up questions he didn't want to answer and shoving a spotlight so far up his ass he'd have to go to ground for a time.

"Fuck," he muttered as he took one last look at the office complex, which was almost completed. He watched as his foreman pulled away and noted security locking the gate. He touched the handle on his black Dodge Charger and slid behind the wheel, the leather crackling. He shut his eyes a second to think, then tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

This was about setting the record straight, and he would, too, right after he talked with Badra. Maybe she had some idea that this was now all coming up. They'd been just kids, doing stupid kid stuff, when a single moment in time blew everything up in their faces, altering their futures. What happened had nearly crushed him.

He turned the key as his phoned buzzed again, and he switched over to the Bluetooth, seeing it was Natalie calling. "Why are you still at work?" he said as he pulled away. "Go home. That's an order."

"I got a message from the private investigation firm. The guy who handles things for you, Tom, well, he has to tend to some family emergency or something, so his partner is going to handle things in his place, but that won't be until tomorrow." There was tapping in the background, and Vic took in the traffic ahead before taking a right onto the freeway.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"No. Do you want me to do anything else here? I can do some inquiries on the name for you? Make some calls?"

He stared at the screen in the dash for a second. Even though he couldn't see Natalie, he felt the sting from his alarm bells ringing. She never overstepped, but right now she was crossing over into his personal life, and he didn't like it one bit.

"No, you're done. Go home." He disconnected the phone and took a breath, knowing he'd been rude. She had to know she was lucky he hadn't fired her. She knew not to push, so why was she doing so now?

Vic was tired, and it took him a second after pulling through the stone gate at the foot of his property to register the small blue SUV parked by the door. He jammed his foot on the brake and swore again under his breath. Who was here? His head went to one of the women he'd brought home, but he'd made it clear to each of them that there would be nothing more, ever, and that they were never to come back.

Maybe that was why he gunned the pedal and the gas, pulling up beside the SUV a little too fast. He slammed the brakes, hearing the tires squeal, smelling the burning rubber. He shoved it in park and was out of the vehicle, expecting someone to be standing there, but it was just an empty car, a few years old.

"Hello?" he called out as he walked around the truck, not seeing anyone. He was up the steps and opening his front door, walking inside, and he heard voices coming from his living room. As soon as he turned the corner, he felt his stomach bottom out.

Tish was sitting on his cream sectional, a mug of coffee in her hand, her legs crossed. Nora was standing there in front of her. He stepped into the room and said not a word as both women turned his way.

"Mr. McCabe, I let in—"

"Tish Campbell, a reporter," he snapped.

Nora's eyes widened in shock, and she glanced back to Tish, whose face appeared to flush. "You said you were his sister! I'm so sorry, sir. I'd never have allowed a reporter in." She was stuttering, and he'd never seen her this flustered.

"It's fine, Nora. Ms. Campbell is persistent. I'll handle it from here," he said. Nora seemed to want to add something, but instead she gave him a brisk nod and left the room. Another employee he'd have to deal with. Maybe he was being a fool again, trusting the people he allowed in his life.

He took in Tish Campbell again as she rested the coffee mug on his large square coffee table. She did it so slowly, and he noted the way she seemed to be figuring out what way to spin this. He found himself taking another step into the room and across to the bar behind her. He needed a drink, something to steady his nerves. She finally stood and faced him, the sectional between them, as he lifted a decanter and a simple short glass and poured a splash of scotch.

"I'm sorry to have lied to your maid."

"Housekeeper," he said before she could say anything else.

"I see. Mr. McCabe, as I said—"

"How did you find me?" He didn't miss the startled look on the reporter's face. Maybe she hadn't expected him to question her. "My house, where I live?" he added when she said nothing.

"I did a search, and—"

"I'm not listed anywhere," he said. This house wasn't even in his name. It was rented to a shell corporation. He'd made sure of that.

"Let's just say I'm really good at what I do," she tossed back at him with some attitude.

He had to smile, because he knew when he was being lied to. "Not buying it, but let's dispense with all this back and forth. What do you want from me?"

"I told you already. I'm running a story and would like your quote. Since you've ignored my calls and texts, I thought I would show you the story that'll run tomorrow morning and see if you'd still like to stay quiet." She reached into a bag over her shoulder and pulled out two sheets of paper. There was hesitation for a second before she stepped over to him and held out the papers.

He stared at the headline, Billionaire contractor with ties to terrorism? The article also had a recent photo of him and his current Salem project. He knew doors would close, contracts would dry up, all because as a stupid kid, he'd stolen the wrong car.