His gaze swept down the street, noting how many of his neighbors had come out to witness his humiliation.
Vultures, every last one of them. But they’d serve his purpose today.
He ran his hand over his shaved head awkwardly, projecting nerves that he didn’t feel. “Good morning,” he said gravely. “My name is Corey Gates. Please let me read my statement without interruption.” He didn’t expect the reporters to comply. It was all part of the game. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, my younger brother Rick attempted to kidnap the son of an ADA last night. He was, thankfully, unsuccessful. I’ve fully cooperated with the police, who’ve searched my home, turning it upside down. Rick is not here.”
“Where is he?” one of the reporters shouted.
Anticipating the interruption, Corey tightened his jaw for effect, delivering the lie with the emotion expected of the guardian of a boy gone wrong. “I don’t know where he is, which is one of the reasons I asked you to come. I’d like your viewing audience to help me locate my brother. I’ve raised Rick since my mother’s death, and, quite honestly, I’ve been at the end of my rope for a long time. Rick’s been troubled and . . .” He cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders. “He’s gotten involved with drugs. I’ve tried to get him help, but I’ve failed. I’m not saying that the drugs excuse what he did last night, because nothing can excuse that. He did a terrible thing and needs to face the consequences.”
He swallowed hard, hoping the cameras caught his distress. “But he’s only sixteen. He’s out there somewhere, maybe alone and scared. He’s been depressed since our mother’s death, but I didn’t realize it had gotten so bad. Look, I’m not a child psychologist. I’m just a contractor. I run a home improvement business.” He gestured to the truck that sat in his driveway. “Three Vets Renovation. I install drywall and toilets for a living.”
Which was true on paper, but he, Bobby, and Ed put minimal effort into actually renovating anything. Three Vets Renovation was merely a front, hiding their far more lucrative—and far less legit—business. On paper, they were stand-up citizens, but Three Vets existed solely to launder the monies they earned doing very dirty jobs for very powerful people.
This week their dirty job was to cause the death of Bella Butler, an actress who’d accused her director, Trevor Doyle, of rape. It was shaping up to be a blockbuster trial, one that would hurt Doyle’s career, even if the jury acquitted him—and these days, one could never be too sure how a jury would go.
So Doyle had hired them to get rid of Bella before the trial began. He’d wanted it to look like a car accident—low-key and completely untraceable back to him to keep the Feds from investigating him for witness tampering. Corey had come up with a better idea because Bella might survive a car accident. She wouldn’t survive what he’d planned.
As for diverting suspicion from their client, Corey, Bobby, and Ed had built a solid strategy for that as well, and Doyle had been very pleased. But none of it would be possible if the cops were following Corey’s every move as they had been, first with Aaron and now with Rick. Of all the weeks his brothers could pick to colossally fuck up, this week was the worst.
Doyle’s trial started in a few days, but Bella had been in hiding for weeks. They knew where she was, but she was surrounded by too much security to get to her. Their window of opportunity for eliminating her was very slim—the hour she’d be driving from her hideaway to New Orleans. Her security would still be impressive, but they had a plan for that, too. She’d be coming to the city sometime this week, so they had to throw the NOPD off their scent.
Which was why he was now begging strangers to help him find his brother. But, if everything went to plan, he’d also provide the police and the public an alternate villain to pursue, one they wouldn’t be able to resist.
Searching the crowd, Corey spread his hands imploringly. “I didn’t know anything about parenting. But then my mother died, and Rick became my responsibility. I was completely unprepared to raise a troubled teenager. I still am.”
It was working. The reporters’ expressions hadn’t cracked, but a few of the camera folks looked sympathetic.
“If I could find Rick,” Corey continued, “he could get the help he desperately needs. He’ll have to face the consequences of his actions, but hopefully he’ll emerge clean and sober. Please, if you see him, call the NOPD. I’m putting up a reward of ten thousand dollars for any tips that lead to his return. He’s not safe out there.” He hesitated, bit his lip, then blurted, “I don’t think he’s just using drugs. I think he’s fallen in with a gang who will not have his best interests at heart. He’s only sixteen. He should have his whole life in front of him. If you’re afraid to call the cops, please call my personal cell phone at 504-555-1020.”
He figured his voice mail would be full within an hour with crackpots and true crime wannabes trying to cash in on the ten grand reward, but he would not be calling anyone back. Because none of them would know where Rick was.
Corey knew, of course. Rick was with Jace at Corey’s camp on the bayou, being guarded by Corey’s best friend, Bobby. The camp had been the only place Corey had been able to think to hide them last night after Jace’s frantic call for assistance. Corey had been rattled and angry, able to think only about the blow his brothers had struck to his business.
ADA Cardozo, for fuck’s sake. It just had to be ADA Cardozo. It had been bad enough when Aaron had landed the same prosecutor who was also prosecuting Trevor Doyle. Their client had been very displeased. But then Rick had to go and grab Cardozo’s kid? The ADA and the NOPD would be coming after anyone named Gates.
Which included Corey, unfortunately.
“Where’s your youngest brother Jace?” another reporter called out.
“He’s with some friends.” Luckily, no one knew that Jace had been driving the van. He’d managed to keep his ski mask on, unlike Rick, who was supposed to be the smart one. “Jace isn’t involved in any of this. Please respect his privacy. Now, if you’ll excuse—”
“Mr. Gates!” A redhead forced her way to the front of the crowd, her microphone extended. “Did Rick’s abduction attempt have anything to do with the fact that your older brother Aaron is in jail awaiting trial for the murder of Dr. Singh last week? Was Rick trying to use ADA Cardozo’s son to get Aaron out of jail?”
Of course he was, he wanted to snap. You’re as big an idiot as Rick is. But he said no such thing. The redhead was Noni Feldman and her news program was viewed by thousands.
So he shrugged sadly. “Who knows what was going through his mind? We’ve all been on edge since Aaron’s crime last week, but that doesn’t excuse Rick’s behavior, either. We’ve undergone a great deal of stress this year. Six months ago, we lost our nephew Liam to cancer, and he was only eight years old. His death sent Rick spiraling deeper into depression. Rick’s not a bad kid, but he’s not making good choices right now. Please, help me find him.”