Chapter 8 - The Deal with the Devil
I eased the pressure on Marco’s throat just enough to let him pull in a ragged, gasping breath. "Derek contacted Victor directly? How does an insurance broker from Oregon have a backchannel to Victor Reno?"
Marco spat a mouthful of dark blood onto the floor, his chest heaving under my knee. "Derek... Derek has been laundering sports-betting money through his corporate accounts for two years. He owes Victor three hundred grand on bad college football parlays. When he saw your face... when he recognized your name... he called Victor’s bookie in Vegas to trade your location for his debt."
Ryan stepped closer, his face turning pale under the fluorescent lights. "Derek traded Elena to clear his gambling debts?"
"He told Victor she was married to a nobody, living soft, working at a botanical nursery," Marco wheezed, glaring up at me with raw hatred. "He said you were defenseless. He said we could scoop you up off the street and nobody would even look twice."
I looked at Ryan. The hurt and betrayal in his eyes were being consumed by a cold, calculating fury. He had spent his entire life being the dutiful son, the responsible younger brother, watching Derek steal the family spotlight while hiding behind Diane’s apron. Now, the full rot of Derek’s soul was laid bare on the floor between us.
"Where is Victor right now?" I asked Marco.
"He's in Seattle," Marco gasped. "He drove up this morning to finalize the Macau paperwork. He's waiting for my call at the Fairmont Olympic. If I don't check in by midnight, he sends the second crew straight to your mother-in-law’s house. Derek gave him that address, too."
My stomach turned to ice. "Derek gave Victor his own mother's address?"
"Insurance," Marco whispered, a bloody grin stretching across his teeth. "Derek told Victor that if you ran from the apartment, you'd head to Diane's estate to pack Ryan's trust fund papers. Victor’s enforcers are already moving toward Oakridge."
I stood up, stepping off Marco’s chest. I grabbed the satellite phone from his tactical vest, dialed Victor’s private burner number, and held the phone down to Marco’s ear.
"Tell Victor you secured the apartment. Tell him Elena fled toward the coast, and you're pursuing her to Astoria," I ordered, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "If you breathe one word about this rail yard, I will let Ryan take target practice on your kneecaps."
Marco looked at Ryan’s stone-cold eyes, then down at his own broken wrist. When the line clicked open and Victor’s gravelly voice answered, Marco spoke without a tremor of defiance.
"Boss. She's heading for the coast. Highway 26. We're on her tail now... No, keep the secondary team in reserve. We've got this."
Victor grunted and hung up.
I took the phone, crushed it beneath my heel, and looked at Ryan. "Tie them up with the cargo straps from the van. Gag them. Then we get back in the Subaru."
"Are we running?" Ryan asked, his hands already working the heavy nylon ratchets to bind Marco’s limbs.
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"Running?" I picked up my jacket, wiped the blood from my forearm, and snapped the fresh magazine into my Kimber .45. "Derek sold us out to mobsters, and he put his own mother in the crosshairs to save his skin. We have a family dinner to finish."
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