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PORTLAND, OREGON
I had spent the last few months scouring through the documents Jackson had been able to procure, including phone calls made to and from my uncle’s line. At first, I had been disgusted with the different women.
Fidelity was obviously a foreign concept to him, but considering what I knew and had experienced in his house, I wasn’t surprised at all. There were also ones to other family and friends of his, including a business partner who went by the name “Blue”.
I’d had trouble figuring out who he was and where to find him because it looked like all the conversations from this mysterious figure were made from burner phones which were untraceable.
As concerning as those calls were, the ones to and from Washington, D.C., were the ones that gave me pause. In fact, I had recently called that same number a time or two before, and connecting the dots, I realized that George had been contacted by Franklin Blake not long after I had last spoken to him about my possible inheritance.
The two might not be connected at all, but a twisting in my gut told me otherwise. I had witnessed various calls, most time-stamped within a three week time period, and stopping just a day before the man’s death.
“What kind of business did the IRS have with you?” I’d asked over and over again which lead me back to the bank deposits.
All were just under the mandatory reporting threshold which meant he was making them in smaller increments to avoid detection from the tax man. Since Franklin began calling him, it seemed as if his plan had failed anyway. I normally would’ve rejoiced in that, but seeing that Franklin and Ashley ended up dead, there was no solace to be found.
After those calls stopped, there seemed to be a lull until a series of calls were placed to another number, this time in the Chicago area code. In fact, that untraceable number also received several thousands of dollars within a few days which made my overactive imagination run wild. I’d always been called a dreamer, but if my roiling thoughts were right, this was a nightmare I couldn’t allow to happen.
“Bastard,” I had yelled out when it all made sense.
George was in some sort of illegal business with a criminal in Chicago and setting up payments in exact increments, and all after receiving several calls from the Internal Revenue Service’s Tax Crimes division. If I didn’t know any better...
“No,” I’d cried out.
The whole nefarious plot was playing out and it would end one way only. I had let Gabriel go to protect him, but it was now possible that he would end up paying the price anyway.
If my suspicions were right, Franklin checked in to my inheritance after I’d talked to him, and soon realized something was amiss. He’d contacted George, likely with questions, then ended up in an “accident” with his wife.
Where most men would’ve ended things there, I now suspected I might’ve made things worse by threatening my uncle. He was now possibly planning something which would include killing the man I had once loved.
Once loved. That was comical to even think. I still loved Gabriel Blake, and I knew I always would. I had let him go to save him from the truth about me, and now I could end up being the reason he died. If I had never gone to Franklin with questions about an inheritance and I had only let sleeping dogs lie, then none of this would’ve happened.
I was convinced George had killed the Blakes and now would take out their heir to cover his tracks. After all, Gabriel could know what Franklin had on him, and if he did, there was a chance he could be exposed. The money being sent to the entity in Chicago had to be a hitman.
After swallowing down my revulsion, I had to do the same with my pride. I had to warn him, and if I was wrong, there was no harm done. Gabe could hire protection, and I could sleep easier at night knowing I saved someone from the evil whose blood ran through me.
I had found the phone number to Gabriel’s office and encountered my first road block immediately. “I need to speak to Gabriel Blake, please,” I’d said.
“And you are?” the woman asked.
“I’m a friend. I—”
“I’m sorry. I have strict orders to only allow certain callers through. Now, what’s your name?”
I couldn’t tell her who I really was because there was no way I would be on any lists of acceptable callers, and if she reached out to him, he would likely hang up in my face.
I had to think of something and knowing what type of business he was in, I scrambled to remember the name of the woman who I had just seen on television talking about the upcoming free agency period in the National Football League.
“Myrna. Myrna with Fox Sports,” I told her.
“I’ll see if he’s available. Hold, please.”
I waited with damn near bated breath for those few long seconds to pass. When he finally answered, it was like being punched in the chest. His voice was still so similar, even if just a bit deeper than I remembered. Everything about the man was sexy, including the way he said certain things.
“What can I do for you, Myrna?” His question had sounded casual enough. I froze as I tried to formulate a thought. He then spoke again. “Myrna?”
I knew he would hang up on me if I didn’t say something right away, so I softly cleared my throat before replying. “It isn’t Myrna. It’s—”
“Harper?” My heart skipped a beat or two at the sound of my name on his lips. How I had ached over the years to hear it again. “What the hell do you want?”
