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Chapter One
“The calls are escalating. That’s the fifth one today. A record so far. We have told them for the past two weeks that you are unavailable, but it doesn’t seem to dissuade them one bit. His people aren’t buying it. Look, Bash, you need to start taking this seriously. I’m worried about your safety. A man with that kind of reputation has plenty of resources to learn everything he needs to know about you. He could have someone tailing you right now,” Gray said, as he crossed the room and loomed over Bash’s desk with his tree trunk-sized arms across his muscular chest. It was not the first time Gray had tried to use his post-college linebacker body to intimidate him. It never worked, and they both knew it.
“What exactly do you suggest I do? Write the book and end up a food source for the lamprey in Lake Michigan?” Bash said, slamming his laptop closed in defiance.
A couple of weeks ago, Bash received a letter from Maximilian Fontana, a notorious billionaire from New York City. Fontana Property and Development Corporation was a conglomerate of international companies reputed to be deep-rooted in white-collar organized crime. Although their illegal activities were hidden in legitimate businesses and political influence, it did not make Bash feel any better. How he showed up on Fontana’s radar was a mystery, but he was hellbent on Bash writing his memoirs. Aside from the obvious fear factor, he was a crime fiction writer, not a biographer.
Sebastian Bartoli, nicknamed “Bash” to his close friends, had written eleven books, all of which had reached number one on the bestseller lists. He wasn’t an eloquent writer, only a good storyteller, and somehow, it worked for him. When his first book took off, he figured it was a fluke. After the success of his second book, he realized there was something about his straight-forward, down-and-dirty style that appealed to many readers.
“Drop the sarcasm, Bash. You know there is no way I want you anywhere near that man, but we think we have a solution to put a stop to it,” Gray offered.
“Let’s hear it,” Bash said, rolling his chair back from his desk and putting his hands behind his head. This should be good.
“Hide,” Gray said with a straight face.
Bash burst out laughing. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s your plan? Jesus, Gray. How do you think I can hide from one of the most well-connected men in the country in today’s technology environment?”
Grayson Lewis was Bash’s best friend, agent, and overall handler. One of the few people he trusted with his life. They had both grown up in a small rural town in southern Illinois, population 3210. On their first day of kindergarten, Gray offered to swap his uncooked hot dog and cold baked beans for Bash’s fried Spam sandwich. It struck Bash as a good deal. Gray was a naturally good-natured kid, while Bash had a quick wit and snarky attitude. With both being the “only child” of single mothers with no other family in their lives, the boys developed a close bond and became inseparable. Eventually, their mothers became best friends, too, and the four of them became adoptive relatives of sorts.
“Hear me out before you trash my idea.” Gray pulled a chair in front of his desk close enough to rest his elbows on the top. “Bryan will ask someone in his office to lease a car and a vacation rental for a couple of months and put it in their name. We’ll give them the parameters of what you’re looking for (lake, mountains, beach, whatever) but no specific location. They’ll pick that out themselves. The car will be at a predetermined location with the lease contracts and keys in the glove compartment.
“You will have several burner phones, and only Alex and I will have the numbers. Credit cards can be traced, so we will load bank gift cards with as much money as you think you’ll need. Thankfully, you aren’t dating anyone of consequence, so we won’t have to fabricate anything elaborate to explain your absence. The message will be simple: You’re taking a writing sabbatical. No one will know exactly where you are, which will make you safer if anyone tries to strong-arm one of us into divulging your location.”
Bash scrutinized Gray’s face long enough to determine that he was serious about the insane plan Alex, Bryan, and Gray had come up with.
Bryan Stillman, Bash’s editor for the past ten years, had always been reliable, and he made too much money from Bash’s books to want anything bad to happen to him. Alex Herrera was Bash’s attorney. Gray, Alex, and Bash had been fraternity brothers at the University of Illinois. Although their fields of study were different, they remained tight throughout college. When they graduated, Gray and Bash followed Alex to Chicago, where he was attending Loyola University School of Law. As soon as Bash’s first book became a hit, Gray left his marketing job to become his agent. Bash was on his second bestseller when Alex passed the bar and became his attorney. The three friends worked together to build the Sebastian Bartoli Brand, and they all received success and financial rewards from their collaborations.
The plan they devised for him to avoid Maximilian Fontana seemed extreme. Bash had never written about organized crime, so his knowledge of the methods they used to coerce people into doing their bidding was limited to things he had seen in the movies: broken kneecaps, plucked teeth, cement shoes, and the like. He was sure there were also plenty of career-ending things they could threaten that he couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“Why a couple of months? Is that the prescribed time you think it will take for a mob boss to lose interest?” Bash’s voice was laced with sarcasm.
Gray let out a heavy sigh. “You can’t help yourself, can you? Fontana is not a traditional mobster. He is a highly connected businessman. If you become his enemy, I doubt you would ever see it coming. This little getaway is precautionary. It might not even take a couple of months. After you leave town, I’ll send Fontana a list of the top biographers in the country. He’s going to realize that trying to find you isn’t worth the effort.”
“How am I going to get any work done without my assistant? Can I take her with me?” He knew it was a ridiculous suggestion as soon as it left his mouth.
“What part of ‘nobody knowing your location’ did you miss? She can set up a dummy email for you to send her your drafts, research requests, or whatever you need. It won’t even be necessary for her to be in the office more than a couple days a week. Working from home is her favorite thing. You know, if anyone calls looking for you, she’s a vault.”
It was a lot to take in, but he needed to give it some thought. “It might work.”
“Any ideas about where you would like to go? It’s the beginning of autumn, so maybe you could be a leaf peeper,” Gray joked.
The suggestion was not worth a response. “Find me a house on a nice calm lake. Preferably somewhere south where it’s warm. An isolated cove would be good. See if they can arrange to have it fully stocked with groceries before I arrive. And a boat with a cuddy cabin in case I want to spend a few days on the water.”
Gray pushed his chair back and stood up. “All doable.”
“And what are you going to do while I’m gone?”
“As hard as it is for you to admit, you are not my only client. My most demanding? Yes. Most irritating? Certainly. But not the only one.” Gray shook his head.
“But the one who makes you the most money.”
“Maybe not for long…those hot contemporary romances are racking in the cash,” he sing-songed.
Just like Gray to put me in my place.
