Cassidy Jones and the Luminous (Cassidy Jones Adventures Book 4) (10 page)

“Sounds good,” Dad agreed.

Ben patted Jared’s tense shoulder. Mr. Wells noted the gesture. His eyes hardened, though his smile never wavered, as our guests filed past him.

“Dude, go with them,” Nate said to Bobby. “I’ll come down with my dad.”

Conflicted, Bobby glanced between Leroy and Mr. Wells.

“Later,” he said, choosing the big game hunter.

If he’d had knowledge of Jared’s attack yesterday, no doubt his decision would have been different. Bobby’s nosiness and loose lips almost surpassed our neighbor Mrs. DeAngelo’s, which was saying a lot.

Mr. Wells entered the foyer. He frowned when Gavin and Emery followed. His scowl whipped into a plastic smile as he eyed Gavin. He clearly didn’t like the look of him. The feeling was obviously mutual.

Dad shut the door. “Owen, this is Gavin Phillips and his son Emery. Emery was with Jared when the attack occurred.”

Mr. Wells had the decency to appear concerned.

“Gavin, Emery,” he acknowledged, adding to Emery, “I understand from Jared’s mother that I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

That’s it?
I thought with disgust.
He has nothing more to say, like, “I’m sorry your life was put in danger due to my dirty dealings”?

“Glad I was there,” Emery replied tersely.

Gavin didn’t say a word.

“Kids, why don’t you go into the family room?” Dad suggested. He glanced at Emery to let him know that included him, which wasn’t necessary. Emery knew he fell into the kid category with anyone unaware of our ruse.

~~~

Huddled with Emery, Nate, and Chazz on the sectional in our family room, I listened in on the conversation taking place in the living room. I repeated what was being said in a whisper to the boys.

After relaying everything that had happened since he’d opened his front door to three goons—with my dad adding in minute details here and there—Jared demanded, in an acidic tone: “So where’ve you been, Dad?”

“On a much-needed sabbatical.” Mr. Wells sounded as though he were pleasantly unaware of Jared’s rage.

I bristled. Didn’t he even care that his son could have been killed?

“A
sabbatical
?” Nate questioned. At the same time, Jared spat out: “Care to elaborate?”

Mr. Wells laughed.

“His dad just laughed,” I hissed to the boys, astonished. What the heck was wrong with him?

“You and your mother are cut from the same cloth,” Mr. Wells said. “You even sounded like her just then.”

The living room fell silent. I took the opportunity to digest what I’d heard. Jared’s dad was completely bizarre.

“I want to deck him,” Nate whispered.

“What a jerk!” I said.

“He’s mean,” Chazz agreed, a little too loudly. We shushed him while I refocused my attention on the living room.

“I can’t talk to you,” Jared said.

“Sit down, Jared,” Mr. Wells ordered.

I heard Jared stalk across the room.

“Jared’s leaving,” I whispered, and started to stand.

Emery caught my arm. “He needs space. And we need
you
to listen.”

Consigned, I sat down and concentrated. We all heard the front door slam.

“Owen, I think it would be better if I talked to him,” Dad said. “Gavin has some questions for you.”

“Fire away, Gavin,” Mr. Wells said in a cavalier tone. I could tell he was indignant about Jared blowing him off. But what did he expect?

My dad closed the front door behind him as he pursued Jared. I pictured Mr. Wells resting an elbow on the sofa headrest, cupping the side of his head in his palm and wearing a smug expression on his face as he and Gavin sized up one another.

“But first,” Mr. Wells said, “mind telling me how anything concerning my son and myself concerns you?”

“Did you miss the part about
my
son having to save
your
son’s life?” Gavin’s tone caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand. There was no way Mr. Slimy Lawyer hadn’t picked up on the fact that he was dealing with a very dangerous individual.

Mom cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” Jared’s dad said, not sounding sincere at all. “I didn’t thank you for watching over Jared. I’m certainly grate—”

“
Owen
, have you contacted the police?” Gavin cut him off.

“My next stop.” The way Mr. Wells spoke made me think he was smiling.

“Who were the goons who held a nine-millimeter to your son’s head?” Gavin interrogated, going for shock value.

“I don’t know.”

“Who hired them?”

“I don’t know
who
they are.”

“Who’d you piss off, Owen?”

Mr. Wells chuckled derisively. “Who haven’t I pissed off? I
am
a defense attorney.”

“Why’d you double-cross Ariel Vilvary?”

There was a moment of silence. I imagined the men staring at one another. Finally, Mr. Wells
tsk-tsk
ed. “It appears I’m already talking to the police. Did you forget something, detective? Like reading me my Miranda rights? Show me your badge.”

“I’m not a cop. Just an angry parent who can type keywords into Google. Your client, Ariel Vilvary, is a local crime lord—”

“
Alleged
crime lord, and
former
client—”

“Did he fire you?”

“I chose not to represent Mr. Vilvary anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t
feel
like it.”

“
Hmm
. . . .Doesn’t seem like a man like Vilvary would take kindly to that.”

“A bit of advice,
Gavin
. Cut back on the television. In the real world, when a businessman such as Mr. Vilvary has a lawyer who decides to terminate the relationship, he simply finds a new lawyer—”

“And may
terminate
his former lawyer in the process.”

“Cute,” Mr. Wells replied dryly.

“Let’s go through the facts. Fact one, three armed men showed up at your ex-wife’s apartment. Fact two, they told your son that they were there to settle a score with you. Fact three, they are represented by Yesler, a top law firm. Who’s cutting the check for Yesler, Owen?”

“Got me. Why don’t you
Google
it?”

“Next time my son might not be around to swing a hockey stick.”

“There
won’t
be a next time.”

“I think he’s standing up,” I whispered to the boys, who were on the edge of their seats—quite literally. If Nate had moved a fraction of an inch more, he would have slid right off the cushion and onto his backside.

“I apologize for any distress Gavin may have caused you, Elizabeth. I’m indebted to you and Drake. I had planned on taking Jared with me—”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” Gavin interjected.

“However, in light of his reaction, I think he’d prefer to stay here,” Mr. Wells continued as though Gavin hadn’t spoken. “When does Eileen’s plane arrive? She neglected to give her flight information in the multiple hysterical messages she left me.”

“Which brings us back to—where have you been, Owen?”

“Don’t take this personally, Gavin, but go to hell.”

I replaced “hell” with “Phoenix.” Chazz gasped anyway.

“She’ll arrive in a couple of hours,” Mom answered quickly. “Drake and I plan to pick her up. We’ve invited her and Jared to stay with us until it’s safe.”

“Thank you, but it
is
safe.”

“You sound awfully sure of yourself, Owen,” Gavin continued to provoke. “Did you strike a deal with the devil?”

“I only know the devil by reputation. But instinct tells me you two are well acquainted,” retorted Mr. Wells. “It’s been amusing, Gavin. Elizabeth, I have a gift for you. I’ll be back in a moment.”

I released a long breath and sank into the cushions. “He’s headed for the front door.”

“Good work.” Emery patted my knee and stood up.

My brothers scrambled after Emery. I peeled myself off the sectional and caught up with them. Gavin and Mom stood on the front porch, watching Mr. Wells saunter to his silver Porsche.

“I’m sorry for putting you through that,” Gavin was saying to Mom when the boys and I entered the hallway.

“No need to apologize. I’ve never liked him. However, I haven’t witnessed him behaving so callously before. It’s as though he doesn’t care.”

“He doesn’t care—because he isn’t afraid.”

“You’ve lost your touch,” Emery teased, clamping his hands on his dad’s shoulders. “I’m disillusioned. Getting under that cheesy veneer should’ve been child’s play.”

“My
oh-so-humble
son, that is no veneer. I couldn’t rattle the man because that wasn’t a ballsy act. He has absolute confidence that he has control of whatever he has mixed himself up in.”

Mr. Wells lifted a case of bottled water from the Porsche’s trunk.

“What is he doing?” Mom asked.

Mr. Wells turned on his heels to face us, gripping the water and wearing a smile.

“Looks like he’s giving us
water,
” Nate observed, equally dumbfounded.

Jared’s dad was a tool.

“This isn’t your average bottled water,” he informed us as he lumbered up our front walk. “No gimmicks, no calories, no added sugar. Just your daily recommended vitamins and minerals—perfect for a growing boy.” He winked at Chazz. “The electrolytes will make you feel like a million bucks. Nate, will you take this, please?

“Elizabeth, thank you.” He hugged Mom’s stiff shoulders and then offered his hand to Emery. He ignored Gavin completely. “Thank you, again, for your bravery yesterday.”

He released Emery’s hand and smiled at me.

I glared.

“Cassidy, you grow more beautiful each time I see you.”

I wanted to stick my finger down my throat.

“Tell Jared I love him and will call later.” He nodded a farewell and turned on his heels. Aware of his audience, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and sauntered down our walkway, as though he were strolling down a sunny country lane. I almost expected him to start whistling.

“He really likes that water,” Chazz said.

Despite my disgust, I laughed. Only Chazz would interpret that deadbeat’s indifference as love for his client’s bottled water. At least I figured it was his client’s water.

“Bottled water sure makes up for being a
jerk
,” I commented to everyone on the porch. Jared’s dad closed his trunk.

“Cassidy—” Mom began to scold, but then stopped. How could she argue?

“Dang, this is heavy,” Nate grumbled about the water. His back arched from the strain. “Take it.” He handed me the water and shook out his arms.

Glancing down, I looked at the packaging closely for the first time.
Luminous
was printed in lavender across the plastic covering.

Yep, it’s his client’s water
. I remembered Joe had been drinking the same brand. He had said he’d gotten it from the soup kitchen, and Mr. Wells’s client had donated water to local homeless shelters. I couldn’t recall his client’s name, but did remember his stepdaughter’s.
Ashlyn
.

Guess he keeps cases on hand for lame peace offerings
, I thought as Mr. Wells sped away in his fancy car.

No one was in the mood to join Dad for his interview with Leroy when he and Jared returned to the house fifteen minutes after Mr. Wells’s odd departure. That isn’t to say Jared wasn’t in need of distraction. Xbox was his diversion of choice, which my brothers happily obliged him in.

The boys feverishly worked the controllers, taking out their aggression on the screen and fighting their way to new levels. Amid the explosions and exchanges of gunfire with spidery alien invaders, I curled up in the corner of the sectional, watching Jared more than the game. My heart ached for him.

“Jared,” I said softly, sitting up.

“Hmmmmm?” His fierce gaze didn’t leave the battlefield.

I leaned in toward his ear. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” His thumb punched a button on the controller.
Boom!
The battleground erupted into a fireball.

I settled back into my corner and texted Emery.

Any new info?

He and Gavin had gone home to see what more they could dig up on Mr. Wells and Ariel Vilvary. Gavin was positive that the local gangster was behind the attack.

At least they’re being proactive
, I thought, waiting for Emery’s reply. I longed to be with them, researching and chiseling out a plan, but I didn’t feel comfortable leaving Jared.

Emery texted back:
Nothing compelling.

I scratched my chin, thinking.
The FBI didn’t have anything?
I typed, but thought better of sending the text. The FBI could have been monitoring our cells for all I knew. Deleting the characters, I plucked out:
Did you talk to Riley?

Riley was a bail bond agent, after all, and an ex-convict. It was totally conceivable that she could have information about Vilvary that law enforcement wouldn’t have.

Emery texted back:
Check. No leads. Come over?

I can’t. Keep me posted
, I texted, frustrated. I hated sitting around like a lump
.

“Guys, I’m getting a snack,” I announced. “Want anything?”

“No thanks,” Jared answered, eyes on the game. My brothers didn’t bother responding.

I entered the kitchen, whining to Mom, “I
hate
video games. How can they even stand looking at the screen?”

Leaning over a magazine at the kitchen island, she smiled at me.

I wondered how she could look so happy, with everything that had been going on.

“Funny you should mention it,” she said. “I’m reading an article about that very thing: why males become more addicted to video games than females.” She paused to take a swig of bottled water.

I parked my backside on the stool next to hers.

“Apparently, special computer imaging shows that the part of the brain that generates feelings of reward is activated in males when playing games, especially games in which territories can be gained—”