The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) (19 page)

“I don’t want to leave. I’m very happy here. These people have been very nice to me, Daddy,” she told him. He listened carefully to the sound of her voice. She didn’t sound rehearsed. In fact, she did indeed sound perfectly happy and content. “But I would like to see you,” she added.

His heart brightened. “Yes, absolutely!” he said.

“Can you come right now?” she asked. “Are you busy working?”

“You know I’d dropped everything to see you,” he assured her. “Please just tell me where you are, sweetheart!”

She gave him an address and asked him to be there in fifteen minutes. Jimmy dove across a table for a ballpoint pen and scratched the address onto the back of his hand.

“I’m excited to see you, Daddy!” Tatum said. And then the line went dead.

“Hey, that’s Jimmy Cloud,” someone whispered nearby, and Jimmy realized he was standing amid a cluster of tables, with faces staring up at him. He spotted Mitch, who gestured at his nose with his middle finger. Jimmy touched his nose and felt blood on his upper lip. Coke had always made his nose bleed.

His Ferrari was parked on the street. He didn’t waste time telling Mitch he was leaving.

TWENTY-SIX

The address turned out to be a car wash on Wilshire. Business was slow, so only one of the bays was occupied. A man stood in the shade of the aluminum overhang spraying the bed of his Ford F150, the mist from the wand glistening in the morning light. Jimmy Cloud turned in and parked in one of the open bays and sat with the engine running, watching traffic pass and waiting to see Tatum’s face for the first time in a week.

He would have to wait a little longer.
 

After waiting three full minutes, Jimmy was already getting anxious. The narcotics weren’t helping. He could barely sit still. He kept checking his phone to see if Tatum had called again. His wife Shay called but he ignored her, letting it go to voice mail. She didn’t leave a message. He wondered how worried Shay actually was about his daughter. She was good at playing the part of his wife, but he knew her feelings had to be mixed at best. From the very beginning she had wanted Jimmy to herself. All the women in his life would have preferred it that way. That was only natural, he supposed. And maybe it had less to do with sharing his love and affection than the prospect of splitting his money with his offspring.

Suddenly the sun was blocked by a limousine that had stopped in front of the bay where he was parked. Jimmy removed his sunglasses and dropped them on the passenger seat. The limo was not exactly what he had expected, but he waited for Tatum to emerge from one of the rear doors and run into his arms.

Instead, the driver’s window buzzed down and a hand gestured to him. Jimmy hesitated a beat, perplexed. He checked himself in the mirror and spotted another trace of blood oozing from his left nostril. He took care of it with a paper napkin, then pushed his door open and walked to the limo.
 

“Jimmy?” the driver asked.

He nodded. “Yes, I’m Jimmy.”

“Leave the car and get in,” the driver instructed.

Jimmy stared at him for a five Mississippi, then gave a quick glance over one shoulder at the blue Ferrari before doing as instructed and taking a seat in the rear. There were no other passengers, and a divider prevented him from speaking to the driver as he was chauffeured through town. All he could do was relax and enjoy the ride.

It was a forty-five-minute drive that ended nearly twenty miles outside the city. Jimmy tilted his head so that he could see out the tinted glass. They were on a highway with power lines running along both sides of the four-lane road. Finally, the limo turned onto an unpaved lane, and dust rose from the tires as they drove away from the highway toward a mountain range in the distance. Jimmy got the sick feeling he might be the unsuspecting victim of an episode of
Punked.
 

The mountains were still far in the distance when the limo rolled to a stop in the middle of the unpaved road. There was a stiff wind and dust swirled. Jimmy remained seated, pressing his nose against the glass for a better look at what might be happening around him. He couldn’t see a thing.

Suddenly a door opened. Jimmy raised a hand to shield his face from the sun.

“Get out,” the driver said.

“What the hell, man?” Jimmy snapped.

He leaned forward and stepped out onto the dirt road. The driver pointed toward the mountains and Jimmy was able to see dust rising in the distance as a vehicle approached.
 

“Is that Tatum?” he asked the driver.

The driver didn’t say a word.

As the second vehicle approached, Jimmy could see that it was actually not one, but two vehicles. Both of them black Mercedes sedans. They stopped at a distance of about one hundred feet from the limo where Jimmy stood. A man in a dark suit stepped out of the car in the rear and opened the back door. Two seconds later, Tatum appeared, standing in the sunlight, without a hood on her head or any other type of protection, smiling from ear to ear. Jimmy hardly recognized her at first without one of her signature hoodies. Then a wave of relief passed through his chest and he took a step toward her.

“Stop,” a voice warned.
 

It was the man in the suit who had opened the door for Tatum.

“That’s close enough.”

“Hi, Daddy!” Tatum called.

Jimmy was confused. This wasn’t the scenario he had envisioned an hour ago when she had called. All he could think to do was wave at her and say the thing that occurred most natural to him. “Hi, baby girl!”

“I’ve missed you, Daddy!”

Then suddenly, Tatum was put back inside the car and the man in the suit closed the door. A moment later, the car swerved around the lead Mercedes and drove past him in the dust, and he watched as it disappeared into the horizon, headed for the highway back to Los Angeles.

Jimmy was now more confused than ever.

The back door of the lead Mercedes opened and Jimmy was invited inside. There was a driver, and seated opposite Jimmy in the backseat was a man dressed in a white suit with a powder blue shirt underneath. He looked sixty-ish, was tall and fit, with lush silver hair. And Jimmy was immediately certain he had met the man somewhere before.

The man smiled like an old friend after years of separation.

“Hello, Jimmy,” he said. His gray eyes twinkled.

Jimmy Cloud was rich and famous, one of the most recognizable faces in the world. Wherever he went, people adored him. He had been a celebrity for so long that he couldn’t remember any other kind of life. He had wealth and fame, and enjoyed a life of luxury few could even imagine. But seated in the backseat of the black limousine, face to face with the man in the white suit, Jimmy Cloud suddenly felt like a nobody. The unexpected sensation sent chills down his spine. He suddenly felt completely uncomfortable in his own skin, and was overcome with the desire to crawl into a dark cave and hide. It was as if a bright light had been shined onto his deepest fears and insecurities.

Jimmy’s throat felt constricted as if he could barely breathe or swallow.

“Who are you?” he managed to ask, though the question came out as a pathetic croak.

Silas offered his hand.

Jimmy reluctantly shook it and felt a charge of energy pass into his body. And in that instant the memory of that long ago night in the desert rushed back to the forefront of his mind. He gasped, and pressed himself against the door, trying to push away from the stranger in the white suit.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Silas said. “My name is Silas. I suppose I might have failed to properly introduce myself that night in the bar when we first met.” His smile was genial and nonthreatening, but that didn’t change the fear that pulsed inside Jimmy’s chest.

“Let me out of here!” Jimmy screamed, though again it was barely a croak. “Please let me out!”

“We made a deal, Jimmy,” Silas said. “Surely you remember, do you not?”

Jimmy’s heart felt like it would explode. The panic seized every inch of him. He was suddenly speechless, unable to form a single thought.

Silas’s eyes brightened. “It’s certainly been quite a run for you! I’ve watched your career with great pride and delight. Almost like a proud papa, I must say.” He smiled, the tip of his tongue appearing in a corner of his mouth. The wave of silver hair was perfectly formed, as if poured from a mold and placed upon his scalp each morning. “Who would have guessed that the sad, pathetic Tyler Toland would transform into the great Jimmy Cloud?”

Silas clapped his hands together with the flourish of a Vegas illusionist at the end of a spellbinding trick. It made Jimmy jump so hard he hit his head on the ceiling of the Mercedes. Jimmy shrieked with pain and clutched his head in both hands, leaning forward between his knees.

“In my wildest dreams, how could I have imagined the heights of fame and fortune you would attain? But look at you!” Then Silas fell silent, his eyes leaving Jimmy, his soft focus drifting to the desert beyond the window. “But the day has come for payment to be made for the life you were granted.”

Jimmy pushed his hands into his lap and reclined into the seat. His eyes were glassy with tears.

“What does that mean?” he asked. “What do you mean, payment?”

“I have given you the life of your dreams, in return for all of you—body, soul, and spirit,” Silas replied.

Jimmy felt the world begin to tilt; such as it had that night in the desert, when Silas had worn the western shirt, boots, and a cowboy hat. How could the man seated beside him possibly be the stranger from the bar? He felt the urge to vomit rise quickly.

“Please …” he whispered, tasting the bile at the back of his throat.

“The years have passed in a flash, haven’t they though?” Silas said. “So many people don’t take the time to smell the roses and then when it comes time to pay the piper,
oh!
—so many regrets! So few realize that their time can end so abruptly and without warning. Especially the chosen few, such as yourself, who have been offered amazing, impossible opportunities. But here you are. And here
I
am, Jimmy. It’s time to pay.”

Jimmy’s vision blurred. He pressed his hands to his eyes. “What do you want from me?”

“It’s simple. Everything you have.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. Everything.”

“What do you want with Tatum?”

“Tatum is a means of keeping you honest, Tyler … oh, I’m sorry—Jimmy. You care so deeply for her, as a loving father should, and I know that you will do whatever is asked of you in order to ensure her safety. Is that true enough?”

Jimmy pressed a hand to the door and a hand to the seat to steady himself. Tears ran down his face. He was going to puke; it was only a question of when. The night in the desert with the stranger felt like a lifetime ago. Someone else’s life. The name Tyler Toland was long forgotten.
 

“What are you going to do to me?” he asked, trembling.

“That is up to you,” Silas answered. “This process can be painless and your quality of life has to change very little. But I need to know that I have your utmost commitment to me and my mission.”

“I beg you, please don’t harm my daughter.”

“Again, that is up to you. I wouldn’t want to see one single hair on her precious head come to experience any more unpleasantness than she has already endured in her short lifetime.”

“Tell me what you want,” Jimmy pleaded, his stomach churning.

Silas smiled. “We are going for a drive now, Jimmy. We have much to talk about. You and I are going to become the dearest of friends.”

Jimmy shoved the door open and vomited on the dirt road, dust and grit warm on his face and stinging his eyes. He heaved until there was nothing left to bring up, then shut his door and passed out. He had no idea where they were taking him.
 

TWENTY-SEVEN

Rosemary had been awake since 5:00 AM. She did yoga and ran five miles, six days a week. She was a fitness and health fiend. It was pretty much universally impossible to live in this world, look like her, and not be a totally disciplined and regimented human being. She ate yogurt for breakfast with bits of walnut for protein, so by eleven she was usually starving. But lunch was typically a small salad and less than satisfying. Today she drove to a vegan deli a few blocks from the office and ordered a salad that came in a tiny recyclable dish. She hurried inside, paid at the counter, and carried a paper sack to her car. She drove a Porsche her boyfriend leased for her.

Coldplay was on the radio when she returned to her car and she turned it up. She had started reading a novel by Jo Nesbo last night and had slept restlessly. It was her first experience reading an author from Norway. She was humming
Clocks
when she unlocked the office door and elbowed it open. She had left the lights on knowing she’d only be gone a few minutes. Tom Webb was still gone. He had called to let her know about Smith, and the call had shaken her. She didn’t plan on sleeping alone tonight.

The phone on her desk was ringing by the time she set the salad on her desk. She scooped up the receiver on the fourth ring. Pressed it to her ear as she tipped the paper bag to slide the salad out.

“Webb and Associates,” she said.

“We have your kids. Tell Archer to back off or we will stop being nice. Do not involve the police. Learn your lessons and cheap as you can. Do you understand?”

The voice had been run through a scrambler box and digitized. It sounded nonhuman. Rosemary stopped what she’d been doing and stared into Webb’s office. The light was off and the room appeared eerily still. Rosemary was accustomed to dealing with some weird shit, but something about this call made her blood run cold.

“Who is this?” she asked, scrambling for a notepad to scribble the message on.

“Consider this your only warning.” Then the call dropped.

Rosemary stared at the phone in her hand. Suddenly her appetite was gone. She pushed her hair out of her face and reread the message she had transcribed. A chill walked up her spine. She needed to call Webb but didn’t want to.