Cold Silence (A High Stakes Thriller) (20 page)

Chapter 18

"Dad, you have to come now."

Travis shook his head and covered the mouth of the phone. "Not now, Peter. I'll be off in a few minutes."

"I can't possibly do that today, Travis," Susan told him on the phone. "We're swamped."

At the door, Peter straightened his arms to his sides in a gesture of impatience. "It's important, Dad."

Travis waved Peter out his office door as he gripped the phone tight in his fist. "I need them now, Susan."

"Travis, we're doing it as fast as we can. We're in the middle of a financial audit. We've got a team of accountants that we're servicing. I don't have the people to handle this, and if you push any harder, you're going to lose your whole damn HR department." She exhaled and he could hear her tapping a nail on her desk, the way she did when she was irritated.

Peter waved from the door to get his attention and Travis shook his head and turned his back. Peter would have to wait. "I'm sorry, Susan. I know you're under a lot of pressure. I just need this to come first. It's important, okay?"

"More important than getting financing?"

He thought about R.J. O'Brien, about Peter's Bulls jacket, about the absolute mess of his life. "More important, Susan."

She whistled. "Wow. More important than the next round of funding—is someone dying?"

"No," he answered quickly and with confidence, knowing his HR director was about as good with a secret as the six-o'clock news. "It's a personal matter. I need to get in contact with someone."

"Well, someone is not a problem. Just tell me who. I can find one, for God's sake. It's putting together eight years of someones that I don't have time for."

"I need them all, Susan. Just do it. I'll be down there later to pick it up."

"All of it... Travis, you're talking—"

"Susan, all of it. Tell the staff we'll make it up in bonuses. I promise." He hung up before she could ask more questions or offer more complaints. Leaning his elbows on the desk, he rubbed his temples.

The phone rang again and he snatched it up. "Landon."

"It's Janice. We've got a good media op with CNN."

"When?"

"Today. Anytime before five-thirty."

"Live on a Saturday?"

"Taped. They're going to run it Monday morning—at least twice."

"Okay." He could do taped.

"You want a spokesperson?"

"Janice."

"I know, but it's Saturday. I thought maybe you'd want to be at home."

"I'll do it. Where do I need to go?"

"They have studios in the city or Mountain View. City's probably easier."

"Mountain View is fine. Closer to you anyway."

"I don't mind coming up."

"Let's do it at four-thirty today. E-mail me directions."

"Will do."

"Anything else I need to know?"

"It's the standard stuff. I've got some Q-and-A drafted, so nothing there. We can review it before they tape."

"Include all that in the E-mail. And your cell number. I'll see you at four-thirty."

"One more thing, Travis."

"Yeah."

"Wear the gray suit with the blue-and-yellow tie."

He frowned. "A suit?"

"It's a conservative broadcast; our consultants are saying the more conservative the better, especially until we get the funding."

"A suit," he repeated.

"Just for an hour."

"Right."

He set his hand on the phone and thought about the priority of items he needed to handle. The first thing he needed to do was prepare for the meeting with McCue. Finding R.J. came first.

Before he turned his attention to that, he pulled himself out of the chair and crossed the room. The hallway was quiet. "Peter," he called out.

No one answered. He moved to the base of the stairs and yelled up, "Peter."

He heard the sound of footsteps behind him and turned around. Mrs. Pat walked into the hallway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "He was wound up like a top. I told him to take his bike out for a ride, cool off. He's just in the cul de sac by Tommy's house. His mom was sitting outside watching them."

Travis nodded, feeling uncomfortable that his son was anywhere but under his own roof. "It's my fault he's agitated. He was trying to talk to me about something. I was on the phone."

She nodded and tossed the rag over her shoulder. "He'll be back soon. I'm sure he'll have forgotten what it was by then."

He watched her walk back into the kitchen and wondered if Peter had told her about R.J. Travis had mentioned that they needed to keep it quiet, but he didn't want to tell his son he couldn't talk to anyone about it. It was a lot of pressure for a kid.

Hell, it was a lot of pressure for an adult. Walking to the front hall, he put on his coat and went around the corner to look for Peter.

He was there, riding in circles with two other boys, and Travis stood against a tree and watched them until Peter was ready to go home. They didn't talk on the way back, and Travis respected his son's silence. He hoped he'd talk when he was ready.

As they walked in the door, his business phone rang, and Travis returned to the desk to answer it. He spent the next hour on the phone with business development, and then answered three calls from the head of his sales staff, trying to resolve some issue with the solution to the programming glitch.

When he finally finished, it was three o'clock. He spent the next hour focused on preparing for his meeting with McCue. And by then it was time to get ready for the media opportunity.

He stood from his desk just as the door creaked open.

From the two inches, Travis could see a thin slice of his son's face. "Hey, buddy. You have a good day?"

Peter opened the door and shrugged.

"Sorry about this morning."

He kicked his foot against the doorjamb. "It's okay. Can we do something tonight?"

Travis ran his hand over his face. "I've got to run down to work tonight."

Peter's eyes widened. "Again? But you worked all day."

Travis approached his son. "I know, buddy. I'm sorry. I'm trying to help find R.J. and I need to go to work to do it."

"Why work? R.J.'s not there."

Travis patted his son's back. "I'm meeting someone who I hope will help me find him."

Peter looked up. "Can I come?"

"Not tonight, bud."

"Come on, Dad. Please. I promise not to get in the way or anything. I'll be real quiet."

Travis hoisted his son into his arms. "I know you would. You'd be perfect. But not tonight."

Peter wiggled until Travis set him down. "He's my best friend. I should get to help."

"Not this time."

Peter turned his back. "I never get to do anything fun," he shouted, stampeding down the hall. The sound of his feet disappeared into soft thuds on the carpet as he made his way to his room.

Travis exhaled, meeting Mrs. Pat's gaze. She started to say something, but he shook his head and went to his room to get ready to leave.

Chapter 19

The ride to the warehouse was quiet. Oskar liked it that way. Feliks sat on the far edge of the seat in the back of the limousine, staring out the window. Oskar knew he was anticipating what was to come. There had been very few times when Oskar had had to go to this extreme to make a point. But Feliks had been careless with his affairs. It was one thing to know his son was a
goluboy,
but for others to know was not acceptable. Being gay was a weakness. Not just Feliks's weakness—because people knew he was weak. His being gay also made Oskar look weak. And that, he would not accept. Oskar Kirov was never
slabi.

He fisted his palm and thumped it against his leg, feeling the strain in his gut as he did. He glanced over at Feliks, still staring out the window, before taking the pills from his inner coat pocket. He twisted the cap off, rolled one into his fist, and threw it down his throat in one smooth motion. The pain was worsening, and the nausea was almost unbearable at times. He'd been sick half the night. At least that was a bit better now.

Feliks looked over at him, an eyebrow raised. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Oskar took the handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. He gave his son a twisted smile. "Perfect."

Feliks shook his head as though disgusted.

Oskar would teach him about disgusting. The car pulled into the warehouse district and Oskar could see the hair on his son's neck rising. They had been there twice before. Once when Feliks had gotten caught cheating on a test in the third grade, and once when he had argued to his father's face in front of his business colleagues. Neither time had Feliks lost even a drop of blood. But neither time would he ever forget.

Feliks looked at him, trying to mask his fear. "Why are we here?"

"I have something I want to show you."

"I've done nothing."

Oskar nodded. "Then you have nothing to fear."

The car stopped and the driver circled around and opened Oskar's door.

"I'm staying here."

Oskar shook his head. "There's someone here who would like to see you."

Feliks didn't move.

"Fine." He lifted an arm as he stepped from the car. "You don't wish to see Gary. I'll tell him."

Feliks knew better than to shout, but Oskar knew by the motion behind him that Feliks was following. "Why would he be here?" Feliks asked, trying to sound casual.

"He's been stealing."

That was too much for Feliks. "He has not, Father. He's never stolen. I'm responsible for that department. I would know if he had." He calmed a bit before saying, "Who told you this?"

"Mary Anne," he lied.

"Mary Anne?" He shook his head. "She's wrong. Or mistaken."

Feliks turned toward the warehouse. "I will clear this up. There is some mistake." He started forward but one of Oskar's security men, Sasha, stepped forward to block his path.

"Excuse me."

Sasha simply shook his head.

Oskar watched his son's expression grow from annoyance to panic. Sasha merely stood in his way. Sasha was good that way. Though Americans thought Sasha was a girl's name, it was anything but. And this Sasha was the antithesis of female. He was huge—six-foot-seven and almost three hundred pounds, all muscle. He could only follow single-syllable speech, even in his native language.

Feliks was growing agitated. Finally he turned to his father. "What is this about?"

"It's about your weakness." Oskar spoke in English so that Sasha couldn't understand.

"What?" Feliks said, looking around as though for a way out. "What weakness?"

"You know." None of the others knew the real reason that Gary was there. They had all been told he was a thief. Oskar refused to let anyone else know that Gary and his son had been lovers. The thought was like wet worms sucking on his skin.