I stand there a moment.
“So what’s your game?” I ask the two of them.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Brittany says.
“I think you do. I’m pretty sure we have all your evidence. But if we don’t, just know… Anything that sees the light of day is not in your best interest.”
I turn then and walk defiantly out of the restaurant.
I’m the only one they can hurt. They can try to hurt Callie, but they’ll go to jail for child porn.
My nude photos could be on the internet within seconds if they still have copies. I need to stay strong.
I need to hold my head high.
If the world sees me naked, I can come back from that. Madonna did. Vanessa Williams did.
Of course, neither of them were photographed spread-eagled.
Stay strong, Rory. Stay strong. Never let them see you cry.
No, I won’t cry over this. I’ll concentrate on what’s important.
“What took you so long?” Callie asks when I get into the car.
“Just saying goodbye.”
“It’s best not to give them the time of day.”
“Maybe. I’m not going to let them get to me anymore, Cal. I can’t. He may try to destroy me. They may try to destroy both of us. We can’t take it lying down. We have to be strong. Or at least appear to be strong.”
“I know that. I think I just told them to fuck off.”
“You have your way, and I have mine.”
“Okay. I trust you know what you’re doing.”
I don’t reply.
The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing. I only know one thing.
I have to stay focused. If I lose focus, everything will crumble.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Brock
“I’m going to take care of it,” Dad says quietly. “And it will be a lot easier for me to take care of it if you tell me everything you know.”
“Not without speaking to Dale and Donny,” I say defiantly.
“So be it.” He picks up his phone. “Let’s get them over here.”
Dad’s face goes white.
Not much shocks my father. He has seen a lot in his life. More than I even know.
But after Donny and I—Dale couldn’t make it—tell him that we suspect human remains were being kept on some of the north Steel property, my father turns pale as a ghost.
“We’re going to try to check it out through the guard dogs,” Donny says. “We don’t really have any other leads other than the red fingernails.”
“What about the bones?”
“They look to be really old. I called Aunt Ruby, and she gave me the name of a guy in Grand Junction who can run some tests on them for us.”
“Why didn’t you boys come to me?” Dad says.
“Because, Dad,” I say, “you haven’t been honest with us. Uncle Talon hasn’t been honest with us. How are we supposed to find out who shot him if we don’t know all the information?”
“Your mother and I really wanted to protect you boys.”
“We get that,” Donny says. “But you had to know this would come out at some point.”
My father rakes his fingers through his unruly hair. “It doesn’t seem to be related to the Steel relatives coming out of the woodwork, but why now? Why would this all be starting again? The people behind it are all dead and buried.”
“What people behind it?”
“The people I told you about, Brock. My half uncle, Bryce’s father. Aunt Ruby’s birth father, Matthias. And then of course the brains behind it all. Wendy Madigan.”
“That name sounds familiar,” I say.
“Madigan. Jeremy Madigan,” Donny says.
“Jeremy Madigan?” My father raises eyebrows.
Donny clears his throat. “Jeremy Madigan is the guy who sold the bar to the Murphys way back when.”
Dad scrapes his fingernails over the stubble on his chin. “Okay. I think Jeremy Madigan was Warren Madigan’s brother.”
“Who was Warren Madigan?” I ask.
“Wendy Madigan’s father,” Dad says. “She was Uncle Ryan’s birth mother.”
“So Uncle Ryan’s mother was behind everything?” Donny says.
“Yes. But it goes even further back than that. This goes back so far…”
“You’re talking in riddles, Dad,” I say.
Dad sighs. “It’s a lot of information. But I don’t understand. All these people are dead. I saw Wendy Madigan die. I saw Theo Matthias die.”
“Did you see your father die?” I ask.
Dad glares at me then. “I did.”
“Both times?” I ask.
He nods.
“And the third time?”
Dad shakes his head. “No. He was in prison. But I did go to identify the body. And you can bet I made damn sure it was him and that he had no fucking pulse.”
“What are the chances these other people faked their deaths as well?” I ask.
“The chances are pretty high,” Dad says, “except that they’re all ancient by now. Well into their eighties. It’s unlikely they’re still alive, even if they faked their deaths twenty-five years ago.”
“Good point,” I say.
“But the same thing seems to be happening,” Dad says. “Dead bodies. Although as far as I know, they were never on our property. Not back then.”