Bastian's Storm (Surviving Raine 2)

I presumed Evan hadn’t managed to get off that island after all, or if he had, that he wasn’t going to do the job. Thinking about it too much gave me a headache, and I just hoped Evan was waiting for the right time.

Maybe that was the concussion talking.

After I was released, Raine made me keep a huge-ass boot on my leg as it continued to heal. I had physical therapy three times a week until I could walk without it. I spent most of that time researching places to live and plotting Landon’s demise.

I hadn’t seen him since the hospital in Thompson.

John Paul had traded a few messages back and forth between Landon and me, but he wouldn’t come clean as to what Landon or Franks was doing. When Raine headed off to the university, John Paul stopped by and gave me some updates on the outcome of the war in Chicago.

“The Russians have gone back to wherever the hell they came from,” he said as he helped himself to a bottle of iced tea from the fridge.

He glared at the beverage, and I knew exactly what he was thinking, but I wasn’t keeping beer in the house. He could go fuck himself.

“Get over it,” I snapped.

“I didn’t say anything,” John Paul insisted.

“You were going to tell me about Chicago.” I leaned back on the couch and put my leg up on the coffee table. I’d taken the boot off; the damn thing was uncomfortable and itchy. Raine wouldn’t be back from meeting with her university advisor about taking online classes for at least another hour. I could put it back on then.

John Paul sat in the chair across from me.

“Greco’s organization stepped back and dropped out of the caviar business altogether. They’re still at odds with Moretti but in a relatively peaceful way.”

“What about Franks?”

“Back in Seattle,” John Paul said. “He’s taking a big chunk of Moretti’s profits from caviar sales, but there hasn’t been much grumbling about it. That dude is pissed, though.”

“Which dude?”

“The Chicago guy—Moretti.”

“About what?”

“Arden.”

“What, because he died?” My heart beat wildly in my chest. John Paul had known me way too long. If I showed any signs of hiding something, he was going to sense it and call me out. I had to be very careful about what I said.

“Yeah,” John Paul said. He glanced down at his tea bottle and began to peel the label from the glass. “He was a favorite, I guess, like the guy’s kid.”

“Were they related?”

“I don’t think so,” John Paul said, “but you know how some of these guys are. Sometimes what they do for each other goes deeper than blood.”

I swallowed and nodded. I knew exactly what he meant. The desire to both think and talk about Evan Arden was a dangerous one, so I changed the subject.

“Are you going to tell me where Landon is?”

John Paul shrugged.

“I don’t know for sure,” he said. “He was going back and forth between Seattle, New York, and Chicago, but I couldn’t tell you where he is right now.”

“What’s his game?” I pressed. “Is he going to lay off me now?”

John Paul looked at me, and his expression turned serious. He thought for a moment before answering.

“For now.”

“Bullshit,” I muttered.