My Brother's Keeper Read online

  with a fondness he had not expected as Micah took a few

  steps to meet the man. They stood roughly a foot apart,

  silent and looking at each other expressionlessly. Suddenly, Addison broke into a wide grin, and Micah lunged at him

  and picked him up off the ground, laughing as Addison

  returned the hug.

  Sam laughed softly and turned his head, not wanting to

  intrude any more than he had on their reunion.

  When they had finally gotten their fill of each other,

  Micah set Addison down again and took his jacket from him

  as Addison turned to Sam. He stepped up to Sam and smiled

  at him, offering his hand in greeting. Sam took it and

  grinned lopsidedly.

  “Thank you, Detective Walker,” Addison murmured to

  him. “You’ve done more for me than you’ll ever know.”

  “Welcome to the straight and narrow,” Sam responded

  with a smirk.

  Addison smiled. He opened up the envelope and reached

  in, extracting a small object and holding it out to Sam.

  Sam stared at the glass chess piece in bewilderment. It

  was a clear knight from Addison’s set. “We should get

  together sometime,” Addison drawled cheekily. “Play some

  chess.”

  Sam laughed and shook his head, refusing to take the

  piece. “Tried that once already, remember? You’d own me.”

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  Addison merely smiled crookedly at him. Behind him,

  Micah was trying very hard not to smile. Addison slipped the piece into his pocket and shrugged. “If you change your

  mind,” he offered.

  “You’ll be my first call,” Sam assured him.

  Several days after buying Addison and Micah lunch,

  Sam sat at his desk amidst a pile of files and old Styrofoam coffee cups. A box had come for him, addressed with the

  country club’s stationery. Inside Sam found a beautiful

  chess board, one similar to the one he’d seen at Brayden

  Bainbridge’s home, and a set of pieces that appeared to be

  hand-carved marble. The note informed Sam that he was

  now a lifetime member of the Country Club of Coral Gables

  in gratitude for all he’d done. Addison Satterwight’s elegant signature accompanied the note, as did a postscript

  informing Sam that he was very good at the game, but he

  still needed to practice.

  Sam was chuckling and shaking his head as he read the

  note.

  “Sir?” a young lab technician greeted tentatively as he

  came up to Sam’s desk with a report in his hands.

  “What have you got for me?” Sam asked as he set the

  note down and pushed aside the paperwork he was diligently

  avoiding.

  “Results are back on the Bainbridge case,” the tech

  answered as he handed the report to Sam. Sam groaned in

  irritation. The sooner he could park this case in the file

  cabinet the better.

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  “The will?” he questioned as he took the report and

  looked at it with a sigh.

  “And the antifreeze,” the technician nodded. Sam

  glanced up at him as he thumbed through the pages.

  “Let me guess,” he muttered wryly. “You found Brayden

  Bainbridge’s prints on both, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” the tech nodded. “But that’s all,” he added

  before Sam could dismiss him.

  Sam looked back up at him curiously. “What do you

  mean?” he asked.

  “I mean, that’s all, sir.” The tech shrugged. “Reggie

  Bainbridge’s prints weren’t on his own will. And the

  antifreeze bottle? It had the son’s prints on it, but otherwise it had been wiped clean.”

  “What?” Sam whispered as a sinking feeling began to

  form in his gut.

  “It had been wiped clean. Like he wiped it and then held

  it in his bare hand again to leave his prints,” the tech

  explained in obvious puzzlement.

  Sam stared at the man for a long moment and then

  looked back down at the report in stunned silence.

  “Like he was trying to set himself up or something,” the

  tech mumbled. He shrugged in confusion before giving Sam

  one last odd look and walking away.

  Sam licked at suddenly dry lips and turned to his

  partner, who was staring at him with the same stunned

  expression he knew he himself wore.

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  “How do you write on a piece of paper without getting

  your prints on it?” Morgan asked him in a voice filled with dread.

  “You don’t,” Sam murmured in a stunned voice.

  He looked back down at the report in his hand and then

  at the chess pieces he had been examining. A white pawn sat on top of the note, Addison’s signature peeking out from

  under it.

  He still needed practice, Addison had written.

  “He was a pawn,” Sam whispered to Morgan, who was

  already talking heatedly on the phone. “He wanted to be a pawn,” Sam continued dazedly. “It was his game, and he

  chose to be a pawn.”

  Morgan slammed the phone down and looked up at

  Sam.

  “Satterwight and his buddy, Parrish?” he said in

  disgust. “They’ve disappeared.”

  ADDISON sat with his feet in the water, staring at the

  endless tropical horizon. Micah sat beside him, twitching his toes and making the impossibly blue water ripple beneath

  them.

  Addison looked down at the ripples on the surface and

  smirked.

  “I have an idea.”

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  The sound of an engine in the distance drew his

  attention away from the water and back up to the horizon.

  “You really think we can pull this off?”

  The ship grew larger as it got closer, cutting through the

  water and producing a massive wake in its stead.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “No. No, I’m better for it. You’ve been trying to get me into rehab for years anyway, right?”

  The waves lapped at the wooden legs of the dock, and

  Addison swung his feet in the water as his tanned shins

  were splashed.

  “Last chance to back out, little brother.”

  “Don’t priss out on me now, Brayden. Here, give me the

  fucking bottle. I’ll do it.”

  The yacht edged closer, and Addison looked back down

  at the ripples.

  “You are one hell of an actor, kid. I almost believed you were upset today.”

  “Well. I did just consign myself to a month or so in prison, you know. Damn, I need a drink.”

  Addison glanced at Micah and smiled crookedly.

  “You want to bring Micah into this? At this stage? The

  three of us killed a man, for Christ’s sake!”

  “I trust him.”

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  Soon the yacht was coasting up to the dock, and

  Addison and Micah hurried to secure it.

  “What are you trying to tell me, Sonny?”

  As soon as they had tied the yacht up, Addison stepped

  back and shielded his eyes from the setting sun. He looked

  up at the shadowed outline of the man st
anding on the side

  of the boat and looking down at him.

  “And you didn’t think it would work,” he drawled to his

  brother with a cheeky smirk.

  TWO weeks after the murder:

  “What are you trying to tell me, Sonny?” Micah asked

  softly as they sat in his car. They had left a very unhappy Brayden back on the beach with his envelope of illicit

  photographs.

  Addison could tell that Micah wasn’t certain if Addison was high and rambling or if he was serious. It was almost cute, the wary way in which Micah was looking at him. Micah had taken care of him for too long, Addison knew that. It was time he got something in return besides sex and drugs. That wasn’t what Micah was really about anyway.

  Addison leaned toward him and looked at him earnestly.

  The old leather of the Camaro groaned with the movement.

  “Do you love me, Micah?” he asked softly.

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  Micah looked at him in alarm and swallowed heavily.

  “Yes,” he finally answered breathlessly. It was the first time either of them had ever mentioned the word, much less

  admitted the feeling.

  “Would you come with me if I left?” Addison asked,

  holding his breath unconsciously.

  “Yes,” Micah answered with a little nod, his green eyes unable to leave Addison’s. He didn’t even ask where they would go or how they would do it. Addison told himself yet again that he was right about Micah; that he’d stick with him through anything.

  Addison swallowed nervously all the same, and he

  looked at him with a sort of desperate hope. Micah had been the one part of this that he hadn’t planned for.

  “I love you, okay? Remember that,” he pleaded as he

  reached for Micah’s hand and gripped it urgently.

  Micah nodded and looked at him worriedly, seemingly

  stunned by Addison’s own admission of love.

  “It was me,” Addison said almost inaudibly.

  Micah shook his head slightly in confusion. “What was

  you, Sonny? What are you talking about?”

  “I killed him,” Addison whispered to clarify.

  Micah blinked and pulled back slightly, though he didn’t wrench his hand away like Addison had almost expected him to. He stared at Addison in stunned silence, seemingly trying to formulate a response.

  “On purpose?” he asked finally.

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  Addison couldn’t help but laugh. He lowered his head

  and laughed until he was afraid he would begin crying again.

  Micah’s other hand on the back of his head made him look back up, and he gasped desperately for air, trying to stop the laughter as he met Micah’s eyes.

  Micah wasn’t smiling. “Tell me everything,” he requested grimly.

  TEN days after the murder:

  “You want to bring Micah Parrish into this?” Daniel asked incredulously. “At this stage? The three of us killed a man, for Christ’s sake!”

  “I trust him,” Addison murmured.

  “You’re high all the fucking time. How do you even know what trust feels like anymore?”

  “And I have to stay that way if this is going to work!”

  Addison shot back defensively as Brayden finally stood up and stepped between them. “What have you two sacrificed for this, huh? You can’t be seen in public together? Well, big fucking deal. You barely like each other!” Addison shouted.

  “Keep your voice down,” Brayden snapped. Addison

  glared balefully at him, and Daniel turned away in disgust.

  “Think, Sonny,” Brayden urged quietly. “It took you years to plan this,” he said emphatically. “You went through every 143

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  possible scenario, every possible outcome. Did you plan for him?” he asked pointedly.

  “No,” Addison answered stubbornly.

  “What’s your damn chess tactic say to do about that?”

  Daniel asked grudgingly as he sat on the arm of one of the leather club chairs.

  Addison shook his head. “Micah’s not a piece in this

  game,” he said softly. “I love him, Brayden,” he said as he looked back at his brother pleadingly.

  Brayden stared at him in open shock. Even Daniel

  appeared surprised by the admission.

  “I think I need him,” Addison continued. “I’m right about him, I know I am. Please,” he begged.

  “You bring Micah in,” Brayden murmured as he looked at

  his brother in concern.

  Daniel stood up quickly in outrage, but Brayden held his hand up to silence him before he could voice his opinion.

  “But you keep us out of it,” Brayden went on without

  looking away from Addison. “If he takes it wrong, you’re the only name he knows to turn in. We won’t go down with you, kiddo. Agreed?” he asked grimly.

  “Agreed,” Addison responded eagerly.

  “When?” Brayden inquired softly.

  “As soon as I can get him somewhere I’m sure we’re not

  being bugged,” Addison responded readily. “I’ll tell him then.

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  I’m certain about him, Brayden, just like everything else. I’ll bet my life on him.”

  “God help you if you’re wrong,” Brayden murmured.

  FIVE days after the murder:

  “You are one hell of an actor, kid,” Daniel laughed with a shake of his head. “I almost believed you were upset today.”

  “Well. I did just consign myself to a month or so in prison, you know,” Addison huffed haughtily. “Damn, I need a drink,”

  he muttered as he thought about the coming weeks.

  He went over to his father’s wet bar and began

  rummaging through the liquors. He picked up a bottle of bourbon and looked at it askance. “No,” he crooned to it and then tossed it over his shoulder. The glass shattered, and the bourbon laced with antifreeze began to ooze across the

  Oriental rug.

  Behind him, Brayden groaned, and Daniel snickered

  quietly.

  “We have to be picture perfect from here on out,” Addison told them seriously as he poured himself some scotch and turned back around to look at them, oblivious to their reaction to his antics with the tainted bourbon. “If we miss a step, we’re done for.”

  “You sure they’ll tap the phones at the club too?”

  Brayden asked him dubiously as he sat on the arm of the 145

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  couch beside Daniel. “If they miss my call to you then they’ll never move.”

  “I’m positive,” Addison assured him with a nod. “They’ll hear every word from the time Daniel makes his call to you.

  Just make sure you stick to the script. Practice in the shower or something.”

  THE night of the murder:

  “Last chance to back out, little brother,” Brayden

  breathed as they stood together in the cramped recesses of the winding stairwell.

  “Don’t priss out on me now, Brayden,” Addison

  murmured in exhaustion. “Here, give me the fucking bottle. I’ll do it,” he grumbled as he took the bottle of antifreeze and handed Brayden the tray. “Hold it still,” he hissed as

  Brayden’s hands shook and the glass of pineapple juice

  rattled on the tray. Brayden grabbed the glass and breathed out slowly to calm himself.

  Addison poured, looking up into Brayden’s eyes in the

  darkness as the bottle made an obscene glug-glug sound.

  “You’re okay,” Addison murmured to his older brother.

  Brayden nodded and licked his lips as Addison replaced

  the cap on the
bottle of antifreeze and then set it down.

  “Don’t forget to place the will,” Addison whispered as he cracked open the hidden door and peered out.

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  “I know,” Brayden assured him as he handed him the

  tray carefully, and then he removed the gloves he wore and bent to wipe the antifreeze bottle free of anyone’s prints. He then shoved the gloves in his back pocket and gripped the bottle with both hands as he stood.

  He and Addison locked eyes for a long moment. They

  were about to kill their father. Neither man said a word as Addison dropped a handful of maraschino cherries into the glass, and they merely nodded at each other and parted.

  Brayden took the stairs two at a time as he headed to his father’s office on his mission to hide the antifreeze jug and plant the fake will, and Addison slipped through the secret door into the lobby of the club.

  Addison was accustomed to slipping through crowds

  without being noticed or touched, and only one person saw him slide the silver tray with its name plate onto the bar.

  Addison removed his gloves discreetly as he walked away.

  He turned and caught Daniel’s eye. The wiry blond nodded in return and leaned against the wall, taking up his station to follow the poisoned drink as it made its way to Reginald Bainbridge.

  He was to intervene if the drink found its way into some innocent bystander’s hands.

  Five minutes later, Addison’s black, dilated eyes watched from a dark corner as his father took the drink from the waiter without so much as a glance at the servant and laughed

  boisterously at an off-color joke and emptied the glass in one gulp.

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  Hours later, Addison and Brayden stood in the

  antechamber of their father’s office. Their father had stumbled up to his office and called them, panicking and desperate for help.

  “Boys,” Reggie gasped as he held his stomach and

  looked up at them pleadingly.

  “The ambulance is on the way,” Addison murmured to

  him as the man lay on the sofa, writhing in pain.

  “Try not to panic,” Brayden added grimly.

  The temptation to tell him what they had done to him was strong. But they had agreed not to take the chance that he might live to tell someone, and they stuck to their plan and remained silent.