Too Close to Home Read online

  Too Close to Home is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Andrew Grant

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Names: Grant, Andrew, author.

  Title: Too close to home: a novel / Andrew Grant.

  Description: First edition. | New York: Ballantine Books, [2020] | Series: Paul McGrath; 2

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019037430 (print) | LCCN 2019037431 (ebook) | ISBN 9780525619628 (hardback; alk. paper) | ISBN 9780525619635 (ebook)

  Subjects: GSAFD: Suspense fiction.

  Classification: LCC PR6107.R366 T66 2020 (print) | LCC PR6107.R366 (ebook) | DDC 823/.92—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2019037430

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2019037431

  Ebook ISBN 9780525619635

  randomhousebooks.com

  Book design by Caroline Cunningham, adapted for ebook

  Cover design: Ervin Serrano

  Cover photograph: Mike Voss/Arcangel

  v5.4

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Andrew Grant

  About the Author

  I’d known Brett Ellison for almost thirty-three minutes when we reached the service elevator. I’d already seen anger flash across his face. And surprise. And suspicion. But it wasn’t until we stepped out onto the roof—which was more like stepping out onto the surface of a tiny moon—that I saw the first trace of fear.

  The curved concrete shell was rough underfoot. It had been scoured and bleached by the wind and the sun until it was the texture and color of desiccated ivory, though the weather was playing nice that afternoon. The sky was calm and cloudless. There was no breeze. No birds were in sight. The streets below us were deserted, with the politicians being out of town until the next legislative session began, and the place was silent save for Ellison’s ragged breathing. The sun was low in the sky over my left shoulder, staining the pointed prows of the four neighboring government towers a soft pink, and ahead the Hudson cut a dark diagonal swath through Albany’s eerily empty downtown.

  “I don’t get it.” Ellison edged closer to me and grabbed my sleeve. “Why here? What am I supposed to see?”

  * * *

  —

  Ellison had been at his desk when I opened the door to his office, deep in the basement of the adjacent building. He was doing something with his cellphone. He had it at arm’s length, squinting at it like his reading glasses weren’t quite up to their job, and jabbing repeatedly at the screen with a rigid forefinger.

  “What the actual…?” His finger froze in midair and he glared up at me over his circular lenses. “Who the hell are you?”

  “My name’s Paul.” I walked in, pulled one of his chrome-framed visitor’s chairs back a couple of feet, and sat down. “I’d say it was a pleasure to be here, but it’s too soon to be sure.”

  “Hey!” Ellison jumped up and snatched off his glasses. “I didn’t say you could sit. What the hell do you want? Tell me, or haul your ass out of here, right now.”

  “Tell you, or haul my ass out?” I frowned. “I’m curious. Do you get many people showing up unannounced and not telling you what they want? Just hanging around, not saying a word?”

  “Did you come here just to annoy me?” Ellison placed his phone facedown on one pile of papers on his desk and threw his glasses onto another. “Or do you have any other purpose in life?”

  “OK, I’m sorry.” I held my hands up. “Let’s start over. The fact is, I came to see you. In person. I made a special trip, all the way from New York City.”

  “To see me?” Ellison ran his fingers through his thin sandy hair, then reversed the motion to tug his fringe farther down over his forehead. “Why? Do I know you?”

  “Not yet.” I conjured up a smile. “But we’re going to change that. Starting now. Because I’m your new partner.”

  “Have you been smoking crack?” Ellison gestured toward the portrait of the governor, which was hanging at a slightly crooked angle on the wall behind his desk. “I’m a government official, dumb-ass. I don’t have any partners. New, or otherwise. I don’t know what kind of wild-goose chase you’ve been sent on, but—”

  “I’m not talking about your day job, Brett.” His phone started to vibrate, causing it to slide off the stack of papers and spin around on the chipped veneer surface of the desk like a stranded bug. “I’m talking about your other line of work. Your more lucrative one. The one you’ve been running with Marcus the last couple years.”

  “You’ve got some wires seriously crossed here, buddy.” Ellison drew himself up a little taller and folded his arms over his chest, wrinkling the fabric of his pin-striped navy suit coat. “I don’t have another line of work. And I don’t know any Marcus.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “How many times?” Ellison planted his hands on his desk and leaned forward, revealing a slight gut and bringing it into conflict with the buttons of his neatly pressed white shirt. “I don’t have a partner. I’m not in any business.”

  “Final answer?”

  Ellison didn’t respond, so I took a wallet-sized photograph from my jacket pocket and placed it on a creased manila folder, more or less directly under his nose. I made sure it was facedown. He pretended not to notice. He straightened up. Glared at me. Looked at the wall behind me. Stared at the framed emergency evacuation instructions mounted on the inside of the door. Glanced at the heavy wool overcoat hanging on a bentwood stand in the corner, next to the trash can. Gazed
at the coarse brown carpet. Straightened a stack of documents. Hesitated, with his right hand poised in midair. Wrestled with his curiosity for a beat or two longer. And evidently lost, because after another couple of seconds he slowly slid the picture across to his side of the desk. Picked it up. Flipped it over. Studied it for a few seconds. Shrugged. Then let it slip through his fingers and watched as it fluttered down to land on the same pile of papers as his glasses.

  “I don’t know her.” Ellison’s voice barely reached me through the stale basement air.

  “No.” I retrieved the picture. It was of a woman. A Latina. She was in her mid-thirties. Smiling. Beautiful. “But you will soon, right? You’re planning to get to know her very well.” I checked my watch. “In less than two hours. At the Renaissance. Room 2440.”

  Ellison didn’t respond.

  “In return for not reporting her husband to the INS. I believe that was the deal?”

  Ellison closed his eyes and rocked back on his heels for a moment. “So. I get it now. You want to be my partner. By which you mean, what? You want to help yourself to heaps of my money? Well, we can talk about that. But let me tell you, before we go any further, there has to be paperwork. NDAs. Watertight ones. With shitloads of penalties for breaching them. Because I’m not admitting to anything. And if I do, when I pay for something to go away, it stays gone away. We’re clear on that?”

  I sighed, got up, and started toward the door.

  “Wait!” Ellison’s eyes stretched wide. “Where are you going? You haven’t told me how much you want. Give me a chance to negotiate!”

  I paused. “First, I don’t negotiate. That just leads to both sides being dissatisfied. Better for one side to be happy. My side, obviously. And second, you don’t get it at all. I’m wasting my time here. I had no idea you were such a wuss. You’re not cut out to be my partner. I expected a man with vision. With ambition. Who was ready to grab a golden opportunity with both hands, not run and hide from shadows. But don’t worry. You’re not the only game in town. I’ll find someone else. Someone with a backbone.”

  “I have plenty of backbone!” Ellison was suddenly all puffed up. “And vision. This whole business model was my creation, remember, so don’t—”

  “Business model?” I shook my head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You skim undocumented workers’ wages and take sexual advantage of their wives. We’re not talking Shark Tank material here, Brett. Which is why I was planning to—how do you MBA guys put it?—shift your paradigm. But now I’m not so sure. I’m not convinced you can handle it.”

  Ellison snorted. “I saw an opportunity. I took it. That’s who I am. An innovator. An entrepreneur. This operation? It’s just a small part of what I do. And for the record, I can handle anything.” He stuck out his jaw. “Tell me what you have in mind. I’ll evaluate it, and if I think it’ll fly I’ll consider letting you get on board.”

  “I don’t think so.” I took another step toward the door. “I don’t like your attitude. Here’s what you should do. Find a replacement for Marcus. Carry on the way you were. Forget about all the extra money we could have made together. And all the extra women I could have sent your way.”

  “I can’t just forget about…wait.” Ellison’s eyes narrowed. “A replacement for Marcus? You didn’t…is he…?”

  “Marcus retired.” I kept my expression neutral. “On account of the accident he was about to have. Don’t worry. Call him if you want. He’s fine. And he’ll stay that way, as long as he stays retired.”

  “OK.” Ellison nodded. “Marcus is out of the picture. He stays out. I get it. See? I can be flexible. I can adapt. I can be a team player. But the question is, can you? Because you know what? There’s something you’re forgetting.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “You want to work in this town, there are wheels that need to be greased. I have the connections. You don’t.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “You don’t.” Ellison sounded confident. “I’d know. So if you want to succeed here, you need me.”

  I let a few seconds tick by. “Or someone like you.”

  “There’s no one like me.” Ellison switched to his warm, friendly politician’s voice. “Trust me on that. So, like you said before, let’s start over. Tell me your plan. The extra money. The women. How will it work?”

  “OK.” I paused as if I was giving his words some serious thought. “Here’s what you have to understand. My proposal—the impact could be huge. Like nothing you’ve experienced before. It depends on a significant adjustment to your thought process, though. So realistically, for you to appreciate the full vision, you need to see a demonstration.”

  “Really?” Ellison put his hands on his hips. “Of what? The concept’s pretty simple. It’s worked great up to now.”

  “Maybe it has. From your point of view. But to get the ultimate result, the enterprise needs to change. There are some new concepts you need to grasp.”

  “What concepts?” Ellison crossed his arms. “I don’t want to overcomplicate things. Or waste time. How long would a demonstration take, anyway?”

  “Not long at all. Just a few minutes. It’ll be the best investment of time you ever make. And you know what would be a waste of time? Looking for a replacement for Marcus. Settling for what you had before.”

  “Fine.” Ellison held up his hands. “Then set up a demonstration. Let me know the time and place, and I’ll be there.”

  “How about right now?”

  Ellison blinked, then checked his watch.

  “Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time before your appointment at the Renaissance.”

  “That’s still on?”

  “Of course. I drove the woman to town myself. I wasn’t happy about it, but I had no choice. Not now that Marcus is a man of leisure.”

  Ellison opened his mouth, then closed it again without saying anything.

  “It’s up to you.” I crossed my arms. “If you don’t have the balls for this, just say so. I’ll go back to the city right now, and you’ll never see me again. Of course, I’ll have to take the woman with me. I’m not hanging around while you get…acquainted, if there’s nothing in it for me.”

  Ellison still didn’t reply.

  “Which would be a shame.” I took the picture back out of my pocket. “She is mighty pretty…”

  “Where?” Ellison blinked twice. “Where would the demonstration be?”

  “Next door. At the Center for the Performing Arts. Nice and convenient.”

  “At the Egg?” Ellison frowned. “The place is huge. Who else will be there?”

  “No one.” I gestured to the door. “Come on. I have an area set aside. It’s private. It’ll be just you and me.”

  “Well, OK.” Ellison opened a drawer in his desk. “But wait a moment. I have one more question. And don’t lie to me, because I’ll know. Are you a cop? Here to entrap me?”

  “A cop’s the last thing I am.” I paused. “I was in the army, but that was a whole different lifetime.”

  “Then who sent you to find me?”

  “That’s a second question.” I looked him in the eye. “But I’ll answer. No one sent me. No one even knows I’m here.”

  “Let’s make three questions a charm.” Ellison’s face hardened. “Are you armed? Are you carrying a gun?”

  I opened my jacket. “No gun. Don’t need one. Just my phone. Pat me down, if you want.”

  “No need.” Ellison took a revolver from his drawer—a Ruger Security-Six, judging by its skinny wooden grip—and held it up at eye level. “But for full disclosure, and in case you have any stupid ideas, you should know—I’ll be carrying this.”

  * * *

  —

  Ellison edged closer to me and grabbed my sleeve. “Why here? What am I supposed to see?”

  I freed my arm and
passed him a sheet of paper from my jacket pocket.

  “A list?” Ellison’s breath was warm on my neck. “Why couldn’t you have shown me this inside? In my office? Why come all the way to the roof?”

  “Just read it.” I moved around behind him, blocking his way to the hatch that covered the steps leading back to the elevator lobby. “Then everything will fall into place.”

  Ellison paused, then scanned the page. “Are you crazy?”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged. “If thinking it’s wrong to exploit guys who are just trying to put food on their families’ tables—not to mention what you’re doing to their wives—then yes, you can call me crazy. But what you call me isn’t important right now. What matters is that you agree to the points on that list. Then we can both go home. Because in case you hadn’t guessed, there isn’t actually anyone waiting for you at the Renaissance hotel. The woman—whose name is Rita, by the way—is at her apartment with her husband. When you held her picture in your hand? That was the closest you’re ever going to get to touching her.”

  “Screw you.” Ellison’s free hand balled itself into a fist. “Move. I’m leaving.”

  “I’ll be happy to move. As soon as you agree to the items on the list. Unless you’d rather I take another route? Like maybe sharing what I know with the NYPD?”

  Ellison didn’t respond.

  “Or maybe sharing certain details with the husbands of the women you’ve abused? Details like your home address? The car you drive?”

  “Look. All right.” Ellison relaxed his hand and massaged his temple with his fingertips. “I’ll give up my cut of the laborers’ wages. I’ll stay away from their wives. But paying for immigration lawyers? Subsidizing their housing while they go to community college? No way.”