CHAPTER 3—A BROTHER'S BETRAYAL
The moment Donovan inserted his door key into the lock, he felt himself smiling a little. He glanced down at his watch and noticed it was almost midnight. He recalled Loralei stating earlier that he wouldn't come in early, and of course, she had been right. There had been a ton of things to do before arranging the trip to Florida. He had tried desperately to get out of going along, but his arguments had been futile. He would have to accompany his team, no questions asked. They were set to leave in two days. Sighing a little, he unlocked the door and opened it. As he stepped into the living room, he noticed that Loralei had decided to wait up for him, but she had fallen asleep on sentry duty. Her body was curled up in the very corner of the couch. For once, there was no pile of books surrounding her, and he was glad. Although she would argue against him until her face turned blue, he thought she was pushing herself too hard. I'm pregnant, Donovan, not disabled, she often said. Be that as it may, he couldn't help but voice his concerns, especially considering what happened with her first pregnancy. He threw his keys on the credenza by the door and slowly approached the couch. He leaned over her and touched her shoulder.
"Loralei?"
At the sound of his dreamy voice drifting down into her ear, her eyes opened. "So much for coming home early, huh?" She stifled a yawn behind her hand. "Sit down, I need to tell you something."
He smiled a little. "What? You're pregnant?"
"Haha, very funny. You've been hanging out with Cody too much," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I'm serious, Frank, we need to talk."
He nodded and wiped the smile off his face. When she straightened her body up a bit, he sat beside her and drew her legs across his lap. "I was just about to say the same thing to you," he said. "My news isn't so good, so maybe you should start."
She sighed. Her news wasn't so great, either. How could she even begin? Once she told him Farron had paid a visit to her, he would lose it. "Well, I'm not sure if what I need to tell you is good or bad. I see it as good, but I don't think you'll feel the same. I had a visitor earlier today."
Loralei watched as Donovan's facial expression changed from one of patient curiosity to insane rage. She didn't have to utter a syllable of Farron's name. He knew immediately who the visitor had been. "You let him in," he spat. His breathing was heavy, but controlled. He had clenched his teeth together tightly, and she was afraid that if he didn't stop, every tooth in his mouth would crack under the pressure. "He had no right to come here, Loralei. No right at all. What did he do? What did he say? No," he said suddenly. "Don't tell me, I already know." He stopped speaking for a moment and shook his head. He moved her legs off his lap and stood up. Donovan wasn't sure where he intended to go, but he made his way toward the cabinet where his bourbon awaited. It was an all too easy fix. Stopping himself, he turned toward her and leaned against the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.
"I'm sorry, Frank," she said suddenly. "I wanted to hear him out, and I wanted to help him, to help you both. I think you should at least listen to what he has to say. What could it hurt?"
He rubbed the nape of his neck and continued to grit his teeth angrily. If Farron were to appear right now, he wouldn't hesitate to beat him senseless. He figured that his brother wouldn't go back home until he completed whatever game he wanted to play. There was no way he would allow either himself or his wife to become Farron's pawns. Another thought entered his mind. He had to go away in two days. Farron would surely return in his absence. "Don't ever let him come here again. Don't ever speak to him again."
Loralei stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. "Is that a direct order, Agent Donovan," she spat angrily, fixing him with a heated gaze. "You've always been protective, but you've never ordered me about as if I were some subordinate under your tutelage. You may rule over your team with an iron fist, but at home, it ain't happening. You will either leave it at the door or you're going to find yourself sleeping on the couch throughout the duration of this marriage."
Way to go, he thought. Every now and then, he had great difficulty expressing himself, and he had put his foot in his mouth more times than he could count on his fingers and toes. They had never had a problem communicating, but at times, he allowed his inflexible side to show. Normally, he did leave it at the door, just not today. For a moment, he chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. "That's not what I meant," he said. His voice was gentler, but still angered.
"No? Then what did you mean, Agent Donovan," she spat. "Please, do tell me what you meant, Boss." She wasn't necessarily angry. She was more hurt than anything.
He shook his head and then rubbed the bridge of his nose. Boss. It was what the team sometimes called him. Jake had started it, and the others picked it up. Jake had begun to use 'Boss' just after Donovan took over the SOU, especially when they locked horns. It was irritating when the agent said it with intentional negative connotations, but nerve wracking to hear it come from Loralei's lips. Either unwittingly or no, she had uttered it in the very same tone of voice that drove him up the wall. He dropped his hands and focused his eyes on her face. "Would you please let me explain?"
Loralei relaxed her tense body just a bit, but she kept her arms crossed tightly. "I'm waiting."
Donovan didn't make a move toward approaching her. He was a little hesitant. She might take a wild hair and knock his lights out. "You know how I feel about him right now. We have discussed this already. I've told you how my brother's mind works. He's manipulative, Loralei, and an opportunist. He cannot speak to me because I won't let him. What does he do? He turns to you, because he knows that you don't know him or his motivation. He's here because he's in trouble. No more, no less. If he weren't in trouble, he wouldn't have come at all with the claim that he wants to make amends. Farron is far too selfish for that. I didn't want you unnecessarily dragged into the middle of this, but it happened anyway. I don't want him here, and I don't want him using you for his own needs. His presence here today was a play on your sympathy. Do you understand? Do you now see why I said that? It simply didn't come out the way I intended. This hasn't been one of my better days."
"I understand," she said.
Her voice had a flat quality about it that he didn't like, and he clearly recognized it as yet another cue to her emotions. He had hurt her. Of course, he had done so inadvertently, but it didn't matter. She was hurt all the same, and he was disgusted with himself. His news wouldn't improve the situation. Setting it aside for the time being, he approached the couch and stood directly in front of her. She had yet to uncross her arms, but her eyes were focused on his. He was relieved to note that she wasn't so angry that she refused to look at him. For two minutes or more, he stood before her without speaking or moving. He half expected her to send her fist flying directly into his groin. She stared up at him so long that her neck was getting a cramp. She didn't mind playing his little game of establishing dominance. They had played it a few times at the beginning of their relationship, specifically after he discovered her status as an agent. A certain look came into his eyes and on his face during those moments. It was one she could never describe thoroughly, but she could immediately recognize it. His eyes would have a cold hint of stoniness, and seemingly change from chocolate brown to black. His lips would press into a tight, grim line, nearly disappearing altogether. His nostrils would flare, and his breathing would become shallow and erratic. It almost seemed as if he were in some type of catatonic state. However, tonight, she didn't see that look at all. Suddenly, she understood that he knew every emotion rushing through her. She had transmitted it through her eyes and body language. He had picked up on every subtle hint, every tiny move. She would never have the ability to hide anything from him, nor would she ever try again.
He reached out for her hand and she allowed him to take it into his. Slowly, he brought her up to her feet so she could face him. "I'm sorry, Loralei. I shouldn't hurt you because of the anger I feel toward Farron. It's not you. It's him. If he approaches you again, ask that he deal with me directly. He has never had any problem finding me. I won't have it any other way. Don't let him use you. If you let him in once, you will be vulnerable to him time and time again."
"What did he do? Tell me," she said.
"He betrayed me, Loralei. He betrayed me in the worst way a brother could," he said. He stopped speaking after that. He grew distant and foggy.
Loralei had noticed that the words had flowed out of him slowly, painfully. It seemed as if each word had been wrenched forcefully and stubbornly from the dark recesses of his brain. She wondered how often he opened that hellish pit. She had learned that Donovan could withstand a tremendous amount of pain, and had the unique ability to bury it so deeply inside that it would take dozens of tools and extreme patience to uncover it. She had managed to scratch out tiny bits and pieces of his well hidden grief, but there was so much more she hadn't unearthed, so much more she would likely never discover.
She took his other hand in hers and held onto them tightly. "Frank, you said you wanted to tell me. Earlier, you weren't ready. Whether you're consciously aware of it or not, I can see that right now, you are ready. How can I understand if you won't let me in? Didn't we once promise each other that we would never hold back? That we would never let things we need to say pass us by? Talk to me. Let me in."
Donovan nodded solemnly and seated her back on the couch. He sat beside her, facing her, never losing physical contact with her body. "The first time I ever took a bullet, I was still just a kid. At that time, I hadn't even thought about joining the Academy. I was nearly gunned down by bullets that were meant for Farron, and he left me to die…"
* * *
Frank had paid a rare visit home during a short break in his college schedule. Normally, he stayed on campus and worked steadily and tirelessly. He had lofty ambitions and wanted to meet every goal he had set regardless of the degree of difficulty. However, he had to admit it was nice to come home once in awhile and leave the hectic crap behind. When all the kids were home, his mother tended to go nuts and would cook a gigantic meal, enough to feed an entire army. She did everything for her children when all of them were home, even breaking her back to make their beds. Frank's two younger sisters had yet to leave home, but they were slated to leave the nest next year to chase after their own dreams. Both Farron and Frank were infrequent visitors. Frank was always away at school, and Farron was off doing whatever it was that he did. No one could keep track of Farron's various career changes, because it varied from day-to-day. Farron had tried his hand at almost everything imaginable, including attending acting classes. However, he could not stick with just one thing. Farron was the free spirit of the Donovan bunch, and he refused to tie himself down. His new career would have sent the entire family off the deep end, especially Frank, who had aspirations to attend law school at Harvard.
Before the Donovan brothers graduated high school, Farron had become acquainted with a classmate who seemed to have everything. He drove his own car [in fact, he had a new one every year], wore the most expensive clothes, and threw gigantic parties at his own hideaway in the woods. The kid was only about eighteen, but he had lived the life of a man twice his age. Farron was interested. He wanted to know how this kid had gotten everything he wanted without having rich parents. Farron snuck out one night to attend one of the kid's parties. Never in his life had he seen so many people, so much booze, and so much decadence. It was also his first exposure to drugs. There was a large buffet table loaded with hospitality bowls filled with pills, a dense white powder, and dots of mescaline. The kid, the host of the party, was a gregarious fellow named Niko Rivera. Farron then understood how Niko had made his young way in the world. It was a world in which Farron wanted to belong.
Farron befriended the boy; he soon discovered that Niko was working for a drug dealer. Niko was the middleman for an influential crime boss that he would never name directly. Farron didn't immediately immerse himself in Niko's world of drugs. He actually didn't want to rock the foundation at home just yet. His family was highly disappointed that he hadn't chosen to go to college as his brother had. Farron didn't need college to make his own life. He didn't want to be tied down to another four years of schooling. Leave that shit to Frank; he was suited to that environment. Farron waited until he was out of school before he asked Niko to take him on and teach him the trade. Niko was surprised that Farron Donovan would make such a request. After all, everyone knew that his twin brother was a straight-laced good kid who wanted to be on the right side of the law. They thought that Farron would be the same, but he wasn't. He had no intention of ever following along with his brother. If Frank wanted to go to college, Farron wouldn't dare apply to a single school. If Frank wanted to be an attorney, Farron wanted to be the guy in need of an attorney, and so on. Niko agreed to introduce Farron to the man who literally monopolized the drug trade in their state.
Enrique Vasquez was a former Bolivian citizen who had illegally entered the United States back in the fifties. In his homeland, he was already a criminal, and his shady dealings followed him. He had the habit of recruiting young kids to distribute the drugs that were pipelined straight from South America. Kids were expendable and stupid. They had the ability to find customers anywhere they went. Niko was a member of his family, and of course, he was always willing to give jobs to blood kin. Niko also recruited other kids to join the squad. These young drug dealers made him a wealthy man. When Niko brought him Farron Donovan, Vasquez was a bit disappointed. He took one look at the skinny young man and decided that he couldn't use him. He instructed Niko to take him out and shoot him. However, Niko pled Farron's case and begged his uncle to give him a test. Vasquez was a fairly reasonable man, and he decided to follow Niko's recommendations. After all, his nephew had never failed him before.
Vasquez set Farron up for the most risky of jobs in the drug trade. He was instructed to deliver half a dozen kilos of cocaine to a neighboring city where a distributor waited to cut the stuff and then shuttle it to street thugs who would sell it. If Farron failed this particular test, not only would he be arrested, he would also face a harsh death sentence carried out by Vasquez's men. Farron was a Donovan man. He had descended from a long line of brave men, and he had no qualms accepting the test. Farron helped load the dope into the trunk of Niko's car. They had hidden it in the old standby of a false bottom. If the police stopped him, it would be the first place they would look. It was a simple task, but a deadly one. Farron took the challenge, and to everyone's amazement, he passed the test. Vasquez took him on immediately.
From that day on, Farron became a trafficker. At the time, the local police were just beginning to utilize the method known as profiling to 'select' the people most likely to be drug smugglers. Somehow, Farron didn't fit that profile. He was basically a clean-cut kid, kind of preppy looking, and he drove a car that looked nothing like one a trafficker would use. He delivered tons of cocaine to various distributors in three different states. They all had ties to the Bolivians. He made tons of money during his tenure, but he didn't get wild with it. He didn't spend it like Niko did. He drove a used vehicle and never spent money on designer clothing. Of course, it also kept his family from getting suspicious. Farron had always been a rebel, but never had he blatantly broke the law. If he were to be arrested, it would break his mother's heart.
The fateful night that would change his relationship with his twin brother forever began sedately enough. Farron had wanted to stay home that night because he hadn't seen his brother since he took off to school in Massachusetts. Although a few moments older than Frank, Farron realized that he relied on his brother more and more for emotional support. Although Farron had done some utterly nasty things to Frank, he was always willing to help him out of any jam. Frank had yet to develop the icy exterior his future team members and wife would grow to know well. He was still a warm and giving young man, one who didn't hide his heart.
Farron, Frank, and their sisters, Alicia and Anya, were sitting in the kitchen [the true heart of the Donovan household] playing a board game. They felt silly doing it, but it was a way for the siblings to gather and catch up with each other. Alicia and Anya didn't see their brothers very often, and they would soon leave home themselves. It was a warm, peaceful evening, one in which Farron would never forget. Frank had just put a hotel on Boardwalk when the phone rang. Farron jumped up to answer it. To his chagrin, it was Niko. Vasquez wanted him to take a load of guns and drugs across the border into Mexico. Farron was the best trafficker in the lot, and his presence was not requested, it was demanded. There were no arguments. Farron announced that he had to go to work. He kissed his sisters and hugged his brother before walking out the door.
Once at the rendezvous, Niko helped load the contraband into the trunk of Farron's car, and that was when all hell broke loose. Vasquez had many enemies. A group of competing drug smugglers had had followed Farron to the hideout. Unwittingly, Farron was drawn into a vicious shoot out. He was completely unarmed. Through the hailstorm of bullets, Farron somehow managed to get behind the wheel of his car. He sped away toward the only place he felt safe: home.
Frank was roused out of bed by the squealing of tires. He heard Farron yelling that he needed help. Of course, Frank did not hesitate to reach out to his brother. He ran outside to aid Farron. What Farron didn't realize was that the assassins who had taken out both Niko and Vasquez had followed him home. As Frank reach out to his distressed twin, he didn't see the long black car slowly progressing up the road toward the house. The shooter had been informed to take out Donovan. He knew what Farron looked like, but what he didn't realize was that there were two of the fuckers. They were identical. Who was who? It didn't matter. Even if he shot the wrong man, it would send a message to Farron Donovan.
Farron saw the approaching car too late. He tried to tackle his brother to the ground, but he didn't move fast enough. An incredible burst of machine gun fire tore into the silent night air. At least five bullets peppered Frank's body. Each one was a separate agony all its own. He fell to the cold, hard ground and was never so close to his own mortality. As the blood coursed out of each wound, Frank looked around him in shock. He glanced at his hand stupidly. It was covered in blood, his blood. It was coming out of his body and soaking the ground beneath him. He couldn't move, scream, or breathe. He simply lay flat on his back, staring up at the night sky and hoped that he would see the sun in the morning. The face of his twin brother hovered over him, shedding tears, and he began to apologize over and over again. Farron wasn't sure what he could do or where he could go. His next move was cowardly and vicious, but he wasn't in the right frame of mind. He ran and left his brother, left him to die.
Frank had somehow survived the attack, but his wounds would take months to heal. Farron came to him the next day. When he laid his eyes on his fallen brother, he fell to his knees before his hospital bed and begged for his forgiveness. He also swore solemnly that he would never dabble with the drug trade again. At that moment, a shard of brutal ice entered Frank's heart, piercing it, poisoning it forever. His brother, his own flesh and blood, had abandoned him at the moment when he needed him most. Frank had taken bullets meant for him, and the way Farron had repaid the sacrifice was to run. Frank did not forgive his brother for his disloyalty. From that day forward, Frank decided he would never allow his brother inside his heart ever again. He would not deny his love for his twin, but he would never clean up any of Farron's messes. Frank would leave him to his own devices, as much as Farron had left him to his.
Farron left the hospital after visiting hours and went straight to the police. He told them everything, hoping that his confession would somehow melt the iceberg that had overtaken Frank's heart. Farron ended up testifying against the shooters and received immunity. Frank didn't consider his deed noble. He considered it as Farron's way of covering his own ass.
Frank recovered eventually, but he was forced to drop out of school for nearly a year. He never told his mother or sisters that Farron had been responsible for his injuries. It would be a secret he would carry to his grave. His body healed beautifully. However, his heart would always ache from the pain of his brother's betrayal.
* * *
Loralei held Donovan through the night. Her husband was devastatingly heartbroken. In a very rare moment of extreme vulnerability, he began to cry and clung to his wife desperately, seeking the love and comfort he had been denied so long ago.