Michael could practically feel Sabrina vibrating, whether it was with rage or grief, he didn’t know. Probably both. He wanted to shut Lark up. To stand and put his arms around her. Hold her. Shield her from the flood of emotion he knew was swallowing her whole.
He did neither. Had no right to.
“I don’t forgive you but if helping us makes it easier to fool yourself into believing that you’re a decent person, then knock yourself out,” Sabrina said.
Lark began to speak, but was cut off by Ben’s cell.
“Yeah? You got it?” Michael heard the kid say behind him. “Are you sure?” He made a few noises in the back of his throat before flipping his phone closed and moving into view.
“That was my lab rat,” Ben said, looking directly at Sabrina. “The DNA off the kid you found came in. It’s not Leo Maddox.”
33
Cofre del Tesoro, Columbia
August ~ 2009
Christina poked her bottom lip out and stared at the floor outside her father's office.
“I don't want to go in there,” she said quietly, her fingers twisting and burrowing themselves into the pink chiffon of her skirt. “And I don't want to wear this dress.” She looked up at him, her dark eyes flooded with unshed tears. She was seven now and no longer wished to be her father's doll.
Michael crouched in front of her and she looked down at her feet. This went beyond a simple tantrum. Something was going on. “What's this about, Christina?” He unwound her fingers from her dress and held them. Christina just shrugged. He tucked his chin into his chest in order to catch her eye. “Are you worried we'll miss the beach?” He left the rest unsaid. It was Sunday. The one day Lydia managed to sneak away and join them for a few hours.
“No—”
“Because I promised—”
“I know... you keep your promises. It's not about that.” She looked up at him, chewing on her lip. “I don't like him,” she said in a quiet rush.
That makes two of us. He let go of her hands and rocked back on his heels. “He's your father.”
“I don't want him to be.” She shook her head vigorously and a curl escaped from the ruthlessly tight ponytail her maid had wrangled her hair into. It bounced and bobbed against her temple. “Not anymore.”
He reached for her again, this time grabbing her by her arm, pulling her a step or two closer. “What happened? Did he hurt you?’
Christina shook her head. “No. Not me.”
“What?” he said even though he knew exactly what she was talking about.
“My mama. He hit her. I saw him do it. This morning she was sitting in the garden and he found her. Yelled at her,” she said in a whisper, every other word getting hitched on a shaky breath. “She started to cry and he hit her in the face.”
“Did you hear what he was saying to her?” he said as calmly as possible. Reyes always left his bruises behind closed doors. Never in the open and never in front of his daughter. Something had happened to provoke him.
Christina nodded her head, looking scared. “He called her bad names and said that if she didn’t follow his rules he would…” her eyes flooded with tears, her tiny fingers working the chiffon of her skirt into shredded knots. “he would kill her.”
Michael was suddenly sure Reyes knew he’d allowed Lydia to visit Christina unsupervised. Looking down at the little girl, something close to panic settled into his bones. He could leave. Just pack his shit and walk out but he wouldn't and Reyes knew it.
“Christina, listen to me—”
She shook her head. “I hate him. Why can’t you be—”
His heart did a quick flip-flop in his chest. “Don't. Don't say it.” He looked around to make sure no guards or servants were lurking. Listening. He took her by the arm and pulled her a bit closer. “I'm not the kind of guy any kid should be wishing was her father, so...”Michael stood, shoving the carefully wrapped box into her hand and stood. “Go give your father his gift and wish him a happy birthday so we can go to the beach.” He said it roughly, took a step back and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from pulling her away from the door.
Tears spilled over her bottom lids and she swiped at them as if they annoyed her. Turning toward the door, she wiped her face again before giving it a soft wrap with her knuckles. They waited only seconds for the door to open, finding Reyes on the other side, a young man no older than twenty standing beside him.
“Happy birthday, Papa,” Christina said. Michael knew she was smiling but the lift of her mouth didn't quite ease the rigid set of her shoulders. If Reyes noticed, he said nothing. He gave her a smile, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“I was sure you'd be at the beach by now, Christina.” Reyes looked up and over the girl's head and found Michael's gaze. “I know how much you like to build sand castles.” The last was said directly to him. The kid next to Reyes made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and gave him a look to match.
Michael's fists balled in the front pocket of his jeans and he stared back until the kid looked away. Reyes, who'd caught the split second exchange, laughed. “Don't be fooled into thinking he's gone soft, Estefan. He may have developed a taste for sandcastles and tea parties but Michael is a killer. He would slit your throat in the space of a few seconds without even thinking about it—isn’t that right, Cartero?”
Christina looked at him over her shoulder but Michael stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the little girl in front of him.
His gaze settled on the boy again. This time he noticed the tat that stretched from his nape to his collar bone. It was new—the black ink puffy and edged in red. A scorpion, pincers raised, tail curled against his neck, poised to strike.
“Nice brand,” he said and the kid visibly stiffened at the barely veiled insult.
“I wear it proudly.” Estefan tipped his chin at a defiant angle before looking at Reyes. “My father is a great man.”
Father? Michael shot a look at Reyes who just smiled without acknowledging the boy's claim. He looked to be in his early twenties—at least fifteen years older than Christina. If Reyes was his father, he’d been young when he’d been born.
“Now that’s you two have met, I’d like to ask you a small favor, Cartero,” Reyes said, his words instantly stiffening the back of Michael’s neck.
“Not sure I have time for a favor—my schedule’s pretty packed, what will all my sandcastles and tea parties,” he replied, doing his level best to keep his voice light and casual. He had a feeling that whatever it was that Reyes wanted from him, it was something he wouldn’t want to give.
Reyes smiled, trying to hide his reaction to his veiled refusal. “I’m sure you can make time for this. It’s time Estefan received training and I’d like you to be the one to teach him.”
Michael cocked his head, letting his gaze travel the length of the boy beside Reyes. Teaching this kid to use a knife would be a mistake. “Combat training? Are you serious?”
“Think of it as self-defense. I was thinking a few hours in the evenings to start—after your sandcastles and tea parties,” Reyes said to him before looking down Christina. “Someday it will be Estefan’s job to look after her.” He looked up him again, this time his gaze was as sharp as a blade. “You won’t be here forever, Cartero.”
Christina’s hand found his, her small fingers curled around his own and she squeezed.
She turned to her father and thrust the package into his hands. “Happy birthday,” she said again before turning to pull him down the hall. He could feel Reyes’ eyes drilling into his back.
She was quiet for a moment, kept walking down the long stretch of hall between her father's study and the foyer. Finally she looked at him. “Mama’s not coming today, is she?”
His first instinct was to lie but in the end he simply shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Is he going to kill her?” She sounded different. He didn’t want to look at her, suddenly sure it was an old woman standing next t
o him and not the little girl he knew.
He swallowed hard, the lump in throat making it difficult for him to breath. He shook his head again, looking down at her. “No.”
She squeezed his hand, gazing up at him with eyes that seemed to have seen and understood more than could possibly fit into the tiny span of her lifetime. “Do you promise?”
He looked away. “I promise.”
34
San Francisco, California
2015
The dead boy wasn’t Leo Maddox.
Michael wasn’t surprised. Leon Maddox’s only grandson was a valuable commodity. One that wouldn’t be squandered or sold into the hands of a pervert—at least not until he’d served his purpose.
The Maddox boy had been granted a stay of execution, not a pardon. No one understood the concept of living on borrowed time better than he did.
He looked at Sabrina, felt that familiar knot growing in the pit of his stomach that took root whenever he was close enough to touch her. Those roots grew deep—seemed to wrap around his spine. Digging cold fingers into the capsule that hugged it, reminding him that he’d never be allowed to have what he wanted.
Miss Ettie set a fine-bone China cup in front of him. She’d come out of nowhere, Alex trailing behind her in baggy sweat pants and a t-shirt with a picture of a cat on it, and got busy pouring coffee while the boy wedged himself under the table. He looked up at the old woman and forced himself to smile. “Thanks.”
She didn’t anything, just patted his shoulder and gave him an odd look that was half smile, half frown. Like she could read his mind and felt sorry for him. He dropped his gaze to the boy on the floor, back slammed against the side of Sabrina’s chair. On impulse, he lifted a stack of cookies from the plate Miss Ettie placed on the table and held them out. The kid swiped them out of his hand and started shoving them into his mouth, two at a time. Michael smiled for a moment but it died quickly, memories, he’d thought long dead, pushing in around him.
He dropped his now empty hand on the table and slouched in his chair, waiting for Miss Ettie to leave the room before speaking. “You in or out, Lark.”
Lark looked him straight in the eye. “In.”
“Good. Now you can prove it by telling us what the hell kind of deal Shaw’s got going with Reyes,” Michael said.
Lark just laughed. “You think I know?” He flicked a glare across the table to where Ben had taken a seat. “I’m not the boss’ kid. I’m his dog—I get to know precisely what I need to in order to get the job done. Not one syllable more.”
“Alright. What was your assignment here?” Michael said.
“Report back to Shaw if you got close to finding the Maddox kid. Let him know if you got a bead on Reyes.”
It was probably true but it wasn’t the whole truth. “Is that it?”
Lark cut him a humorless grin. “You know how it is.”
Michael nodded, understanding perfectly. Lark was here to kill him—nothing he didn’t know already, but having it confirmed wiped out any residual guilt he might’ve been feeling about throwing that capsule down Lark’s throat. Ironically, the capsule and the help from Lark it insured, were to only things stopping him from reaching across the table and snapping Lark’s neck. For now, trying to kill each other would have to wait.
“What were you doing at Elm’s office this afternoon?” Sabrina said.
Lark hesitated, seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Shit went down—and not like it was supposed to.”
Things had gotten messy and he’d been called in to clean-up. Too bad for him that Sabrina and her partner had gotten in the way.
“Who ordered the hit on Elm?” he said, but he already knew the answer, even if Lark didn’t.
Lark shrugged. “Either Reyes or Shaw… take your pick.”
His money was on Reyes—Shaw had nothing to gain Elm’s death.
“So, who’d the shooter belong to?” Ben said.
Lark shook his head. “I never saw ‘em, but I’d put my money on Team Reyes—Pips don’t usually get down like that.”
Michael leaned forward. “Like what?”
Lark didn’t answer him. Instead, he looked at Sabrina. “You saw Elm’s secretary. That shit wasn’t necessary.”
Sabrina nodded. “Every kill in the building—totally methodical. One bullet, head shot at close-range. We found a mess in the break room, like someone put up a fight—my guess is Elm’s secretary. I’ll have the M.E. scrape her nails for trace. Maybe she got a chunk of him. We might get lucky with an ID.” she said.
“Whoever it is will come back as a known associate of Alberto Reyes. The hit on Elm was a mop-job—the rest of them just collateral damage.” He looked down at the boy again. He was practically catatonic. The Reyes he knew wouldn’t waste the price of a bullet, let alone the man-power it took to track down and kill one small boy. But it’d been Cordova’s men at the hospital, not Reyes’. Which meant whatever Alex Kotko knew, whoever he was, He was valuable—not only to Reyes but also to his enemies.
He took a few seconds, weighing the boy’s importance against that of Leo Maddox. Calculated the odds of getting them both out alive and measured them against his need to complete the mission. He glanced up and found Sabrina watching him. She knew what he was doing—considering a trade—and she’d shoot him before letting him apply the most logical solution.
He looked away from her, told himself that he averted his eyes because he found her almost obsessive need to save everyone annoying—not because the wary expression on her face was one she’d give an untrustworthy stranger.
“Shooters,” Lark said out of nowhere. “Plural. As in there were two of them.”
“What?” Ben said in a bored tone that was at total odds with the interest that sharpened his gaze.
“Robert Elm wasn’t shot at close range.” He shot a glance at Sabrina cracked a smile. “Don’t sweat it, sweetheart, it was an easy miss. You had your hands full with trying to figure out a way to bash my skull in with an ashtray—no way you or your partner’d notice something like that,” he said to her before turning his attention back to Ben. “It was a long-distant, lateral shot.” Lark reached out and jabbed a finger at Ben’s forehead, drilling him in the center of it. “There was no stippling around the entrance wound. Clean, high-powered round. Only place to make a shot like that is damn near a mile from the crime scene.” Lark shifted around in his seat and spoke to him directly. “I clocked it on the way here, while you and Lady Cop were busy getting reacquainted.”
Michael studied his former friend. Every twitch and tic. He’d always been able to tell when he was lying, and Brian Lark was telling the truth.
“You’re the only person I know that’s ever been on Reyes’ payroll with those kinds of skills.” Lark said to him. “Shit, only a handful of you in Shaw’s stable, for that matter.”
So who made the shot?
He had a sudden flash. The scarf girl, Eliza—the bright red stain on her forehead. The spray of blood across the cool white table cloth. All she’d wanted was her little brother back. She’d been desperate and stupid. And about to tell him something he wasn’t supposed to know.
“Who is it?” he said quietly, his words a blanketing weight, suppressing every other sound. “Who’d Shaw send to clean up Reyes’ mess?” But he already knew.
Lark was right—there weren’t many of his kind running around.
“I don’t know for sure… but I’m pretty sure it was Church,” Lark said, confirming his suspicions.
Things had just gone from insanely bad to downright unsurvivable.
35
Church.
The name formed a rock in his gut. Church was in San Francisco. It suddenly became a very real possibility that none of them would survive the next forty-eight hours.
“Church? Here?” Ben gave a low whistle, slouching back in his seat. “And you’re just deciding to tell us this now? Did your mom drop you on your fuckin’ head or something?”
F
rom the look on his face, Lark had reached his limit. He stood, the force of it sending his chair skittering across the hardwood floor. “Look—I got lady cop tryin’ to beat my brains out, him—” he jabbed a finger in Michael’s direction, “throwing Ricin down my throat and threatening to shoot me every time I blink, and you running your goddamn mouth, non-stop—sorry I’ve been a little too pre-occupied to sweat the small stuff.”
“Church is hardly small stuff,” he said. What Church was, was a game changer.
Lark had the good sense to look a bit worried. “I’m sorry—you’re right… I wasn’t tryin’ to keep it from you guys, I just…” He ended it on a shrug, his excuses running out of steam.
“What is a church?” Sabrina said out of nowhere.
“Church isn’t a what. It’s a who.” Ben said.
“Another FSS operative?” she said, bouncing a look around the table.
Ben shrugged. “We’re not really sure—all we know is the name.”
“So, no one’s ever actually seen this Church?” Sabrina sounded dubious, like Ben had just told her he’d had a Bigfoot encounter.
Ben caught the tone and smiled. “I’m sure plenty of people have seen Church. I’m also fairly certain that the vast majority of those people are dead.”
“And how do you know that?” From the look on her face, Sabrina still wasn’t buying it.
“Because my Daddy told me so,” Ben said, his smile growing wider. “He’s a lying jerkwad but not about shit like this. I’ve seen what this asshole can do firsthand.”
Sabrina shook her head, about to speak, but Michael was done listening to them. “Enough,” he said, cutting a look at Ben that matched his tone. “Church is just one in a long line of problems. Right now, figuring out a way to buy Leo Maddox some time is our first priority.”
They all looked at him, counted on him to know what to do. To do the right thing when he didn’t have a fucking clue what the right thing was.
The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 2 Page 12
