by Lauren Rowe
“We can do it,” Henn insists.
“Okay,” Sarah says slowly, looking at Henn quizzically. “Even if that’s true, we have a problem. If we move the money before law enforcement is ready to pounce, Belenko will immediately guess who screwed him over and come after Jonas and me—and who knows what else they might do?”
“She’s right,” I say. “We can’t move the money to convince you guys to take action—it’s got to be the other way around.”
Eric sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “You’re not bullshitting me? You can do it?”
Everyone looks at Henn.
“We can do it.”
“Then I’ll vouch for you with my boss,” Eric says. “I’ll do everything in my power.”
Everyone sighs with relief.
“Hey, Agent Sheffield,” Sarah says. “I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”
The entire room looks at Sarah in surprise. This isn’t something we talked about in advance. What the fuck is she talking about?
Eric purses his lips, apparently waiting to hear her request.
“You do background checks, right?” Sarah asks.
“Yeah,” Eric replies. “Every day.”
“I’d like you to find two people for me.”
Agent Eric raises his eyebrows and so do I. What is she talking about?
“This isn’t a demand. It’s just a personal favor. But it’s really important.”
My heart is racing.
“Who are the two people?” Eric asks.
“The first is a woman named Mariela from Venezuela.”
I’m instantly short of breath.
Sarah doesn’t look at me. “I don’t know her last name, but she worked for Joseph and Grace Faraday in Seattle during the years from I’m guessing 1984 to around 1991.”
I glance at Josh. His mouth is hanging open. I put my hands over my face, trying to look like I’m deep in thought, or tired, or fighting off a headache. But the truth is, I’m stuffing down tears.
“In 1991, Grace Faraday was murdered in her home, and the man who was convicted of the killing turned out to be the boyfriend of Mariela’s sister. You should be able to figure out Mariela’s last name by tracing back from the convicted murderer to his girlfriend—and then to her sister, Mariela. Maybe the sister visited the killer in prison? Maybe she was interviewed or gave a statement in the investigation or at trial? Surely, there’s some record of the girlfriend somewhere, and that should lead you to Mariela’s full name.”
I let out a shaky breath and Sarah grabs my thigh under the table. I peek at Josh. His face is in his hands. I can’t breathe.
“Hang on,” Eric says, taking notes. “Could you repeat all that?”
Sarah repeats everything again slowly, her hand now gently rubbing my thigh. “We need you to find Mariela—and if she’s not alive, then her children.”
That last part stabs me in the heart. Could Mariela be dead? I do a quick calculation in my head. How old was she when Josh and I were seven? Late twenties? I had no concept of age at the time—everyone was uniformly just an adult to me—but I bet she was younger than I am right now. So how old would she be now? In her fifties, probably?
Eric looks up from his notepad. “Okay. That sounds doable.”
My stomach flips over. This kid’s going to find my Mariela? I look at Josh and he shakes his head at me, like he’s in total shock. I shoot him a look that says, “I’m just as shocked as you are, man.”
“Awesome, Eric,” Sarah says. “Thank you. And there’s one more woman, too. I don’t know her first name—but her maiden name was Westbrook.”
Holy shit. Josh and I exchange a look of astonishment. Miss Westbrook, too? What the fuck is Sarah doing?
“Miss Westbrook was a teacher in Seattle in probably 1992 and then she married a guy in the Navy named Santorini who was stationed in San Diego.”
“What do these two women have to do with The Club?” Eric asks.
“Absolutely nothing,” Sarah says. She glances at me with sparkling eyes. “This would be a personal favor to me. I don’t have the resources to find these ladies by myself without having their full names, but I think you can do it.”
Eric shrugs like that’s an obvious statement. He’s the FBI, after all. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” He smiles at her.
“Thank you. I’m gonna need this information as soon as possible, please.”
“I’ll do my best.”
My entire body tingles with anxiety and excitement and a whole bunch of other emotions I can’t pin down. What’s Sarah planning? I look at Josh again and he’s looking at me like I’m an alien, clearly shocked as hell I’ve told Sarah about Mariela and Miss Westbrook.
“Oh,” Sarah says. “I almost forgot. The second woman, Westbrook Santorini, has a son named Jonas—and he’s probably . . . ” She looks up at the ceiling, calculating. “About seventeen years old by now. Maybe that’ll help you somehow.”
My heart skips a beat. Holy shit. Jonas Santorini. I never thought about Miss Westbrook’s baby actually existing, and definitely not as a teenager. To me, he’s always been a baby bump, frozen in time.
“Got it,” Eric says, making a note on his pad.
“What’s the name of the school where Miss Westbrook worked in Seattle, Jonas?” Sarah asks. “That might be helpful for Eric to know for his search.”
My cheeks feel hot. I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
“St. Francis Academy,” Josh says.
I look at Josh and he smiles broadly at me. Just like old times.
Sarah puts her arm around my back and squeezes me.
“Okay. I’ll do my best,” Eric says.
“Thank you,” Sarah says.
“Shouldn’t be too hard.” Eric pushes his pad aside, brimming with excitement. “Okay. I think I’ve got everything I need.” He’s trying to play it cool, but he’s geeking out. “Now, just to be clear, you’re promising to give us full access to everything, right? No limitations? No exceptions? Their operating systems, membership lists, voicemails, code—and the money, too?”
Everyone looks at Henn. He’s the only one in this room who knows if we can deliver on a promise that big.
“Yep,” Henn says. “Everything.”
“But we’ll only hand it over to senior level reps from the FBI, CIA and Secret Service. And I want you there, too, Eric—tell your boss we said your presence is a non-negotiable condition of the deal. Tell her I’ll pay your way to D.C. if need be, but you’ve got to be there.”
Eric’s face lights up. I imagine he hasn’t been involved in too many high-powered meetings in his nascent career.
“Okay,” Agent Eric says, steeling himself for battle. “I’ll go talk to my boss right now. I’ll give you guys a call later.” He nods at Kat, reassuring her in particular. “I promise I’ll give it my all.”
“I know you will, Eric,” Kat purrs. “I have full faith in you.”
Chapter 38
Sarah
“Henn, pass the ketchup,” Josh says.
The five of us are eating like gluttons in the Americana restaurant in our hotel. It’s burgers, fries, and beers all around—even Jonas is eating a bacon cheeseburger and French fries, two things I’ve never seen him eat—and we’re enthusiastically rehashing our meeting with Special Agent Eric like we’re dissecting every play of a Seahawks’ game. The general consensus, of course, is that Kat was our quarterback today—and she crushed it.
Henn passes the ketchup to Josh, but he’s looking at Kat. “Who’s the fucking genius now?” Henn says. “Damn, girl.” He fist bumps her.
Kat beams.
“To Kat,” I say, raising my beer. All three guys hold up their beers in Kat’s honor, too. “You’re the reason Eric started taking us seriously,” I say. “No doubt about it.”
“Aw, thanks,” Kat says. “But it was definitely a team effort.”
We all raise our glasses again and drink to “the team.”
“So how are we gon
na get the money, Henn?” Josh asks. “I thought you said most of those accounts are set up for in-person transfer only.”
“They are,” Henn says. “Which, obviously, means we’re going to transfer the money in-person.”
We’re all silent, not catching his meaning.
Henn looks pointedly at Kat. “Hello, Oksana Belenko.”
Kat looks like Henn just said she’s been selected to sing the national anthem at the Super Bowl.
“You’ll be fine,” Henn says. “I’ll set you up with a passport and a driver’s license—”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Kat says, sputtering. “I don’t know if I can—”
“You can,” Henn says soothingly. “Today proved that. Indubitably.” He smiles broadly. “Don’t worry, Kitty Kat.” He touches the top of her hand. “I’ll hack into each account and shave thirty years off Oksana’s age—they won’t even question you’re her for a second. And then I’ll walk into each and every bank with you, right by your side.” Henn smiles at Kat reassuringly. Oh, that boy absolutely adores her.
“But will Kat be safe?” I ask.
“I’ll make sure of it,” Henn says.
“So will I,” Josh adds.
This is crazy. Can we really ask Kat to do this? Why are Henn and Josh acting like this is a reasonable request? I look at Jonas, expecting him to be as anxious as I am about all this, but he’s nodding emphatically. Have they all gone mad?
A waitress walks by and Kat flags her. “Double Patron shots all around, please.” When the waitress leaves, Kat lets out a long exhale. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Kat, are you sure?” I ask. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. This ain’t no casino heist, fellas—and very pretty lady.” She winks at me. “This is about taking these guys down so they can’t hurt you ever again, Sarah. It’s a no-brainer.”
Everyone besides me raises a beer in salute to Kat. I’m too freaked out to celebrate. I know all too well the kind of criminals we’re dealing with here.
“We’ll create an offshore account,” Jonas says, forging right ahead. “And funnel everything into it at the last possible moment.”
“Two offshore accounts,” Josh interjects. “I think we’re gonna have to take a little finder’s fee on the deal—don’t you think, bro? Maybe one percent?”
“Fuck yeah,” Jonas says. “Great idea. Yeah, five and a half mill sounds about right for our commission. Kat and Henn, you guys will each get a cool mill off the top. You’ve both earned it.”
Kat and Henn look at each other, in total shock.
“Are you serious?” Kat squeals. “You’re gonna give me a million dollars?”
“You deserve it.”
Kat squeals again. She stands and hugs Jonas across the table and kisses his cheek in sheer elation like she’s won the Miss America pageant. And then she grabs me and kisses me hard on the lips, laughing. She moves on to Josh, obviously intending to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek, but he swoops in and kisses her on the lips. Holy hell, that’s quite a kiss—wowza—and Kat’s responding like her panties are melting. Good Lord, those two are sizzling hot. I guess that answers the question of whether Kat and Josh are sleeping together.
Henn looks away from their make-out session, crestfallen.
When Kat and Josh finally disengage, Josh says, “I feel like I’ve been waiting a lifetime to do that.”
“Why the hell did you wait so long, Playboy?” Kat breathes, her face blazing.
Wait. What? That was their first kiss?
Josh chuckles. “Gee, I wonder why.”
“So does this mean you’re finally gonna tell me?” Kat whispers.
Josh nods. Oh my gosh, his cheeks are on fire.
What the hell are these two talking about? Color me curious.
Kat sits back down, grinning devilishly, but when she sees Henn’s face across the table, her face falls. “Oh, Henny. I’m sorry.”
Henn shakes his head. “No, it’s great. You’re both the best.” He swallows hard. “Indubitably.” He tries to smile.
Josh looks apologetic. “Hey, Henn—”
“No, really.” He waves Josh away. “I’m good.”
But he’s not good. Not at all. Aw, poor Henn.
Kat maneuvers around the table and grabs Henn’s shoulders. “You’re the best.” She kisses him softly on the cheek. “I’m proud to call you my friend.”
That’s probably no consolation to the poor boy, but it will have to do.
The waitress arrives with the tequila Kat ordered and we all raise our drinks in the air.
“To the Party Girl with a Heart of Gold and the Hacker,” I say. “A couple of mill-ion-aires.”
“Here, here,” Josh adds, his eyes blazing at Kat, and we all knock back our shots.
“Yeah, well, let’s not put the cart before the horse,” Kat says. “There’s still the little matter of actually getting the money.”
“Oh, we’ll get it—don’t you worry,” Henn says, trying to imitate light-heartedness. The expression on his face is killing me right now. I guess a million bucks isn’t enough to stave off a broken heart.
“What about you, Jonas?” I ask, trying to deflect attention from poor Henn. “They owe you money, too.”
“Fuck yeah, they do. Those fuckers took that two-fifty I gave to you—and I’m gonna get it back for you—plus I want the one-eighty I paid them to convince them I’m a fucking idiot.”
“Well, plus the two-fifty in membership fees you paid in the first place,” I add.
“Nah, I don’t deserve that two-fifty back,” Jonas says. “I shouldn’t get a refund for being a dumbshit.”
“Jonas, they took your money under false pretenses,” I say.
“No, they didn’t.” He shrugs. “Regardless, it was my choice to join that place for a fucking year. Who does that?” He glances over at Josh and half-smiles. “And, anyway, it turned out to be the best money I’ve ever spent.” He winks at me and I smile from ear to ear. I love it when he says that. “All I want is the money they legitimately stole from me, a payday for Kat and Henn, and then the rest of the pot is all yours, Sarah Cruz,” he says.
“What?” I blurt.
“Those fuckers almost killed you, baby—they owe you a shitload more than three million bucks. Plus, you’ve been our fearless George Clooney through all this—you deserve it.”
Everyone at the table agrees enthusiastically.
“No, I can’t—”
“Sure you can,” Josh says.
“Absolutely,” Kat adds.
“But what about you, Josh? Don’t you want some of the money?” I ask.
Josh laughs. “Hell no.”
“But you’ve been helping us from minute one—”
“Of course, I have. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He smiles at Jonas.
I exhale. Wow. Three million dollars? It’s tempting, I admit, but it’s too much. Don’t get me wrong—I’m no saint—if Kat and Henn are willing to take a million bucks out of the pot, then so am I. But three million? No. With a million bucks, I’d be able to do everything I’ve ever dreamed about—buy my mom a house, pay for all my schooling (because, clearly, that scholarship’s a pipe dream at this point), maybe put a little money away for the uncertainties of life. But, other than that, I don’t need a thing. I’ll always be able to take care of myself with my law degree, one way or another. I’ve got a beautiful place to live with Jonas for the foreseeable future. And if I want to travel, anywhere in the whole wide world, my hunky-monkey boyfriend’s already told me I can just name it. What more do I need than all that?
I suppose, since Jonas isn’t the marrying kind, I should in theory put money away for the allegedly inevitable day when things go to hell in a handbasket between us and I’ve got no one in this world to rely on but myself—but the thing is I know that day will never come. For Pete’s sake, the man permanently declared his love for me on his skin. He’s promised me forever as clearly as he knows how�
�and I believe him. Yes, even if it proves I’m hopelessly brainwashed by Lifetime and Hallmark and Disney, I believe my sweet Jonas with all my heart.
“Just don’t make a decision about the money yet,” Jonas says, gently rubbing my thigh. “Think about it for a little while.”
I nod. “Okay, I’ll think about it.” And, in fact, even as I sit here, I already have a pretty good idea of how to put that money to good use. “So, Henn, how quickly do you think you can—”
I’m interrupted by the arrival of a figure at the edge of our table.
Holy crappola. Oh my God. Holy shitballs. No effing way. This can’t be happening. No, no, no. It’s Max.
Chapter 39
Jonas
What the fuck is Max doing here?
Sarah’s body jolts next to me in the restaurant booth like she’s been zapped by a Taser gun.
Shit. Did he see us go to the FBI today? Holy fuck. No, there’s no fucking way. I made us jump through ridiculous hoops to ensure we weren’t followed and I’m one hundred percent sure it worked. Max must have a goon stationed in the hotel who called him when we finally turned up again.
“What do you want?” I ask, putting my arm around Sarah. Wow, she’s noticeably trembling.
“Hello, Mr. Faraday,” Max says. “Sarah.” He glances at the rest of the table but doesn’t acknowledge anyone but Sarah and me. “I hope you’re still enjoying your stay here in Las Vegas?”
“What the fuck do you want?” I ask.
Sarah squeezes my thigh, probably signaling me to tread carefully. But this fucker thinks I’m a possessive asshole, right? Which I am, actually, so fuck him.
“I had some business in the hotel—what a coincidence to run into you,” Max says.
I clench my jaw and glare at him. It’s taking all of my self-control not to leap up, grab a fistful of his fucking slick-backed hair, and pummel his smug face. This fucker spilled my baby’s sacred blood onto a bathroom floor and left her for dead. This cock-sucking motherfucking fucker of an asshole haunts my baby’s fucking nightmares almost every night. I want to rip his head off. I want to slit his throat and watch the lifeblood spill out of him and onto the floor. I want him fucking dead.
