by Elle Gray
I get to my feet and grab my cellphone. I punch in the number Detective TJ Lee had given me and wait for a couple of rings. He picks it up, sounding slightly groggy.
“Blake? Why are you calling at this—”
“I’ve got a situation,” I interrupt. “Can you come over to my place?”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line and I can practically hear Lee asking himself why I didn’t just call into the emergency line.
“Please, Detective Lee,” I implore him. “I wouldn’t call you if this wasn’t important.”
“I’m on my way.”
Seventeen
Wilder Residence, The Emerald Pines Luxury Apartments; Downtown Seattle
At some point during the madness, Kit came home. She’s sitting off to the side, at my desk, swiveling back and forth in the chair as crime scene techs and uniformed cops come in and out of my apartment. Her eyes are narrowed, her jaw is clenched, and a hateful expression is on her face. It’s a feeling I can relate to right about now.
“Why did you call this in?” I ask. “I called you in confidence.”
“You never told me not to,” TJ replies. “This is standard crime scene stuff. This is by the book, Blake. You know I go by the book at all times.”
I blow out a frustrated breath and shake my head. I should have known better to call Detective Lee. He’s a little stiff—and he does indeed play by the rules at all times—but he’s a good guy and an excellent cop. He’d never feel comfortable coloring outside of the lines. But for whatever reason, he was the first call I made. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because he’s one of the few SPD cops I know who’s competent and good at his job. But I know it’s more than that. It’s just taken my brain a few minutes to catch up.
“I appreciate you coming out, Detective Lee,” I tell him. “I just didn’t expect a whole army of cops to show up.”
“I get it, Blake,” he replies with a chuckle. “But really, why did you call me when you could have just as easily called 9-1-1?”
I look back and forth to make sure nobody is listening in, then step closer and lower my voice just for good measure. “Because I don’t want Torres to get hold of this. I don’t want him out here all,” I say. “If Torres gets hold of that guy, he’s more than likely going to disappear. Probably into a hole in the ground somewhere in the woods.”
Lee gives me a confused look, not understanding where I’m going with this. Truth be told, I don’t even know where I’m going with it. I just don’t trust Torres to do the right thing where I’m concerned. It’s a feeling that’s growing with every passing day. I’ve thought a lot about some of the things he’s said to me and realized that the last time we spoke, out at Mark’s grave, that he delivered a warning that sounded really familiar to me.
I’ve replayed the conversation in my head over and over again and the words he used were almost the same as the words Senator Graham used. I’m not a big believer in coincidences and when that realization hit me, it left me wondering if Torres is part of the Thirteen. Or if he’s perhaps working for Graham. If that’s the case, then Torres would have a vested interest in making sure this whole episode tonight gets swept under the rug. He’d have a vested interest in making sure my assailant disappears.
I know how crazy it sounds. How paranoid. And maybe it really is just a coincidence. I mean, there are plenty of things Torres would like me to stop sticking my nose into simply because I make him look incompetent and his department as a whole look bad. So, he very easily could have been referring to that when he said what he said out at Mark’s grave. If I’m being honest, I’d say it probably is that.
But in my current state, I’m seeing connections everywhere. I’m connecting dots all over the place that perhaps don’t necessarily line up. Never in my life have I ever felt as unstable as I do right now. I’ve never felt so unsure of myself or that the ground beneath me was shifting as wildly. Lately, it’s seemed that just when I think I have a handle on something, it slips through my grasp, and I’m left holding air.
“Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t do this off-book,” Lee says. “But trust me when I say I’m not going to let this disappear down a rabbit hole. I’ve got your back, Blake.”
“Thanks, Detective Lee. I know you’ll stay on this,” I reply. “And I’m sorry for being so snappy. I’m just seeing ghosts these days.”
“It’s not a problem,” he says.
“Oh, I need a favor,” I add. “When you get the assailant’s ID, be it a driver’s license, a credit card, or library card, I need to know his name.”
“For what?”
“For my own personal edification,” I respond. “Can you do that for me?”
He eyes me for a long moment but finally nods. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”
“Thank you,” I respond.
I step aside and let him confer with some of the other officers. I walk over to where Kit is sitting and look down at her.
“You all right?” I ask.
She nods. “Just upset I wasn’t here to help.”
“It worked out. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“I could have lost you.”
“But you didn’t,” I reply. “I’m not totally defenseless, you know.”
I give her a smile that’s supposed to be reassuring, but I can tell by the look on her face that it fell short. A pair of cops bring the assailant out of the back bedrooms and march him outside with his hands cuffed behind his back. Kit’s eyes widen as she looks at him, then turns to me.
“Him? You seriously put that guy down?” she asks.
“It would seem that way, wouldn’t it?” I say with a grin.
“I’m impressed, sis,” she says. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve got black belts in two different martial arts disciplines and I’m a trained federal agent,” I tell her. “Like I said, I’m not totally defenseless.”
I won’t tell her how close a thing it was and do my best to ignore the pain throbbing in both my gut and the small of my back where he hit and kicked me.
“How’d he get in?” she asks.
“I didn’t arm the security system and he picked the lock,” I shrug. “It’s my fault.”
It’s something I’ve kicked myself for about a thousand times already. Knowing that somebody like this Đavole is running around out there and could possibly be gunning for me, I should have been more careful. More vigilant. At the very least, I should have armed the friggin’ alarm system. I could have absolutely sworn I did. Ever since a woman broke into my house a few months ago—in a situation I’m realizing isn’t too dissimilar from what happened tonight—I’ve been absolutely religious about it. It’s become second nature to me. But maybe I was so engrossed in my research that I simply forgot to do it. I simply assumed I had because I always do.
Typical. The one time I forget and it nearly costs my life. I realize now I’m going to have to change the way I think and the way I do things. If I don’t, I’m going to end up on a slab at the ME’s office.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Kit’s voice cuts into my thoughts and I look at her to find her staring at me intently. Her eyes are narrowed. It’s like she’s looking into me, trying to access my thoughts.
“What do you mean?” I reply.
“I mean, what aren’t you telling me?” she asks. “I can see that you’re holding something back. It’s written all over your face, Blake.”
I shake my head. “I’m not holding anything back.”
“That’s crap,” she fires back.
There’s part of me that wants to take her into my confidence, but the other part of me is telling me it’s a bad idea. I don’t know if we’ve gotten around to the point of trust just yet. It’s like Fish said—just because he couldn’t find proof that she’s connected to the Thirteen doesn’t mean she’s not. For all I know, Kit is this Đavole. I mean, it fits. She shows up and Mark is killed. And who knows
who else in the city has turned up dead since she’s been here.
She’s been acting so suspicious. All her secretiveness and her constantly going out at night, refusing to tell me where or what she’s doing—it’s kind of alarming, actually. I don’t want to think that my sister is some brutal, international assassin, but what else am I supposed to think? Her behavior is strange. And until I know more, I have to play my cards close to the vest.
“When are you going to trust me, Blake?”
“I can ask the same thing of you,” I respond. “Trust is earned. To get it, you have to give it. Don’t you remember Dad saying that?”
She smirks. “Oh yeah. I remember that,” she says. “And I understand that. I really do. But you need to believe that I’m here to help you, Blake. To help keep you safe. I want us to be a family. I’ve wanted that since the day I was taken.”
“And I’ve wanted that too,” I reply. “I’ve missed having my kid sister around. Sitting at dinner with you and just talking made me realize just how much I missed you, Kit.”
“So, what are we going to do about it?”
I shrug. “We’re both going to need to open up. We both have secrets, and I don’t think we can really get past this stuck point we’re at until we share them.”
She nods and opens her mouth to reply, and I’m hopeful she’s going to be the one to break the ice. But then I hear a familiar voice that puts an instant charge of rage into me. I turn and see Deputy Chief Torres walk into my apartment, a smug smile on his face as he looks around. I watch as he confers with a couple of uniforms and then Lee. Only then does he turn and come over to me. I feel Kit bristle and I step in front of her protectively.
“Well, it’s been quite a night for you, it seems,” Torres comments.
“Seems that way.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“I gave my statement to Detective Lee.”
“Of course,” he nods. “But I’d like to know as well.”
“Read my statement.”
He frowns and a flash of irritation crosses his face. But he clears his throat and brushes it off, doing his best to appear interested.
“Please, SSA Wilder,” he says. “Walk me through what happened here.”
“Oh, I see,” I say sarcastically. “Even though he broke into my house and attacked me, you’re trying to build an assault case against me, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responds.
“I’m sure you don’t.” I realize the only way to get him out of my face is to give him what he wants. “I woke up, heard somebody in the house, confronted them, fight ensues, I manage to subdue him and call for help. End of story.”
“And why did you call Detective Lee and not the emergency services line?” he asks.
“Because quite frankly, Detective Lee is the only one in your entire department I trust.”
“Huh. Interesting,” he says and turns to leave, but then turns back. “Oh, has your guilt eased now that you’ve buried your former lover?”
I feel Kit start to rise behind me and I cut her a glance over my shoulder, shaking my head to tell her no. I appreciate her having my back, but I’m not going to let him ring her up for something that has nothing to do with her just because he wants to get under my skin. I turn back to him, letting him see the hatred I have for him on my face.
“You should leave,” I state evenly. “I don’t want you in my apartment anymore.”
“This is a crime scene—my crime scene. So, I think I’ll stay,” he replies smoothly. “But you haven’t answered my question—has your guilt about murdering your ex abated now that you’ve buried him? It’s an honest question.”
“You need to leave,” I repeat, my voice rising. “Now. Get out of my apartment.”
I feel Kit take my hand and pull me back while Torres just stands there with a disgusting smirk on his face. My heart is racing and the rage inside of me is building to an explosive crescendo. As it is, the cops in my apartment are all stopping to turn and look at us. Not that I care.
“He’s trying to get you to do something stupid. He’s baiting you,” Kit whispers to me. “Don’t give him an excuse. Don’t give him the ammunition.”
I sigh and swallow down the ball of anger in my throat. She’s right. It’s good advice. Torres probably is trying to bait me into taking a swing at him or something. But I refuse to play his game anymore.
“You’re not going to be able to sweep this under the rug,” I tell him.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiles. “I’m a good cop and know how the system works.”
“If you say so,” I reply, then pull Kit to her feet.
I lead her into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. There won’t be any more sleeping tonight. I look out at the horizon and groan. It’s already starting to lighten,.
“Hey, you need to watch yourself,” Lee says as he steps into the kitchen.
‘No, Torres needs to watch himself. This is our home,” I tell him. Kit nods her agreement. Lee looks over his shoulder then turns back and leans forward and pitches his voice low.
“You really need to watch yourself, Blake. Torres is building a case against you—”
“I’ve heard. Does he have anything?”
He shakes his head. “I have no idea. All I’m saying is take it easy and don’t go so hard at the guy. He has the power to make your life a living hell,” he says. “If he really doesn’t have any evidence, then he’ll never get an indictment. So, maybe just relax?”
“Yeah. I’ll give that a shot,” I roll my eyes.
Lee walks away and speaks with Torres for a moment before moving on to speak with some of the uniforms. The sky is cast in vivid shades of red and orange and the sun is little more than a thin sliver on the horizon.
“Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful sunrise,” Kit comments.
“I have a feeling this is going to be a very long day,” I mutter.
Eighteen
Criminal Data Analysis Unit; Seattle Field Office
“Jesus, Blake. Are you all right?” Astra asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “My back is a little stiff, but it’s nothing that won’t heal up. I’m more upset that I opened that door. I should have known better.”
“How could you have?”
I shrug. “I should have,” I say. “Just like I should have armed the alarm. I could have absolutely sworn I did, but I must have just assumed I did because I always do. I screwed up about as bad as you can screw something up.”
We’re sitting in the CDAU the next morning and I just caught her up on everything that happened overnight. Astra is shocked and understandably upset about it. By the time the cops all left, there wasn’t time for sleep—not that I’d have been able to catch a wink anyway—so I showered, stuffed some food in my face, drank about a gallon of coffee, and came in.
“Seriously, stop blaming yourself. There’s no way you could have seen this coming,” she responds. “Do you have an ID on the guy who did this yet?”
“Not yet. I’m hoping Lee calls with that today,” I tell her. “And I feel like I should have seen this coming. They’ve been sending me warnings.”
She blows out a breath. “If what you’re saying about all of this is right, I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she says. “If the Thirteen is coming after you, I don’t see them using amateurs.”
“Me either,” I reply. “If I’m being honest, I’m really freaked out about this Đavole character. I mean, even if only half of what I read is true, this guy is still terrifying.”
“I think it’s time we bring Rosie in on this,” Astra offers. “Maybe she can assign a protective detail or something.”
I shake my head. “That’s the last thing I want—more dead people. If this assassin is as good as they say, a protective detail isn’t going to stop him.”
“So, what, you’re just going to give yourself up and wait for him to kill you?”
> I purse my lips and look down at the table for a moment. But then that nervous energy kicks in again and I stand and start to pace the room. Astra’s eyes follow me and she’s wearing an uneasy expression on her face.
“Want to hear a really crazy theory?” I ask.
“Lay it on me.”
“I had the thought that my sister is the Đavole.”
Astra’s eyes widen and she stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. And I can’t blame her. I kind of feel like a lunatic for even suggesting it. But no matter what I do, I can’t escape the thought that maybe she is this mythical assassin.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she says. “Your long-lost little sister?”
I stop pacing for a moment and turn to her with a shrug. “You know I’m not a big believer in coincidences. And I know you aren’t either.”
“No, but that doesn’t mean coincidences don’t happen.”
“That’s true. But think about this,” I go on. “Do you remember from a few months back? That woman who broke into my apartment dressed in a balaclava? Who absolutely kicked my tail because she had intense training? She had green eyes. Just like Kit’s.”
“That doesn’t prove—”
“I find out Mark has been inserted into my life by the Thirteen, likely because I’m close to uncovering them, then he winds up murdered. I come home and there she is that same night, sitting on my aunt’s couch. Out of the blue after eighteen years. She won’t tell me anything about her life after being kidnapped. She goes out every night dressed like she’s either going to a goth club or like she’s going to kill somebody. She won’t tell me where she’s going. All she says is that she’s looking for somebody who might be able to help her get out from under the trouble she’s in.”
Astra looks at me incredulously. “And this is what you’re basing the idea that your kid sister is some international assassin?” she asks. “I mean, I admit that it’s odd. And there is definitely something up with her. But that is a really huge leap to make.”
“Maybe. Probably,” I reply. “But I can’t get away from the thought. I mean, it’s more than obvious she wasn’t trafficked. So, what happened to her?”
