by Julie Leto
Ian stood, and she noticed that while he had changed clothes from the tuxedo he’d worn last night, his pants weren’t as perfectly creased as they normally were and the knot of his tie was off center by half an inch. He looked tired. Any sleep he’d gotten had not been enough.
“Are you okay?” She didn’t want to care, but couldn’t bite back the instinct.
He ignored her. “This apartment was used a week ago by the assassin who shot Craig Bennett.”
The apartment, with its fading paint and outdated furniture, looked like a standard hotel or motel room after housekeeping had done their work. If there were any clues about the last tenant, she certainly didn’t see them.
“And you know she was here how?”
Ian glanced aside. “I was here with her.”
Not the answer Marisela expected.
And judging by the uncomfortable look that skittered over Ian’s face, he wasn’t thrilled about telling her the ugly truth.
She smiled broadly. “Oh, this is going to be good, isn’t it? Should I sit down?” She grabbed the nearest chair, which had been shoved beneath a small desk. “You give me all the sordid derails, mijo. You’ll feel better once it’s all out in the open.”
His steely glare told her he was not amused.
“The entire situation will be more than amusing to you, I’m sure.” he said. “I nearly had to provide my dear sister with a respirator.”
She couldn’t be this lucky, could she? Had he slept with the killer? Why else would he have been with her in her apartment? Okay, there were lots of other reasons why he might have been here, but judging by the crimson skin just above his collar, his sin was obvious. She spun the chair around and sat backward, her arms braced on the back. “So…spill. Don’t spare the details, either. I’ve been around the block. I can take it.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard a growl vibrating in the back of his throat.
“Her name is Yizenia Santiago,” he replied tersely.
“You’ve known her name the whole time?”
“I wasn’t informed of her identity until this morning when Brynn examined the note given to Denise Bennett. She recognized the flower.”
“The flower that was like the tattoo I saw on the shooter?”
“Precisely,” he replied curtly, but with a sense of relief. He probably thought Marisela was going to let the sordid stuff drop. They hadn’t known each other long, but he didn’t seriously think she’d let this go, did he? She was just biding her time.
“What can you tell me about her that’s not X-rated?” she asked, her expression serious.
“Yizenia Santiago is a relatively well-known killer for hire based out of Madrid. She has a tattoo of a pomegranate flower on her left wrist.”
Marisela leaned on one hand, exaggerating her interest with a wag of her eyebrows. “Any other tattoos in less conspicuous places that I should know about?”
The color rose on his neck. “None that I recall.”
She nodded. “Right. Still, I have this tattoo on my—”
“I think it’s best that we discuss only the details that are relevant to the case.”
“Okay,” she agreed reluctantly, “but I think how you met her is damned relevant. Can’t be a coincidence.”
He frowned, but answered. “Not likely. I met her at a bar. We came back here. When I woke up the next morning, she was gone.”
Marisela stared at the bed and tried not to conjure images of Ian making love to the perra she’d fought in the garden. She shouldn’t give a rat’s ass who he screwed around with. She didn’t give a rat’s ass. She’d just thought he’d have better taste.
“Did she ask you about the job at Houghton House?” Marisela asked, trying to make a connection between the assassin and Titan that applied to the case they were working.
He shook his head, “We hadn’t been hired yet.”
“So she wasn’t trying to pump you for information.”
Ian raised his eyebrows. Okay, so maybe pump wasn’t exactly the right word. Then again, maybe it was.
“Then if sex was all she wanted, I guess she got it,” she concluded.
He stood up straighter and that arrogant grin she’d come to expect from him returned. “And then some.”
“Cocky, are we?”
“Merely stating a fact.”
Suddenly, she wasn’t so curious about his rendezvous with the killer.
“Why didn’t you put two and two together about the tattoo and the killer the night Craig Bennett was shot?”
“I didn’t remember seeing any marking on her wrist the night I met her in the bar, so I could not make the connection. Brynn, however, identified the tattoo this morning when she saw the note.”
“Brynn?”
Ian crossed his arms tight and his lips drew together in a thin line. “Yizenia Santiago has…ties to our family,” he replied. “Ties I knew nothing about until this morning.”
The bitterness lacing his tone was not lost on her, but Marisela didn’t know whether or not to push. Finally, Ian was talking to her as an agent and not just an employee.
“So it’s no coincidence that you and she met at a bar just a few days before she shot a guy who ended up becoming our client?”
His frown deepened. “Not likely.”
Marisela reached over and patted the seat of an ottoman. He gave a doubtful chuckle, then leaned on the desk instead. Probably didn’t want to sit anywhere other than above her.
“So she set you up?” she guessed.
“Possibly, but for what reason, I have no idea. We had no ties to Craig Bennett then. No plan with Houghton House. Leo Devlin hired us at the last minute after the security he’d previously arranged reported they were stretched too thin. We were backup and only required to protect the borrowed jewels.”
“Where was Max?” she asked.
He eyed her oddly. “What do you mean?”
“The night she met you. I always thought Max followed you around everywhere. Kept you out of trouble.”
“I’m more than capable of keeping myself…”
His denial died a painful death. He rolled his eyes. “He had the night off.”
“Do you always go drinking at that bar?”
Ian nodded curtly. “It’s a place I frequently visit, yes.”
“So she probably went looking for you.” Marisela toyed with her gold hoop earring. “How does Brynn know her?”
“They met in Europe,” he replied briskly.
The hair on the back of Marisela’s neck prickled. “I had no idea she regularly hung out with assassins. I didn’t think they’d be the social types.”
Ian crossed his arms, the sleeves of his jacket tugging tight across his biceps, but said nothing.
“Look, boss, I know I’m not your favorite person,” Marisela said. The fact that she was still employed at Titan after she’d defied Ian’s orders on her first mission testified only to Marisela’s quick thinking and her ability to manipulate situations to her advantage. “But you’ve picked me to find this woman, right? To do that, I’m going to have to outthink her. And to do that, I’ll need all the information you have, even if it sucks that you have to tell me.”
Ian’s jaw clenched, square and unmovable, as if he were fighting the urge to speak. “Yizenia Santiago is not your standard-model assassin.”
Marisela shook her head, confused. “They come in deluxe editions?”
“Some are better than others, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Yizenia Santiago has her own signature. She doesn’t work just for the money, though her price is exorbitant. Yizenia believes in retribution. According to Brynn, she’s fashioned herself into a sort of avenging angel, taking on only cases where the cruel and the criminal escaped punishment.”
Marisela blew out a self-satisfied whistle. “So revenge is her thing.”
“Exclusively. If no horrific deed has gone unpunished, then Yizenia turns down the assignment. No exceptions.”
&nb
sp; “Well,” Marisela decided, “now I know why Brynn thought that meeting with that fund-raiser guy was a waste of time. That note given to Denise Bennett pointed us to Rebecca Manning.”
Ian shook his head. “Leo Devlin only arrived in Boston a few years ago and his ties to Craig Bennett are exclusively political. Still, we can’t leave that stone unturned. Hopefully by the time Brynn returns from her meeting with him, he’ll have been eliminated as a suspect and we can concentrate solely on the Manning connection.”
“But you still haven’t explained exactly how Brynn knows her.”
Ian pushed away from the desk and paced from one side of the room to the other, his arms still crossed, his gait clipped and tight. Marisela watched him, tapping into the full store of her patience. Whatever secret the man was considering revealing, it had to be good.
“Did Brynn ever tell you anything about our mother?”
Marisela considered his question. In the months she’d spent with Ian’s twin, they’d talked about a lot. She knew that their mother had died when Brynn and Ian were kids, but now that she thought about it, she didn’t know why or how.
“Was she sick?” she guessed.
Ian frowned. “She was the picture of health until the day three Soviet traitors kidnapped her. Our father was a spy who worked for British Intelligence, even after he’d moved to the States and started Titan. Apparently, he’d been a key operative on a case that ended with several Soviet double agents being revealed to their government. Four died during their capture. Three survived their prison terms and decided upon their release to take our mother as retribution.”
Marisela moved to stand, but Ian directed her to remain still with a simple hand gesture. A flat palm, forcefully presented. She didn’t move.
“My father called in every contact he had to find her, but these men were ruthless. They had nothing to lose. Titan was merely a start-up at the time. Father paid the ransom they demanded, but the kidnappers didn’t live up to their end of the bargain. Our mother died in the muddy hole they’d shoved her in. She was buried alive.”
Marisela clutched at her sleeves, trying to keep her hands from reaching out to this man who was struggling to contain emotions Marisela couldn’t begin to comprehend. She stared down at the ratty rug on the floor, then glanced out the window, not knowing where to look or what to say.
She took a deep breath and faced him squarely. “Ian, I—”
He cut her off. “I know.”
She nodded. Of course he knew. Anyone with a heart would feel for what Ian had gone through. And Brynn. And their father. Over the past few decades, they’d likely heard others offer their sympathy one time too often.
“The kidnappers were able to escape the United States and prosecution for their crime, even though my father did gather enough evidence to prove their guilt. He was a very strong man. Ingenious, really. Top of his field. But he had children at home and a business to save and from what my sister explained to me just a few hours ago, he opted to pay for his revenge rather than mete it out himself.”
“So he hired Yizenia?”
Ian gave a curt nod. “She was younger then, clearly, but just as expert. Brynn discovered this information when she read one of our father’s journals a few years ago.”
“And she didn’t tell you?”
Ian’s jaw clenched. “My sister was born a few minutes before I was. She seems to think that in addition to the fact that our father chose to give her majority stock in the company, her birth order gives her the right to provide family information to me on a need-to-know basis. Since I’d slept with the woman who not only avenged our mother’s death, but who also attempted to murder the husband of our client, she finally decided I needed to know.”
Marisela whistled again. “So where do we go from here?”
“We find her.”
Marisela twisted so she could look Ian in the eye. “What are you going to do, start hanging out in the bar and hope she’ll pick you up again?”
“It’s not unreasonable to think she’d enjoy a second go-around with me,” he intoned, “but no, that doesn’t seem like a wise course of action. By we, I mean Titan. Chances are she’ll avoid any further interaction with me or Brynn, although apparently, she and my sister are friendly. Brynn and I need to step back from any dealings with Yizenia, at least on the front line. She’ll see us coming a mile away. It’ll be up to you and Frankie to smoke her out.”
Marisela nodded, the idea growing more appealing as she considered the implications. Yizenia Santiago had been more than a worthy opponent. And now Marisela realized that the assassin’s actions that night and even before had been calculated and working toward some greater end. But what? Was revenge for Rebecca Manning’s death all she wanted? Why sleep with Ian, then? Why get to know Brynn? And who had paid her fee?
“Have you warned the other men involved in Rebecca Manning’s death?”
“Allegedly involved,” he clarified. “Or did you learn anything from Parker Manning that proves our client’s husband was guilty in Rebecca Manning’s death?”
Marisela shook her head. “The only thing Parker Manning can prove is that Craig Bennett and his friends could be assholes. They fucked around with some poor girls with stars in their eyes. Nothing new or original there. Manning verified that the Hightower brothers left Boston years ago and he claims to have no idea where they went. But he’s superprotective of the sister he has left. Frankie wants to look her up.”
Ian pulled out his cell phone and started writing a text message. “We’ll try and get a lock on her. In the meantime, you and Frank are going to spend some time casing this neighborhood. If we find Yizenia, we might be able to use our family history to convince her to reveal who paid her to take a shot at Craig Bennett.”
“What makes you think she’s still around here?”
“The building manager saw her last week, or else he thinks he saw her, hanging out on the main strip, Centre Street. This neighborhood is called Jamaica Plain. It’s been primarily Hispanic for decades. Makes sense that she’d stick around since she can blend in. My sister informs me that Yizenia enjoys culture, arts, and food. If she wants a taste of home, this is where she’d be most likely to get it.”
“What else do we know about her?”
“She’s deadly. She has to be stopped.”
“What does she look like?” Marisela asked.
Ian suddenly looked at her deeply, as if seeing her for the first time. She couldn’t help looking down at her chest to make sure a boob wasn’t popping out of her T-shirt.
“What?”
With a sniff, Ian turned away. “She’s a master of disguise.”
His answer came too quick.
“Okay, then what did she look like the night she picked you up in the bar?”
He shoved his phone in his pocket and stood up straighter. “She looked like you.”
Ian gestured toward the door, but when Marisela didn’t immediately follow, he left alone. She stood there, stunned for a second, and then figured he was just fucking around with her. Ian may have come on to her once in a vulnerable moment during her first case, and even now, they enjoyed a weird flirtation based on the fact that he was hot and she was hot, and well, there wasn’t much more to it.
Though she had to admit, if what he said was true, a whole new window had opened up into Ian’s inner workings. Was he saying he was still hot for her? Or was he simply messing with her mind?
Marisela jogged to catch up to him at the elevator. She had her finger on the call button when Ian’s phone trilled.
She’d already pushed the down arrow when Ian’s chitchat with the Titan receptionist shifted from polite to serious.
“Put him on and record the call,” he instructed. He pressed his thumb over the mouthpiece and spoke to Marisela. “Evan Cole wants to speak with me.”
“You? Why?” she asked.
Ian walked toward a window at the end of the hall for clearer reception. “We’ll soon find our.�
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Marisela ignored the elevator as it opened and followed Ian down the hall. She hopped up on the sill and waited, kicking her heels against the paneling until Ian’s hand on her knee forced her to stop. As he waited for the receptionist to make the connection and engage the surveillance equipment, he paid no attention to how he was touching her. She tried not to pay attention to it. But the warmth of his skin pressed against her knee, so casually, so naturally, nearly made her squirm. Instead, she lifted one of his fingers and bent it backward to the near breaking point.
He stared daggers at her, but didn’t verbally protest. As if pain meant nothing, he slowly twisted out of her grip.
Her heart wasn’t in it, anyway. What was up with that?
“Mr. Cole? Yes, this is Ian Blake. Excuse me?” Marisela leaned forward, attempting to hear the tiny voice buzzing from next to Ian’s ear.
“Where?” Ian asked. “Yes, I know where it is. We’re just a few minutes away. Should we meet at the entrance?”
Whatever Evan Cole answered caused Ian’s eyebrows to shoot up high on his head. “Absolutely. We’ll find it.”
He clicked the phone shut, but didn’t say anything for a few very long seconds, even as he mindlessly rubbed the hand Marisela had assaulted.
“Barnett okay?” she asked.
“Max is at the hospital, so we’ll know of any changes to his condition likely before anyone else.”
“Then what did Cole want?”
Ian gave a casual but confused shrug. “Evan Cole wants to meet with us at Forest Hills Cemetery.”
Marisela scrunched up her nose and hopped off the sill. “A cemetery? That’s so sick. His friend isn’t even dead yet.”
Ian shook his head. “I don’t think he’s planning anyone’s funeral. I think were about to hear a confession. He wants to meet us at Rebecca Manning’s grave.”
* * *
As they passed through the stone-hewn archway at the entrance to Forest Hills Cemetery, Marisela wondered if they did everything different in Boston. In her Tampa neighborhood, tombstones, mostly square and gray, were set only a few feet apart. Rocks bleached white by the sun marked the patch of earth holding a dearly departed, while weeds battled with overgrown palmetto bushes and faded plastic flowers for the attention of mourners. From her own grandmother’s graveside, Marisela remembered being able to watch the cars go in and out of the gas station across the street, while the sounds of traffic battled with the scent from the churro man’s truck parked around the block. Three more Hail Marys and she’d get her treat for good behavior. Only the promise of fried dough dusted with sugar could tempt her into the decrepit cemetery.
