A red light starts flashing in my head. My body tenses. I don’t move, though, don’t give the caller the satisfaction of knowing his words have had the desired effect. After all, judging by the way he posed the question, how he called right after I was done with my previous call, he’s no doubt watching me.
“Miss Lin.”
“Who is this?”
“Would you die to keep the boy and the girl safe?”
I close the door. Turn away from the car. Breathe into the phone, “Who the fuck is this?”
“I don’t much care for your tone, Miss Lin.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you.”
The man sighs. “Very well. If you do not wish to take this situation seriously, then that is up to you.”
“And what situation is that?”
Colin and Mitchell pull up in the sedan.
“If you want the children to stay alive, do not end this call for any reason. Do you understand me? As long as you stay on the line, the better chance they have of survival.”
I start to take a step toward the sedan, but stop. I think about this caller and how he’s watching me right now and what might happen if I approach the agents.
“What do you want?”
“First, I would like you to wave to the two FBI agents.”
“Why?”
“Do as I say.”
I raise my free hand, slowly, and wave it back and forth at Mitchell and Colin. They frown, glance at each other.
“There, I waved to them. Now what?”
“Now say goodbye.”
The shots are instantaneous. One shot at Colin, one shot at Mitchell. The windshield spiderwebs, blood spraying the inside of the car.
“And now for the second part,” the man says. “Drive.”
Forty-Five
I’m in the car and have the engine started before I even realize it. The phone to my ear, I throw the car in reverse and glance over my shoulder as I screech out of the parking space.
Behind me, David says, “What’s happening? What’s going on? Did those guys … are they …” while Casey starts crying in her seat.
“Where?” I say into the phone, and the man on the other end simply says, “To the exit.”
Five seconds have passed since Colin and Mitchell were killed. The shots came from the direction of the pool entrance. It had to have been done with a sniper rifle, some kind of silencer attached. I hadn’t heard a thing except for the popping of the windshield as it broke.
I speed through the parking lot, up one lane and down the next. I try not to hit the few parents and children leaving or entering the pool. Already people have seen the black sedan, the dead bodies. They’re either on their phones, calling 911, or they’re trying to track where I’m going. After all, only a guilty person flees from the scene of a crime.
At the exit, I say, “Now where?”
“Take a left and keep driving straight until I tell you otherwise.”
I wait for a break in traffic and then pull out onto the road. Even though I don’t want to, I ignore Casey behind me, still crying, just as I ignore David who has started to mumble his questions of what’s going on and what’s happening.
I keep glancing at the rearview mirror, not sure what I expect to see. The voice on the other end doesn’t say anything. I have to pull the phone away, check the screen, to make sure we haven’t been disconnected.
After a mile, the voice says, “At the upcoming intersection, make a right.”
The intersection in question is less than three hundred yards away. I flick on my turn signal. I don’t know how this man sees me—as far as I can tell I’m not being followed—but right now I don’t question it.
The traffic light is red. We stop behind a minivan with a bumper sticker that says WHAT’S YOUR BEEPING HURRY?
Casey is still crying. David has started crying too. I glance at the phone again, hit the mute button, place the phone back against my ear and quickly look back over my shoulder.
“Everything’s okay.”
David wipes at his face. “What—what—what’s happening?”
“Just don’t think about it, okay?”
It’s a stupid thing to say but I don’t know what else to tell them.
The light turns green and traffic starts moving and once I make the turn the voice says, “Now, Miss Lin, tell me again—would you die to keep the boy and girl safe?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Miss Lin?”
“I said yes, goddamn it!”
Another pause.
“Very well, Miss Lin. If you do not wish to answer me, then—”
I remember the mute button is engaged and quickly click it off. “Yes!” I shout. “Yes, I would die for them!”
The pause this time lasts almost five seconds. It feels like five minutes. The traffic is going at a fairly reasonable speed, yet it seems like we’re barely moving five miles per hour.
The man says, “That is very good to hear, Miss Lin.”
“What do you want?”
“We will be discussing that matter soon. Now at the upcoming intersection, make a left.”
I glance behind me at the kids, then back at the road. At the intersection I turn left and drive for another half mile until the voice speaks again.
“At the next intersection, turn right.”
I make the turn. I drive for another half mile. We’ve left the main strip with all the restaurants and businesses and car dealerships and are now in a residential area.
My hands are sweaty against the wheel. Blood beats heavy in my ears. Not even five minutes have passed since we left the pool, and all I can think about is the safety of the two children in the backseat.
A stop sign looms ahead.
The man says, “At the upcoming intersection, stop the car and turn off the engine.”
I glance again at the rearview mirror. Both Casey and David have managed to cry themselves out. Now they’re sniffling, wiping away their tears.
At the intersection I stop the car and turn off the engine.
“Now step out of the car.”
“What?”
“Step out of the car.”
I want to say something to the kids. Tell them I’ll be right back. Tell them I love them. But I don’t want to waste any time either, so I open the door and step out.
“Close the door.”
I close the door.
“Place the keys on the roof.”
I place the keys on the roof.
“Now walk across the intersection to the other side.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to leave the kids. But I can’t stop thinking about how Colin and Mitchell were taken out so quickly, so efficiently.
“What about the children?”
“The children will be safe as long as you follow directions.”
I walk across the intersection. It’s deserted. The entire neighborhood is deserted.
At the other end of the intersection, I stop and turn around. The car is less than fifty feet away. It seems like a mile.
I can see the children in the back, crying again. David starts to undo his seat belt, starts to reach for the door.
I shake my head, wanting to yell at him to stop it, to stay put. But right then comes the screeching of tires and the angry roar of an engine.
A red Porsche pulls up next to the car. Its windows are tinted. The passenger-side door opens and a Hispanic man steps out. He wears a black suit and sunglasses. He opens David’s door, bends down and says something, then leans back and slams the door shut. He glances at me for only an instant before he takes the keys off the roof, gets in, starts the engine, and pulls out into the intersection.
He drives right at me.
I step aside. I watch helpless as he passes me in my own car, the Porsche following. David is the closest to me, and as they pass, he places his hand flat against the window, holds it there, tears all over his face.
I want to do something but can’t think of
anything to do. I refuse to wave goodbye because it’s too final, too concrete, and I plan on seeing them again. When and how, I’m not sure, but I plan on seeing them again.
In my ear, the man says, “Now that the children are gone, are you ready to get them back?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I believe it is now time for us to meet.”
He disconnects the call.
I look at the phone, start to redial the number, when a black Lincoln Town Car appears down the street. It too has tinted windows. It stops right beside me.
The back door opens.
I step inside.
Forty-Six
There are three men in the Town Car. The driver, of course, and a man in the passenger seat who once I slip into the car turns around and aims a gun at me. The third man sits in the back. He looks to be in his late-forties. He has jet-black hair and dark skin and has an odd attractiveness like Marc Antony. He smiles at me and says, “Good afternoon.”
I don’t say anything.
My door closed, the Town Car starts in motion again.
For a long time there is silence. The man beside me stares out his window. The man in the passenger seat stays turned in his seat, the gun aimed. His eyes are deep and brown and don’t leave me for a second.
For an instant I have that sense of déjà vu, being back in Paris, riding in the car with Reed and Boylan and Boris. At that time I hadn’t really cared what happened to me. I didn’t mind talking bullshit. I didn’t have anybody to worry about but myself.
Finally the man says, “Do you know who I am, Miss Lin?” He continues staring out his window. “My name is Javier Diaz. My father is Ernesto Diaz. You caused us some very serious trouble recently.”
“I apologize.”
The man looks away from the window, smiles at me. “Is that so?”
“Whatever trouble I’ve caused you and your father, I’m sorry. You can do whatever you want to me, but please, don’t involve those two kids.”
“It’s more complicated than that, Miss Lin. If it were up to me and my father, you would already be dead. But there are other parties involved. Parties that have requested we spare your life for the time being.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Though this is odd to say, my father and I are grateful for what you did. Not that it lessens our anger in any way, but your … attack helped give us new perspective in certain areas of our business.”
“What business?”
“Are you really that stupid, Miss Lin?” The man pauses, shakes his head. “No, I suppose you are not. I suppose you cause so much trouble you cannot keep all the events separate.”
We’re out of the residential area now, driving back along the main strip.
“As you seem to be lost right now,” Javier Diaz says, “the trouble to which I am referring happened in Las Vegas.”
“The ranch.”
“Yes, the ranch.”
“You’re in charge of it.”
“Technically, no. My father and I have no legal ties to the place at all.”
“Of course not.”
Javier Diaz keeps staring out his window. “The man who was in charge of our Las Vegas operation, what you could call a manager, was becoming much too lax. He was skimming the money for security into his own pocket. And the men he had looking after the girls … well, if they were able to be taken out by you and you alone, what does it say about them?”
“They were under-trained.”
Javier smiles at his window. “Perhaps, yes. Regardless, the man in question has been dealt with. So have the rest of the men in that operation. We have been forced to relocate, find new girls, start from scratch. But, as I said, you have helped give us new perspective. And not just in Las Vegas, but in all our operations.”
“I’m glad I could be of some service.”
We are now on the expressway. The man in the passenger seat hasn’t moved an inch. The gun hasn’t either.
“Just so you know,” Javier says, “she did not die quickly.”
“Who?”
“Rosalina.” Shaking his head. “A pretty name for such an ugly whore.”
I close my eyes. Picture her striking Jerold over the head with the phone. Picture her cowering in the bathtub. Picture her standing beside the car while I loaded my weapons.
“You found her?”
“It wasn’t difficult. She barely got twenty miles before one of my men tracked her down. From what I understand, she wouldn’t talk, not at first. She needed … convincing.”
Javier shifts in his seat to look at me.
“They sent me several photographs. Parts of her body that they cut off. Even some areas where they sliced off her skin. Would you like to see them?”
I don’t answer.
“No, I suppose that might be too gruesome, even for you. Regardless, she did eventually break. She told my men all about you and the two men you were with. The information didn’t help us, not right then, but shortly afterward we were contacted by an outside party.”
The driver veers off to the next exit. We take it to the top of the ramp, stop for the traffic light.
“This party apparently lost something of theirs, something they believed you were also responsible for. This party somehow knew you had been responsible for both incidents. And this party promised to reimburse us for everything we lost and even more if we were to bring you in.”
We turn right at the light and start down the road and immediately I know where we’re going. I’ve had an idea since we started driving, but now I’m certain.
“This party,” Javier says, “expects something out of you. To be honest, I don’t know what it is, nor do I care to know. I only care that my father and I have been wronged, and that worst of all we were wronged by a fucking puta.”
Down one street, down another. Into another residential area. The houses growing larger. The cars in the driveways becoming more expensive.
“Just so we’re clear, Miss Lin, despite what may happen between you and this other party, things are not done between us.”
The driver turns down a familiar street, past familiar houses and trees and mailboxes.
“Do you understand me, Miss Lin? Do you understand how you have shamed me and my family?”
Swallowing, my throat suddenly dry, I say, “Yes, I do.”
“Are you sorry?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Why do I not believe you?”
I don’t answer him. I don’t answer him because we’ve arrived.
The driver slows. He makes the turn into the driveway. He pulls to a stop in front of the garage. He places the Town Car in park, gets out.
“Now it is time for us to part ways, Miss Lin. Just remember what I told you. Remember what we did to Rosalina.”
The driver opens my door. I get out. The man in the passenger seat, the man with the deep brown eyes and the gun, gets out too. He has the weapon concealed but it’s clear he no longer needs it. I know it just as well as he does. I’m not going to fight them.
They take me to the back porch. They take me inside.
The kitchen is a mess. It’s clear a struggle took place. Some pots and pans are strewn across the floor. A chair is tipped over.
We walk out of the kitchen and into the living room.
Here Sylvia lies on the couch. Her wrists and ankles have been tied. Duct tape covers her mouth. There’s some dried blood on her forehead. She hears us enter the living room and opens her eyes and watches us as we pass through the living room and into the hallway.
Blood soaks the carpet outside of Walter’s office. What’s left of Baron lies beside it.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and step inside.
Someone is sitting at Walter’s desk. They’re in the chair, turned away from me so they can stare out into the backyard.
One of the wooden kitchen chairs has been brought into the room. It’s placed in front of the desk.
The men force me to si
t down on it. With plastic ties they strap my ankles and wrists to the chair. The driver slaps duct tape over my mouth.
The entire thing takes less than ten seconds, and then they’re gone and it’s just me and the person in the chair.
After a moment, the chair swivels around and I find myself staring at a ghost.
“Hey, Holly,” Zane says. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”
Forty-Seven
“I guess you’re surprised to see me, which is understandable. After all, it’s been two years and … well, it’s complicated.”
Zane leans back in Walter’s chair, raises his arms and puts his hands behind his head.
“I wish this didn’t have to happen. I really do. But it was unavoidable.”
The last time I saw Zane he was on a yacht and had just been shot by my father. He had brown curly hair then. He had a silver ring hanging from his left ear.
“I’m sure you’re asking yourself a lot of questions right now. I wish I could answer those questions. I wish I could tell you this is all a dream. But it’s not. I’m just as real as you are. As real as”—he leans forward, raps his knuckles on the desktop—“this desk.”
Now his head is shaved to a crew cut. His face wears a couple days of growth. The silver earring is gone.
“Let me cut to the chase. The job you guys pulled in Las Vegas—that really fucked us over. That meeting Delano had scheduled for the next day, that was with my employer. He was going to purchase the flash drive.”
He pushes away from the desk, stands up. He appears taller than I remember, but I know that’s ridiculous. He’s the same size he’s always been; in my mind’s eye he’s just grown smaller.
“We need that flash drive, Holly.”
I sit there, staring back at him. I don’t move. I don’t make a sound.
Zane walks around the desk, taking his time, letting his finger graze along the side of the oak finishing. He comes to stand in front of me, leans back on the desk, crosses his arms.
“Now we know you have nothing to do with the flash drive. For you it was just a mission. You made your hit, grabbed your prize, and then you left. Only you didn’t leave, did you? You did an attack on that place out in the desert.”
Holly Lin Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 17
