After putting it off, she’d finally broken down and asked her mother for some money to help out. Her mother gladly wrote a check for two thousand dollars. Tina had felt tears stinging her eyes when she accepted it, promising her mother she and Ryan would pay her back in a couple months, definitely a couple months, all the while knowing it might take much longer.
Now her mother asked, “How’s the job search coming?”
Tina felt ready to burst out in tears. It was one of the reasons she kept her face tilted down, so she wouldn’t have to look at her mother. Wouldn’t have to see the disappointment on the woman’s face. The shame.
She whispered, “Not great.”
“Any interviews yet?”
Tina shook her head.
“Hey”—her mother reached across the table to touch her hand—“look at me.”
Tina blinked, shifted her focus up to meet her mother’s eyes. Her mother squeezed her hand and offered up an encouraging smile.
“Nobody ever said life was going to be easy. Everybody has hard moments. You and Ryan will make it through this.”
Tina wet her lips, tried to speak but couldn’t. She shook her head again. Looked away, stared off toward the living room, and sighed.
“It’s just … I feel so worthless.”
“Tina, don’t.”
“It’s true, Mom.”
Looking back at her mother, tears stinging her eyes.
“I’ve been a mother so long—have been a wife—I don’t know what else I can be.”
“You’re creative. There are plenty of places who would hire someone with your artistic talent.”
Tina wanted to bark out a laugh.
“I’m not talented.”
“Sure, you are. You made that painting right there.”
Her mother pointed off toward the piece hanging on the wall in the hallway, an abstract Tina barely remembered working on but which she’d given her mother for her birthday one year.
Tina said, “I’m not a real artist.”
Her mother squeezed her hand again, issued a soft sigh.
“I know it’s difficult, but you and Ryan will be okay. Do you need some more money? I don’t have much, but I could lend you a bit more.”
It hurt her heart to hear her mother say those words. This wasn’t why she came here. Not to beg for money. Not for her mother’s pity.
“I think we’re okay for now.”
“Are you sure? My checkbook is right in the next room.”
“Yes, I’m sure. I … I wanted to get out of the house. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”
There was a heavy silence as they both considered the meaning of Tina’s words. In the next room, the clock softly ticked. Now it was her mother who tilted her face down so she wouldn’t have to look at her daughter.
Tina spoke quietly.
“It’s been almost a year since Holly … since she went away.”
Tina wasn’t sure how else to put it. She hadn’t learned that Holly decided to leave until it had already happened. Her mother had phoned her but Tina didn’t believe it at the time, thinking her sister was simply being melodramatic. Holly wanted to stop working as a nanny for the Haddens—a job Tina had never thought matched Holly to begin with—and had wanted to find a different job, and then she had just disappeared.
For the longest time her mother didn’t answer, staring down at her coffee, and then she sighed and took a hesitant sip. Set the mug back down, and glanced up at her daughter.
“I never told you about the day she came to see me. Well, I did tell you, but I left something out.”
Tina found herself leaning forward. She had never known her mother to keep secrets from her.
“What didn’t you tell me?”
Her mother looked back down at her coffee, shook her head.
“Holly had a bruise on her face that morning. I asked her what happened, asked her who hit her, but she didn’t want to talk about it. She said she … wanted to say goodbye. She said she would be leaving and might not be back. I didn’t know what she meant. I thought she was just being cryptic for some reason. But now it’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t heard from her.”
She paused, and a hopeful glint entered her eyes.
“Have you heard from your sister?”
Tina wanted nothing more than to keep the hope glowing in her mother’s eyes, but she didn’t want to lie to her either.
“No, Mom, I haven’t.”
Her mother tried to smile but it was a weak attempt.
“Your father’s been gone three years. Losing him was hard, and I thought it was something I could get over, and I thought maybe I was starting to, but then Holly …”
She paused, her eyes growing intense.
“What if something happened to her? What if she was in an accident or worse? How would we even know?”
Tina realized she had never been in a position where she needed to comfort her mother. She wasn’t sure she was up for the task, but she wanted to take this burden off her mother’s shoulders any way she could. She thought that if she could—if she somehow managed to make her mother feel better—that might help make her hatred of life subside.
Reaching across the table, Tina took her mother’s hand in hers and gave it a soft squeeze. She forced a smile.
“It’ll be okay, Mom. You know how Holly is. She’s like a cat. She always lands on her feet.”
Thirty-Four
Eventually the car slows to a stop, and the trunk pops open. Louis stands outside, the fob in his hand, but he’s not alone. Two freelancers stand behind him, their Berettas drawn.
Louis says, “Would you like to come out?”
It’s hard to judge how long I’ve been in the trunk. At least twelve hours. The sky behind Louis has some light in it, but it’s mostly dark, the sun about to set.
I sit up, slowly, my muscles having cramped from being squeezed into the trunk all this time, and the two freelancers take a step back for caution.
We’re parked behind what looks to be an abandoned warehouse. The SUV idles a couple yards away. I climb out of the trunk and tilt my head back and forth on my neck, stretching the muscles, and then I stretch my arms over my head and rotate my shoulders.
Louis watches with his blank gaze.
“Did you get any rest?”
I just look back at him.
“What do you think?”
Louis steps away, toward the SUV, and returns with a bottle of water. He hands me the bottle, and I take a long swallow, the kind that’s too greedy and causes water to dribble down my chin.
“Now what?”
Louis motions toward the car.
“Now we continue on our way. The only reason we stopped was because I felt it was time for you to get out of the trunk.”
What a gentleman.
My instinct is to try to sit behind the driver, but Louis knows better. He opens the rear passenger door. Once I climb in, he shuts the door and circles around to climb in beside me, and the driver—another freelancer—starts the car and gets us moving.
I’m conscious of the Beretta holstered to the driver’s hip, just as I’m conscious of the Glock holstered to Louis’s hip. I could easily make a move for one, wrestle it away before the other reacted, but there’s the collar around my throat to take into consideration, plus the fact these assholes will kill my family if I don’t do what they say.
As we drive over the gravel toward the front of the warehouse and back onto the highway, I think about how many hours I’ve been in the trunk, how many miles that adds up to, and what Louis said before we left. So it’s no surprise when I spot one of the highway signs alerting drivers that Los Angeles is thirty-two miles away.
Louis sits slightly shifted toward me, which is smart. If I were to make a move, he’s better prepared for it. Plus, he still has the fob in his hand.
He says, “You should get some rest.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“You ne
ed to make sure you’re focused enough to accomplish this mission.”
“Get me a gallon of Red Bull, and I should be good to go.”
Louis makes a face and glances out the back window at the trailing SUV. The setting sun slants through the windows, casting a dark orange glow on the side of his face.
“What time is the hit, anyway?”
Louis looks at me again, considers his answer carefully, but then gives a slight shake of his head.
I frown at him.
“Hey—you want me to kill this guy, I need more intel.”
“You’ll get it when the time is right.”
“And when is that?”
“When we get there.”
“Where is there?”
Again Louis doesn’t answer. He’s looking annoyed. Which makes me think I might soon earn myself another zap.
“Look, aiming through a scope and pulling the trigger? That’s a piece of cake. When I’m out alone in a field shooting at a stationary target. And something tells me Cortez isn’t going to stand still long enough for me to get off the perfect shot. So I need to know what I’m dealing with. Where I’m going to be positioned. Where he’s going to be positioned. How many people will be around him. The time of day. Where the sun is placed in the sky. Whether there’ll be clouds. You know, important stuff like that.”
Louis stares ahead, out at the highway and the traffic ahead of us. He doesn’t look like he’s going to answer, and while I’m certainly game to keep asking him questions, something tells me it isn’t in my best interest to bug him too much either.
Finally he says, “You’ll be in a hotel room in downtown Los Angeles.”
“A hotel room.”
“Yes. Seventh floor. Five blocks away from where your target will be.”
“And where’s that?”
“Another hotel. He’ll be entering from the street.”
“Why not the parking garage?”
Louis’s lips curl into a thin smile.
“Someone on the inside has taken care of that. It’ll be a great photo op for the president. There will be some reporters there, photographers, the local TV news. His car will pull up outside, he’ll step out, wave to them, and that’s when you’ll shoot him.”
“Where will the sun be in relation to our hotel?”
The smile fades from Louis’s face, and he makes an annoyed frown.
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s important.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is.”
“If your boss wants this to happen, everything has to be in place.”
Louis says nothing. Looking even more annoyed.
I say, “Can I be honest with you for a second?”
He says nothing.
“This whole thing seemed rushed. Carla said it herself when she came out into the field. What’s that all about?”
The sun is almost gone from the sky, only a soft glow washing the side of Louis’s face.
He clears his throat but doesn’t look at me when he answers.
“There’s a summit in Canada later this week. The American president, Canadian prime minister, and Mexican president will all be there. Cortez had planned to stop in Los Angeles after the summit on his way back to Mexico to meet with the governor, but plans changed at the last minute on the governor’s end. So Cortez was agreeable to stopping in Los Angeles first. There’s an initiative they’re pushing to ensure Mexican immigrants are treated fairly if they come into the state illegally.”
“Sounds like a hot-button issue.”
“It is.”
“Which means there’ll be protestors.”
“Probably.”
“Which means there’ll be heavier police presence than usual, even with the governor and Mexican president all in the same place.”
Louis tilts his face toward me, his gaze still blank.
“If you don’t do this, your family will die.”
“What guarantee do I have they won’t die even if I do assassinate Cortez?”
Louis doesn’t answer, simply looks back out his window, which is answer enough.
Part of me didn’t believe my family would be truly saved if I went through with this, but another part—a tiny naïve part—thought there might be a chance. Even for me, somebody who has cynicism running through her blood, I had hoped my family might be spared, but apparently not.
The highway crests, and Los Angeles opens up ahead of us, aglow in the failing light.
For some reason, the city of angels has never looked so bleak. As if it knows a team of fallen angels is headed its way.
Thirty-Five
The evening had come on fast and strong, and the sky was darker than Nova had remembered it being in D.C. It had only been a year since he left, but something about the town felt different. Everybody was tenser. Angier. Or maybe that was just his imagination.
They had parked on a street lined with elm trees, and Nova cut through a park that was thankfully deserted this time of night. He knew he needed to be careful because police often kept their eye on parks like these at night. And if a cop were to stop him, what would he find? A big guy armed to the teeth carrying a quadcopter. They probably could have launched it from where they had parked, but Nova wanted to check out the motel across the highway first.
It was where they’d tracked the signal. Whoever was watching Holly’s family was stationed in one of those rooms.
Earlier, James had returned to Holly’s mother’s house with some kind of high-tech RF detector. James did a quick sweep of the block, searching for any abnormal radio frequencies, and almost immediately found the source. A tiny camera was placed across the street from Holly’s mother’s house, positioned near the top of a telephone pole. James also determined a tracking device had been placed on Holly’s mother’s car.
Whether any cameras had been set up inside the house itself was difficult for James to tell, and the only way he could know for sure was to enter the premises and do a sweep. Which presented a few obstacles, the first being it didn’t appear like Holly’s mother was ready to leave the house any time soon, and second, assuming there were cameras inside and they managed to enter without the camera out front spotting them, that would alert the people watching the family, which was the last thing they wanted right now. So far the element of surprise was on their side, and Nova wanted to keep it that way.
James then took the RF detector over to Holly’s sister’s house and determined a camera was placed there, too—this one on a light post half a block away. Tracking devices were on the two cars in the driveway as well.
Which made sense, once Nova thought about it—set up devices to watch and track their prey, and sit back and wait for the signal to attack if need be. Otherwise, idling vehicles would go easily noticed, just as they’d determined when they first considered staking out the houses.
Nova had his earpiece in and whispered, “Let me know when.”
The disposable phone vibrated with a text message from James through the Signal app.
Go.
Nova set the quadcopter on a picnic table and stood back.
“It’s all set.”
The propellers started spinning at once. The quadcopter lifted, hovered for a beat, and then continued higher into the air.
James was controlling the quadcopter from the car. Nova had seen the setup, an iPad with a controller. It seemed too simple, but the way James explained it via texting, the quadcopter had an infrared camera attached and would be able to sense heat signatures inside the motel. James had already determined where he believed the signals from the cameras and tracking devices went—a room on the second floor—but they wanted to make sure the room was occupied. Because if it was occupied, there was a good chance the entire team was inside.
The phone in Nova’s hand vibrated with an incoming call. It was Atticus.
He said, “I see it on my end. Are you still in the park?”
Wherever Atticus was located, he was watching the same thing
James saw from the iPad as the quadcopter flew over the highway toward the motel.
Despite the park being deserted, Nova still found himself whispering.
“Yes.”
“Where’s Erik?”
“He’s keeping an eye on the sister’s place.”
Atticus was quiet for a beat.
“I trust him.”
Nova merely grunted.
“I understand we don’t know much about him, Nova. But I did a quick background check. He’s clean. And Holly obviously trusted him enough to give him my number.”
Nova grunted again.
“Don’t be jealous, Nova.”
Heat rose to Nova’s face.
“What do I have to be jealous of?”
“Never mind. I—wait, I think I see something.”
Across the highway, the quadcopter started to dip down toward the motel. It was one of those shady motels. Probably less than a hundred bucks a night for a room that was rarely cleaned. Obviously they wouldn’t want to put themselves up in too nice of a place. The good hotels had cameras on every floor, had security, while with cheap motels like this you were lucky if the locks on the doors actually worked.
Atticus spoke quietly in Nova’s ear.
“It looks to be four.”
“Level of confidence?”
Before Atticus could answer, the motel room door opened. The quadcopter shot up in the air, out of view of the two men stepping out onto the walkway. They lit cigarettes and stood at the railing.
Nova realized he was holding his breath. He slowly let it out. Watching the two men smoke on the second-floor walkway. The quadcopter hovering several yards above their heads, just out of their line of sight. Nova figured the sound of traffic on the highway drowned out the quadcopter’s spinning blades.
Atticus didn’t speak, and neither did Nova. They waited. After another minute, both men flicked away their cigarettes and headed back into the room. A moment later, the quadcopter looped around in front of the motel door, hovered there for a beat, and then started back across the highway.
Atticus finally answered.
“Confidence level is high.”
That was good enough for Nova. Wherever Atticus was, he had the technology to determine there were four people inside the room—two of which they had just seen.
Holly Lin Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 62
