Someone bangs on the door, interrupting his excited retelling of how he finally tracked us down.
Rivero glares at the door. “What?”
I’m almost as frustrated, because somehow I’ve managed to get him to tell me more than he should have. I don’t want him to stop.
Martine’s power lust and questionable ethics definitely make more sense. Selectively feeding information to the FBI would have given her a degree of immunity against her more questionable ventures. Securing a place of trust in the Company would have been the ultimate coup—as an informant and as someone who was helping herself along the way.
Rivero doesn’t realize any of this, though. All he cares about are the two dead bodies at St. Joan of Arc and the family who was poised to take over everything Martine left behind. And of course Isabel.
A little part of me wants to give Rivero credit for sniffing out at least some of the truth with so little to work from. We’ve been so focused on evading the Company, it never occurred to me that the legitimate authorities would make this much progress.
Of course, none of this is really good news. Even if Rivero is largely wrong about Isabel’s motives, he’s still onto us, and our chances of getting out of here without a scene are getting slimmer.
The cop inside opens the door so the other can peek his head in. “Agent Rivero, there’s someone here. He’s with the CIA. He says he’s her father.”
“Damn it.”
Rivero slams his hand on the table and pushes up. That quickly, his mood has shifted from arrogant delight to totally pissed off. Any progress he thinks he’s made is about to hit a brick wall. That wall is Morgan Foster.
He’s only here for one reason—to protect his daughter. Unfortunately I don’t think Rivero is going to let him open up the back door and let us slip away.
Over the next few seconds, I figure how it’ll all play out. Rivero and Morgan are going to clash. They’ll both try to claim jurisdiction. More people are going to show up. My guess is Morgan will land on top because of his time with the agency. Rivero is definitely outranked. Smart, but maybe a little too green to realize how this works.
Either way, as soon as anyone finds out I’m more than an accomplice boyfriend, they won’t be holding me in a tiny interrogation room. The jail cell I’ve been trying to avoid since Jay adopted me into the Company is looking imminent. Rivero may have his sights set on Isabel, but my gut tells me Morgan isn’t going to let that happen. I doubt he’s going to start advocating for me.
Rivero steps out. I can already hear him arguing with Morgan down the hall.
“You’re interfering with a federal investigation.”
“Are you trying to tell me my missing daughter is a federal investigation?”
“When she’s traveling with fake identification, it is. You need to back off and let us do our jobs,” Rivero says, his tone authoritative enough that even from here I can tell it’s going to send Morgan over the edge.
I can’t wait any longer to see who wins. The cop who should be keeping an eye on me isn’t. As soon as he disappears into the hallway, I take the window. Soundlessly I get up, grab my bag, and jump onto a filing cabinet in the corner. Pushing up a tile in the ceiling, I spot a thick water pipe and hoist myself up onto it. The yelling in the hallway hasn’t stopped, but I can’t understand any of it now. I replace the tile and drag myself along the pipe until I reach a beam that will hold my weight and take me farther away.
Their voices are nothing but angry muffles now. I can’t worry about any of it. I need to get out of here. I may have only seconds before they figure out I got away. Maybe a few more until they realize how.
I’m crouched but trying to move fast. The space above the ceiling is too warm. Perspiration lines my forehead.
Unfortunately I don’t have a map of Dulles in my head, so I have no idea where I am. I follow the water pipes and stop at a juncture where they go below. Another large grid of ceiling tiles spreads around it. I lower and lift one up. The sound of kids yelling and toilets flushing filters through the small opening.
Women’s bathroom. There’s a long line.
I manage to get a good enough look to orient myself. I move down the tiles and lift another one up carefully. It’s an empty stall, which isn’t likely to stay empty for long. I shift the tile and let myself drop. The force of my body shoves the door closed just as someone on the other side tries pushing it open.
Time to make a scene.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and open the door. A young woman on the other side screams.
“Sorry,” I offer quickly.
I don’t waste any more time with apologies. I speed past the line of outraged women and into a busy terminal. Security will start looking for me soon, so I move fast. Thankfully a man running through the airport isn’t cause for alarm. Following the signs to the exit, I pass the baggage belts and drag in a ragged breath once I get outside.
I swing my gaze up and down. The line for the taxi stand is too long, so I walk past it and bang on the door of a taxi farther down.
“Sir! Sir, you have to wait in the line. The line starts here,” the airport employee managing the taxi stand shouts.
The taxi driver rolls down the window. “What’s up, man?”
“Three hundred bucks to get me out of this line and take me to Arlington?”
“You got it.” He snaps his seat belt on and grins. “Better get in before this guy has a hernia.”
“Make it fast,” I add, slamming the door behind me.
“You got it.” With that, he peels out of the line and we speed away, rapidly putting the airport behind us.
My heart is hammering from the race to get out. But I made it. I got out.
I’d be celebrating more if I hadn’t left Isabel behind.
I drag my fingers through my hair roughly, looking back at the jetways as they get smaller and smaller.
She’ll be safe with Morgan. I force myself to believe it.
Hell, she’s probably safer with him even with the FBI’s half-baked theories than anywhere with me. She’d never accept that as true, of course. She’s thrown herself in danger to find a way to be with me. She can’t do it if she doesn’t know where I am, though.
I curse inwardly, replaying it all. Trying to take her with me would have ended badly and might not have been successful. I did what I had to do. I did the only thing I could do short of letting them cart me away in cuffs and lock me in a metal box. The last thing Isabel needs to worry about is whether or not I’ll have to face the music for any of my many crimes.
I take out my phone and contemplate sending her a message, just to let her know I’m okay. That I’ll find her. But someone will probably intercept it.
I dial Makanga’s number instead. He picks up on the fourth ring.
“Red. You back in town?”
I decide to cut right to it. “Are you home?”
“Yeah. Why? What’s up?”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
I hang up and turn the phone off for the last time. I can’t call her. I can’t make contact. Not yet.
As the miles between Isabel and me grow, so does the ache of not knowing when I’ll see her again. All I know is that I will. When all of this is over, I’ll find her.
CHAPTER TEN
Isabel
I twist the tissue in my hands over and over as tight as it’ll go. It’s no longer something to dry my endless tears. It’s become a stress-management tool as I sit and wait in my father’s empty office.
I’ve never been here before. I never knew he looked at an old picture of my mother, Mariana, and me every day he came to work. The photo of all of us is grainier than the others beside it—me at my graduation and more recent family portraits. But I can’t take my eyes off that particular one. It’s a looming memory that will soon take on a new dimension for my father.
The prospect of telling him the truth seemed overwhelming until Rivero barged in with his threats and accusati
ons. Meeting here so he could finish his interrogation under my father’s supervision was the compromise they struck moments before everyone realized Tristan had vanished.
I twist the napkin impossibly tighter.
He’s gone. He had every reason to get out as soon as he had a chance, and I’m glad he did. If Rivero knows who I am, what does he know about Tristan? If he had any idea about his past, Tristan had no choice but to run.
The second I saw my father at the airport, I wanted to spill every truth to him, but now I don’t know what to do. Rivero seems like he’s determined to nail us to the wall.
I nearly jump out of my chair when the office door opens abruptly. My father walks in, Rivero and another man behind him. My father circles around his desk and sits calmly in his chair. Rivero doesn’t seem so at ease when he takes a seat beside me. The other man, holding a notebook under his arm, leans against the wall beside my father’s desk.
“Isabel, Agent Rivero, this is Agent Damon Parish. He works under me. I’d like an impartial witness here for this.”
Rivero lets out a caustic laugh. “Impartial?”
My father levels a cold look at him. “Don’t question my team’s integrity.”
“I call it like I see it,” he snaps back. He slides his gaze to me. “Let’s get this over with. As soon as we knock this out, I have another suspect to track down, and then we can start writing down confessions.”
Rivero has no clue where Tristan is. My heart does a little leap at this realization. If he slipped past security at the airport, he’ll be impossible to find now. Rivero’s lost his chance.
“Gallo said you two haven’t been in contact for a while. If that’s true, what’s changed?”
I share a look with my father. Rivero is still referring to Tristan by his alias, which means my father hasn’t corrected him yet. He’s protecting him. Thank God.
“For the sake of her safety, our communications have been very limited,” my father says.
“Why don’t you let her answer the questions?” Rivero says.
“Why don’t you get to the fucking point? You think she hasn’t been through enough? You’ve got ten minutes. Then I’m shutting this down. If you want to embarrass yourself and hold her on having falsified documents, you can explain it to the same people who created them to protect her.”
I rear back a little at my father’s venom toward the other man. Parish seems to lean back a fraction, like he’s not used to seeing it either.
“There’s a lot more to this than a fake ID,” Rivero argues. “I’ve got two unexplained homicides in New Orleans. One of them was Martine Benoit. Probably doesn’t matter much to you, but she was an informant for us for over a decade. Now I’ve got a building explosion in Paris and three more bodies, all tied to a company that my informant was collecting a file on.” He bends over to withdraw a laptop from his suitcase and drops it onto my father’s desk. “I’ve got a laptop registered to Davis Knight that your daughter’s been traveling with. He’s been missing since the explosion, and the last ping on his phone was in Paris. Want to explain that?” He lifts his hands into the air. “I mean, I’ve got more. Do you want a full report, or should we start filling in the blanks?”
I can read the concern in my father’s eyes. Rivero knows too much. He certainly knows enough to make it impossible for me to walk away. Dancing around the truth isn’t going to satisfy him.
I twist the tissue anxiously, replaying everything he said. “Martine was an informant?”
“Yeah. A good one too. She had dirt on everyone, and if she didn’t, she knew how to get it. A few days after she was murdered, someone sent us a file. Her death must have triggered it. Looks like she had a lot more than she ever shared with us. Unfortunately I’ve been too busy trying to figure out how you’re involved in all this to start weeding through all the intel.”
“If she really had dirt on everyone, that’s a hell of a lot of people with motive to kill her,” my father says pointedly.
Rivero doesn’t seem deterred. “Why were you staying with Martine?”
I look at my father, wishing we could have talked before and worked out a strategy. If I say the wrong thing, I can’t take it back. Rivero is out for blood.
“Why were you staying with Martine Benoit?” Rivero repeats the question with emphasis on each word, like I’m hard of hearing.
I close my eyes, wishing I could shut him out. All of it. If I could somehow transport myself out of here and into the safe cocoon of Tristan’s arms, everything would be okay.
Everything’s going to be okay.
My father promised me. I want so hard to believe it. Except it feels like I’m being torn apart as every world I’ve ever lived in drives toward a single point of convergence. Tristan’s underworld. The old life I ran from. The new life I chose. I’ve been fractured between them all—holding on to the broken pieces, mourning the painful past, fighting for an impossible future, never knowing who I truly am or where this path is taking me. I’ve been doing it all as a girl without a name.
“Isabel…”
I open my eyes to catch my father’s gaze. Something in it seems to say, Tell the truth.
Even if it’s going to break his heart.
I look Rivero in the eyes.
“I was staying with Martine because she was friends with my mother. She thought I’d be safe there. It was her idea for me to start over. She was scared for me. Really scared.”
“So scared you had to fake your death? Why?”
I have to keep going. I have to tell him.
“Because the same people who are trying to kill me are the ones who killed my sister.”
Rivero blinks a few times. Then takes a quick scan over my father’s desk. His gaze lands on the same photo that’s been haunting me since I arrived. Every ounce of antagonism seems to have drained from him as we both watch my father’s reaction.
His expression is unreadable. “Mariana was very sick,” he says, his voice deceivingly calm, resolute, like this is the truth he’s told himself for the past twenty-three years.
Hot tears burn behind my eyes. “And the Boswells stole whatever time she had left. The experimental treatment wasn’t what they promised it would be. It was so much worse. Killing her was their revenge on Papa for trying to expose them all those years ago.”
“Why are you saying this?”
“Mom knew. She didn’t want to hurt you, so she and Papa kept it to themselves. I think she was scared you’d blame her for it and you’d never forgive her.”
He shakes his head. “This is a theory. There were doctors involved. Paperwork. She can’t really think they’d kill a sick little girl.”
“I’ve met these people. I know what they’re capable of. So did Mom. So after Mariana died, she became friends with Martine. They started working together to try to hit back against the Boswells. Nothing they did was enough to cripple a company that was growing so fast, but they were persistent.” I stare into my lap. “Too persistent, I guess.”
A long silence. The way he’s looking at me, I can tell he’s putting it together why Tristan came back into my life, the man who was hired to kill me but wouldn’t.
“They came for you too,” he finally says.
I acknowledge with a small nod. A long silence. Everyone seems to be waiting for him to say something. To react. To freak out and scream. Anything.
Red creeps up his neck as he drags his fingers through his silvering hair. “I need a minute,” he says, his voice gravelly with emotion.
Rivero stands up.
My father pins his stare on him. His eyes are a little wild. “Don’t even think about looping anyone else in. No one makes a move until you and I get to the bottom of this.”
“Fine,” Rivero says after a short pause.
“I want your word,” my father says firmly, leaving no question that there will be consequences if it’s broken.
“You’ve got my word.”
TRISTAN
I have t
he driver drop me a mile away from Makanga’s place and walk the rest of the way, stopping at an ATM on my way. The last thing I want is anyone tracing me to his doorstep.
When I arrive, yellow light spills from the windows of his little house onto the little lawn in front. His crappy car is parked in the driveway.
He doesn’t do exactly what I do, but somehow he’s managed to stay in one spot. It’s hard to imagine having that kind of stability again when we’ve been thrown from place to place for months. All the wishing I’ve been doing for a better life for Isabel and me seems to have been washed away with the events of the day.
I stride up the walk and knock on the screen door. Makanga answers a few minutes later.
“Hey, man. Come on in. Good to see you.”
Inside, everything looks the same. A no-frills bachelor pad. “You didn’t say that last time I showed up.”
He chuckles and walks lazily to the refrigerator. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t seem like you have anyone shooting at you this time around. Want something to drink?”
“Sure.” I sink into his old couch, feeling the weight of the day acutely.
He hands me a chilled beer, claims the recliner he seems to love, and takes a swig from his own bottle. “So, how’s it going?”
A loaded question.
“I’ve been better and I’ve been worse.”
“I hear ya. What’s up with your girl? I thought she’d be with you.”
One mention of Isabel is a swift punch to my gut. I hate not knowing where she is or what she’s doing. I have to trust that Morgan has a handle on things. He may hate me, but he loves his daughter.
“You guys still together?” Makanga presses.
“We had to split up. The FBI nabbed us at the airport. I managed to slip away.”
Revenge Page 18
