Revenge

by Meredith Wild

  “I’m just glad I haven’t been alone.”

  “It’s always been easy to place the blame on Tristan,” he says. “But the fact that you’re sitting here right now probably means he’s had a pretty big hand in keeping you safe through all of this.”

  I’ve lost count of the number of times Tristan’s saved my life. I’d like to believe I saved his a time or two. I can’t imagine how I could have endured any of this without him.

  “Your mother told me you found the letter,” he continues.

  I nod, avoiding his eyes. The letter nominating Tristan for a special operations team at my father’s wish is one I haven’t been able to forget. It’s the letter that’s kept me from reaching out to him for so long, not knowing if I could ever truly forgive him.

  “I know you were trying to protect me, but…” I take in a shaky breath. But you destroyed us. You broke us.

  “I was, and I still am. That doesn’t make it right. If I could change things now, I promise you, I would.”

  His admission means more than he realizes. After feeding my resentment for so long, I’m not ready for his change of heart. He never approved of the relationship. If he acted like he did, I could always sense his pretense. Defying his wishes for me for so long carried its own weight, compounding the pain of Tristan leaving.

  “You have no idea what it means to hear you say that, Dad.”

  “You probably blamed him for a long time for leaving you,” he says, waiting for my answering nod before continuing. “When it came to enlisting, you should know I didn’t give him much choice. I manipulated the situation to edge him out of your life. I was blinded by wanting a better life for you than I could imagine him giving you. Lucia kept you safe in her way. This was mine. We both did the things we did out of love, which is probably hard to accept after everything you’ve been through. All I can tell you is that I’ll lie, cheat, and manipulate the hell out of this mess with that same single-minded determination. I’m going to get justice, one way or the other.”

  When he says justice, it sounds like revenge. For Mariana. For all this pain.

  My lips tremble. I want to speak, but I’m afraid of crumbling. I sniff and wipe at the tears already spilling down my cheeks. “Thank you,” I manage.

  “Thank me when this is over. Until then, I just want you to know, I am sorry. For what it’s worth…” He pauses to hand me a tissue. “I figured today was a good day for the truth, all things considered.”

  I take it, wishing the tears could stop. “Dad… Tristan’s changed. He’s done things… I’ve done things. We can’t take any of it back, but I don’t care. He’s still the person I’m supposed to be with. I need you to believe that.”

  “I do.”

  I pause. “He’s…a criminal.”

  He tenses slightly but doesn’t waver. “I honestly don’t care right now.”

  The weight of his disapproval all these years lifts a little more. At least I won’t have to fight this war with my father anymore. Thank God, because there’s still the rest of the world to contend with.

  “I’ll protect you both. As long as I can keep Rivero locked down, we’ll be fine. Try not to worry about that right now.”

  “I have no idea where Tristan is. Even if I knew where to look, I have to worry about leading the FBI right to him.”

  My father rests his hand on the desktop and captures the tiny tab of paper at the end of the tea bag between his fingertips. “I have a feeling he’s going to come for you no matter who’s looking for him, don’t you?”

  God, I hope so. With all of my being…but not if it puts Tristan in danger. I won’t put his freedom in jeopardy.

  “I want that and I don’t.”

  My father leans forward, holding my gaze steadily. “I’m going to do everything in my power to fix this. I’m going to make it right, Isabel. If it costs me my job, my savings, so be it. I don’t care. Mark my words, it’s not going to cost me my family.”

  We stay that way a long time, holding the promise between us, before he slowly reaches for his tea. He brings it to his lips and drinks.

  “What kind is this?”

  I laugh softly through my tears. “Earl Grey.”

  He sets it down. “I guess I could get used to that.”

  Our worlds have been turned upside down. Our lovers have left our sides. We can’t know what tomorrow will bring. But in that small moment, in the solitude of the night, I’m grateful we’re in this together.

  TRISTAN

  Makanga and I arrive at the garage before dawn. The sky is metal gray, but it’s light enough to make out the lettering on the worn sign for Dion’s Body Shop.

  “You sure he’s here?” I ask.

  The neighborhood is deserted at this hour. The birds chirping in the trees are the only sounds.

  “Oh yeah. He’s an early riser. Likes to do his important business before people start rolling in for repairs and shit.”

  We get out and stroll up to the main door. Makanga walks right inside, so I follow.

  “Dion!” he bellows, no doubt waking up the whole damn neighborhood.

  Dion enters suddenly through a doorway toward the back of the building.

  “Hey, it’s the mailman.”

  “Postman. Get it right, brother,” Makanga shoots back with a grin.

  Dion laughs as he takes long, casual strides to meet us. He’s lanky. His blue mechanic’s coveralls catch on the sharp angles of his shoulders.

  “Dion. Nice to meet ya,” he says, holding out his hand to me. He gnashes gum on one side of his mouth, which makes for a crooked smile.

  “Red.” I shake his hand, noticing the hard calluses on his palms and the grease stains on his uniform. He may be the man to go to for everything we need, but my guess is he’s no stranger to hard work.

  Makanga claps his hands together. “So, what have you got for us?”

  Dion pitches his thumb over his shoulder. “How about this for starters?”

  Behind him is a red BMW coupe. It’s an older model but appears to be in good shape.

  I look to Makanga.

  He winks. “I got you.”

  I walk over to feather my fingers along the slick curve of the hood. “You could have lent me a beater, you know?” But I’m not arguing. He knows my weakness for fast cars.

  “I figure you’re good for it.”

  “I am. Why don’t you let Dion hook you up with some new wheels?”

  Makanga shrugs. “I like Betsy. She’s got some miles left in her.”

  “I’ve tried, trust me,” Dion says with a laugh. “Come on. Check out the rest.”

  We follow him into his office. He takes out his keys and unlocks a closet with a metal door. He pulls out a heavy black duffel bag and deposits it onto his desk with a huff. “Merry Christmas.”

  I unzip it and start pulling out the contents. “Santa did well.”

  Dion snickers. “Have fun. Here’s a burner too,” he says, pulling a flip phone out of his pocket and setting it next to the bag.

  There’s enough firepower in the bag to support the overthrow of a small government. Handguns, automatic weapons, silencers, small explosives. I’m not sure what Makanga is envisioning for the next mission, but I don’t mind shopping from Dion’s collection.

  As I start setting things aside, Makanga’s phone rings. The shrill sound reverberates off the walls of the small room. He glances at it, then up to me.

  “It’s Aguilera.”

  Dion has his arms crossed and is leaning against the wall, glancing curiously between the two of us.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say.

  Makanga hands me the phone as I walk out of Dion’s office. I answer it.

  “Hi, Devon.”

  “Hello?” A woman’s tentative voice is on the other end. “Who is this?”

  “I’m a friend of Makanga’s. Listen, I need to ask you some questions about Senator Keegan.”

  She’s quiet for a few seconds. We’re not going to get far i
f she’s already clamming up.

  “You understand that someone’s trying to kill you, right?”

  “I’m still trying to wrap my head around that. But why? Why would someone want me dead?”

  Not so long ago, Isabel said those same words with that same innocent disbelief. I hope Devon Aguilera doesn’t have to travel the road Isabel’s taken to figure out how real the threat is.

  “Does Keegan know you’re pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he happy about it?”

  Her voice is softer when she speaks. “He wasn’t angry. He was… I don’t know…overwhelmed, I guess. We both were. It’s complicated. He has a family.”

  “Did he tell you to get rid of it?”

  She’s quiet again. “He didn’t tell me to, but he didn’t rule it out as a possibility. He knew it was up to me, though.”

  “And you didn’t want to.”

  She huffs out a sigh, like she knows what I’m getting at. “Whatever you think you know about him, I’m in love with this man. I didn’t want to be the woman to tear his family apart, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on us. We made some mistakes, but we’re not over.”

  Little does she know, the commitment to her own happily ever after with the senator is exactly why she has a dot on her head.

  “Have you reached out to him since you left?”

  “I’ve wanted to, but I’m scared.”

  I think for a minute, weighing everything she’s said. Keegan could have told someone Aguilera was carrying his child, triggering concern about his political reputation and ability to follow through on the legislation that Simon is no doubt counting on getting pushed through. If Keegan was financially involved enough, he could have justified asking for it himself. If he was that heartless, Aguilera doesn’t seem to have a clue. Either way, he’ll want to see her if she reaches out. To reunite or to get her killed. I’ll be ready for both.

  “Where do you usually meet?”

  “He decided not to move his family up to DC yet, so he flies home on the weekends. Sometimes we’ll see each other at my apartment before he leaves. Sometimes I’ll fly to DC to see him.”

  “Where do you stay in DC? At his place?”

  “No. He’s worried about people seeing us. We stay at a hotel.”

  “What’s the name of it?”

  “Hotel Madera.”

  “Good. It’s Sunday, so he’ll be flying home tonight. Give him a call and tell him you need to meet tomorrow night. Eight o’clock at the hotel bar. Don’t tell him anything else. I don’t care how genuine he sounds. If he knows where you’re staying, you’re not going to be safe there anymore.”

  She takes a few anxious breaths. “Am I going to be able to see him?”

  “No.” I frown, concerned now that Aguilera has missed the whole point of our conversation.

  “You’re using me to set him up? Then what? What is this really about?”

  “This is about figuring out who wants you dead.”

  “Then don’t bother. Whoever is behind this, it’s not him.”

  “If it’s not him, it’s someone he knows. And I can’t get to that person unless I talk to Keegan directly. It has to be unexpected, or things could get complicated.”

  Several seconds pass in silence. I worry she’s going to renege on the deal.

  “Fine,” she says. “But I have one condition.”

  I roll my eyes but do my best not to sound as frustrated as I’m getting. She has no idea what’s at stake, and I’m not about to tell her. I just need her to cooperate.

  “What’s your condition?”

  “Once you meet with him, I want to see him.”

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “Those are my terms,” she says firmly. “You want the meeting, then give me mine.”

  I pace a circle, mentally mapping out ways to prevent this from turning into a disaster. Bringing her into the mix is a complication I don’t need. If every single thing goes right and Keegan proves a friendly resource, having her there could work in my favor. But that’s a big if. I need her help, though. I don’t have time to follow him around DC and figure out his patterns.

  “All right, but if you stray from the plan and fuck this up for me, I can’t protect you anymore. Do you understand? You’re putting your life on the line, and I have enough people I’m trying to keep alive right now. Got it?”

  “I’ve got it. I understand,” she says shakily, like suddenly she’s overwhelmed with hope. Like she’s so in love with this guy she can barely get the sentence out.

  “Set up the meeting. Call this number when it’s done.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Isabel

  My father is behind the wheel, his jaw set with determination or perhaps fresh worry. I doubt he slept well, if at all. After waking from my own restless night, I quickly realized Mom hadn’t come home. Concern for her wellbeing compounds the heavy guilt of having driven her out with yesterday’s events. She may still want time, but I’ll call her when we get home later if she’s still gone. My father may be furious and my mother may be too, but after more than two decades of marriage, they’ll have to talk this out at some point.

  “Are we going back to your office?”

  He shakes his head. “We’re meeting at a bar a few miles away.”

  I lift my eyebrows. “A bar?”

  “It’s dark and quiet, and the barflies who hang out there before a respectable drinking hour won’t remember a damn thing we say.”

  “Okay,” I say, trusting that when it comes to keeping things under the radar, he knows best.

  Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the Widow, an Irish pub set on the corner of an intersection about twenty minutes from our house. We find Jax Rivero and my father’s colleague, Damon Parish, at a table in the back. As promised, the bar is dark and quiet, and the two older men at the bar are fixed on the TVs above and pay us no attention.

  “Gentlemen.” My father pulls out my chair before sitting in his own. “Thanks for meeting here.”

  “I’m positive no one will find us here,” Rivero says with a sarcastic smile.

  A night’s sleep hasn’t warmed me to him since he yanked Tristan and me into the airport security offices. And a night’s sleep doesn’t seem to have eased his agitation at the predicament we’re facing.

  Parish, however, seems perkier than the rest of us. He places his laptop on the table, his eyes bright. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I couldn’t stop running all this through my head last night. So I hacked my way into Knight’s computer. Lots of interesting things to work with.”

  Rivero leans over to peer at the screen as Parish lifts it open. “Like what?”

  “Well…in my experience, just because someone has a lot of money doesn’t necessarily mean they’re careful with their information. He really must have thought he was above the law to be this careless. Everything is in the cloud. I mean everything. Organized? Yes. His file structure makes finding everything really easy. All the corporate filings, most of which are shells, I’m guessing. Spreadsheets of accounts with balances.”

  “Too bad he’s dead,” Rivero snaps. “We could nail him on everything and get him to dime out all his associates for a plea deal. Easy stuff.” His lips form a disappointed curve as he looks my way.

  I didn’t kill him, I say to myself with a strange kind of defensive detachment, like a kid trying to dodge blame. I just watched him die and walked over his body on my way out of the building before Crow blew it up. Of course, they can lock me up before I tell Rivero any of that.

  “I think we both know it wouldn’t be that easy by a long shot,” my father says sharply. He focuses on Parish again. “So where do the accounts lead?”

  Parish cants his head. “Most are linked up with the shell companies, the majority in Knight’s name. Some with Mirchoff, some with Pope. Interestingly I haven’t found anything formally associated with Simon Pelletier. There are some international ones
I can’t access, though. I have no idea whose name those are in.”

  “Where are the accounts located?” I ask.

  “Cayman Islands. A couple overseas,” Parish says.

  I don’t want to say it aloud, but I’m almost certain one of those accounts was the one Mateus was given.

  “Can you find out who’s on those accounts? Work with the local government or something?”

  “There are agreements in place to combat tax evasion, but they don’t really help us in this case. The Cayman banks have to report tax information on accounts owned by US citizens, but it’s channeled through the IRS. That’s some pretty significant red tape on our end.”

  “This is why we need an investigation, Foster. We can’t subpoena shit without one,” Rivero barks, his voice carrying loud enough to reach the bar patrons. Thankfully no one seems to care.

  I chew the inside of my lip. Tristan has the account number Mateus gave him. I can’t narrow the list down for Parish without it.

  “Isabel, do you know anything about this?”

  My father’s calm request invites the truth. A part of me wants to give it to him, but I can’t tie any of this to Tristan or the people who’ve helped me along the way. But if I don’t work with them, we’ll never get ahead.

  “An account number was given to us through a friend. Someone who was helping us. Simon wanted him to clean the funds through his international businesses before depositing them into an account in Cayman.”

  Rivero frowns. “So what’s the account number?”

  “I didn’t memorize it. But if you can’t link it to the account holder, why do you need it?”

  He blows a frustrated breath out through his nose like an angry bull. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  So much. And he can stomp around all day long and I’ll never tell him half of what I know. At the end of the day, he works for a government agency and I’ve broken more laws than I can count. I don’t trust Rivero, and I never will.

  “You work above the board, Rivero. I don’t. If I’m being evasive, it’s because I don’t trust you. I have information you want, and I have ways of finding it that probably go against your moral code. But if you want names on the accounts, give me the list. I know someone who can find out.”