“Who?”
I pause. “A friend. He’s a hacker.”
Rivero rolls his eyes. “Right. Some kid living in his mother’s basement hacking websites for credit card numbers. That’s not what we’re talking about here.”
“I know exactly what we’re talking about. Banking software. He knows it better than anyone.”
Parish looks at me like he’s discovered the Holy Grail. His jaw falls open slightly. “Oh shit,” he says on an awe-filled exhale.
My father stares at him with a bewildered look. “What did I miss?”
The way Parish is looking at me makes me feel like he can read my mind. Or maybe I said something I shouldn’t have.
“Blake Landon? Has he been helping you?”
I don’t answer and try to school my features, even though I’m freaking out inside. How the hell can he know that?
“You were in Boston,” he continues, his words coming fast like a stream of consciousness as he puts it all together. “That’s where his offices are. That makes sense. Did you meet with him? Do you think he’ll help?”
His questions are coming too fast for me to mask my reaction to them—the stunned, very obvious way his name resonates.
“Who’s Blake Landon?” my father asks.
Parish’s next words are excited and rushed. “He’s…basically a legend. He’s one of the most respected hackers in the world. If anyone can get the job done, it’s him.”
“If he’s so well known, why isn’t he behind bars or hanging out in Russia?” Rivero asks.
“Because he got caught when he was still a minor. No one knows the whole story, but he got off the hook, and then he developed Banksoft. Every major bank’s software runs off the framework he built. He sold it for billions.”
All three men look at me like they’re waiting for me to confirm what Parish already seems to know is true. What the hell am I supposed to do now? If I lie, they’ll know it.
Thankfully my father doesn’t give me a chance to debate it any longer. “You think this hacker friend of yours would be willing to get the account information for us?”
I share a look with him. It’s filled with worry and hesitation because Landon has already done more than he should have. He has a life and a family to think about.
“This can’t come back to him.”
Rivero crosses his arms and leans back in his seat. “Listen, I don’t even care who this guy is. I’ll probably forget his name tomorrow because there’s a lot more to sift through here. Get us the details, and we’ll forget how they showed up. Same way I guess we’re going to forget how this dead guy’s laptop showed up.”
I hate Rivero, but I feel like we’re matched in an odd way. Some balance exists between what he’s willing to do to get to the truth and what I’m willing to do to protect the people I care about.
“I’ll work on it,” I promise. “What else? Can we get the DEA involved now?”
“I have a meeting with a contact of mine tomorrow,” my father says. “I’ll point him toward the ports Knight was targeting.”
“The bribes were cash,” I say. “It’s going to be hard to pinpoint the leaks.”
He tilts his head. “I’m hoping they’ll take this seriously enough to ramp things up across the board. If they know there are bribes involved, they’ll start looking more closely. Once they find one, hopefully they can start connecting the dots.”
Then it hits me.
“Javier Medina. You should start with him.”
Not wanting to get into how Tristan and Jay led us to Medina or the meeting Mateus and I took with him, I never mentioned him before. If they need a starting place, though, he could be it.
“He works under the director of the Port of Miami,” I continue. “He’s closely connected to Simon, and I’d be willing to bet Knight met with him when he was in Miami a couple of weeks ago. If Simon gets wind of the DEA poking around that part of the operation, it could be a way to scare them into at least slowing things down.”
“I’m on it,” says Rivero, scribbling notes onto a small pad he pulled from his pocket.
My father’s expression remains tense, but there’s an energy between us that feels promising, like we have enough threads to pull to start making a difference.
TRISTAN
The map of DC is spread out on Makanga’s coffee table. I memorized it an hour ago, plotting out points of interest—the Hotel Madera, Keegan’s condo in the city, and his office at the Capitol. I’ve gone as far as I can go without a meeting locked in with Simon. I’m edgy and frustrated. I’m ready to work, but all I can do is wait for Devon to follow through with details.
Once I get my hands on Keegan, I’ll be one chess move away from Simon. He won’t see it coming, which will be the best part. Seeing the devil himself and letting him see me. Recognizing his shock, then his fear. The old Tristan would make it quick. Get it done and get out. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it that way. Not this time.
I close my eyes and press my temples hard like it will drive out the dark thoughts that won’t quiet. Isabel is a better person than I am, and she doesn’t want him alive any more than I do. That doesn’t make me feel better. Every step of this journey has made me despise Simon a little more. It’s been a runaway train of hatred for the man. And I’ve never cared this much. I’ve never been this invested in someone’s imminent death.
Holding on to this kind of contempt is about as foreign to me as love used to be. I can’t tell if it makes me more or less human. Either way, it’s fucked up. I’m fucked up. And the only person who makes me feel the least bit normal isn’t here.
Fantasies of ways I could kill Simon are almost better than missing Isabel. I hate not knowing where she is. I can’t risk a drive by her parents’ house yet, but I console myself by imagining her there. Safe with Morgan. Hopefully he got Rivero to back off. If he did, they’ll still want to know what she knows. Unfortunately, so much of it points back to me. The more they know about me, the harder it’s going to be to get close to her again.
The front door swings open and Makanga walks through, bringing a blast of cool air and sunlight into the living room.
“Hey, man.” He shuts the door and tosses an orange package beside me on the sofa. “Special delivery.”
I stare at it. If I didn’t feel like such a mess already, the package guarantees it.
“What is it?” he asks.
“It’s nothing,” I respond flatly.
He chuckles and tugs at one of his short dreads. “Okay. You’re looking at it like there’s a body part in there or something.”
“I’m pretty sure you’d be able to tell if there were.”
He shrugs. “I’ve delivered some pretty messed-up stuff. You’d be surprised what’s possible with the right packaging.”
“I don’t want to know.”
He moves to his recliner. “What’s up with the map?”
I rub over the creases in my forehead. “Trying to figure out where Keegan might want to meet Simon or vice versa. He’s paranoid about where he’ll be seen. Rightly so. Any place good for a hit probably isn’t a place he’ll agree to go.”
“So you’re trying to get ahead of the game.”
“Probably just spinning my wheels until I get my hands on Keegan.”
“Oh yeah. How’s tomorrow night sound?”
I pause and meet his eyes. “Devon confirmed?”
Makanga grins. “They’re on their way to DC right now.”
“They?”
I can’t mask my alarm, but Makanga only laughs.
“I’ve had her staying with my sister. It was the best I could offer on short notice. It’s a long drive, but they’ll be here tonight.”
“Here?”
“Hell no. I set them up in a room at the Madera.”
“We have to be able to get her out of there if Keegan doesn’t cooperate.”
“You worry about Keegan. I’ll worry about the girls,” he says.
I rest b
ack on the couch with a stressed sigh.
“You gotta relax, man. We’re not there yet. You’re going to run out of adrenaline before you get a chance to pop this guy.”
“Unlikely.”
He runs his fingers over the seam on the armrest. “You hear from Isabel yet?”
“That’d be a miracle since she has no idea where I am. I got rid of my phone before I got here.”
He purses his lips. “You think she could be at her parents’ house?”
I remember then that Makanga had dropped her there when I disappeared to see my old army friend, Brennan. Against my wishes, but I know better than most that Isabel can be persuasive when she wants something. Makanga knows more than I’d like about her personal life, but I’m short on allies at the moment and he seems like he wants to help.
“It’s possible,” I finally say.
“Why don’t you take a ride over there?”
I lift my eyebrows sharply. “You really think that’s a good idea? The last thing I need is the FBI on my ass while I’m trying to pin down Simon.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Just figured it would give you some peace of mind.”
“Peace of mind is a luxury I don’t have right now.”
I can tell Makanga wants to push the issue, but there’s no talking me into it. I’d do just about anything to see her—or at least know she’s all right—but it’s not worth the risk…for either of us.
I fold up the map and grab the package, ignoring the stab of anxiety that lodges in my gut when I think about its contents.
“I’m going out. I’ll see you tonight,” I say, my tone clipped.
A gleam of mischief hits Makanga’s dark eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to see her. She might not even be there.”
He laughs and lifts up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not saying anything. Just figured you might be in a better mood if you checked it out.”
“I’m not going, so get used to me being a miserable bastard in the meantime.”
He just shakes his head as I gather up my things, leave the house, and toss my bag into the passenger side of the coupe. The engine roars to life when I turn the key in the ignition. Being behind the wheel of Dion’s loaner is a nice upgrade from riding shotgun in Betsy. Maybe it’ll be the distraction I need to clear my head.
I drive around Arlington, no destination in mind, until I find myself in front of Brienne’s old apartment, the place where her life ended thanks to one of Jay’s men. The spot where Isabel witnessed her best friend die shows no trace of what happened here. I study the buildings across the street, wondering which window her killer hid behind. I was too busy getting us the hell out of here to care.
I’ll never forget the horror of that day. Not for myself but for what Isabel went through. She lost a friend and finally knew what we were up against. Two cold, hard truths wrapped up in the same tragedy. I’d give anything to save her from the memory. Maybe if we’d done things differently, Brienne would still be alive, but that way of thinking is a dark spiral that leads nowhere good.
I drive out of Arlington and get on the highway to go north. Isabel and Simon and the package fill up my thoughts, a nonstop whir of what-ifs and unresolved pieces of this never-ending nightmare.
An hour later, I’m traveling past warehouses that curve along the Patapsco River. I turn before the bridge. Rick’s Fish House is just ahead. A few cars are parked outside. I kill the engine, grab the package, and walk toward the restaurant, ignoring my nerves. The deck is empty of diners. String lights swing in the wind, and I recognize the place, but none of the magic I felt here remains.
I walk toward the dock. The rickety little fish feeder is still there. I pass it, stopping at the end of the pier. If Isabel were here, we could toss pellets into the water and dream about our future—a future that’s never felt so out of reach simply because she is.
It’s strange standing inside a memory that doesn’t feel like it fully belongs to me.
Cars drone by on the bridge over the river. Water sloshes up against the pilings. No kids are running and laughing. There’s no music. The dream I had of this place was warmer. The people in it had hope even though the future was uncertain, even if the things we felt were new and overwhelming. It’s not the only memory I have of us, but it’s a good one. I’ll never let myself forget it.
I lift the package and study the messy block lettering on it. No return address. I rip open one side. There’s a small piece of paper inside with a message written in the same handwriting.
The second vial is a strong sedative. Our mutual friend thought it would help the antidote run its course without interruption. I did my best, but this comes with no promises.
Inside are two vials protected by layers of bubble wrap and elastic bands. A wave of nausea hits me. I don’t bother unwrapping them to study them further. I shove the note back inside and stare across the river to the horizon of structures on the other side.
Unlike here, the opposite riverbank is lined with trees and greenery. A park and some nice condominium buildings. I wonder if the view is better from over there. Probably not. They get to look at the ugly gray warehouses and Rick’s shack with its cheap Christmas lights.
I don’t know where I’d rather be. Standing on this splintering dock where I fell in love with Isabel a little more than six years ago or somewhere that looks better from here but maybe isn’t better at all. Maybe all this wanting my memories back is like that. One little piece of endless longing for more than I should.
I’ve killed people. I’ve done terrible, unforgivable things. My only purpose in life appeared in the form of a death wish. I could have killed her, but somehow she’s the one who saved me. The day I found Isabel was the first time I ever let myself care about my shadowy past. She lit everything up. I didn’t believe in miracles or even luck, but she made me want to. Then I fell in love with her all over again. I believe she fell in love with me too. Not just the old me. Me.
If I put Mushenko’s antidote into my bloodstream, I don’t know who I’ll be.
CHAPTER THREE
Isabel
I check my phone when it buzzes with a text from my father. Rivero pops a peanut into his mouth and casts a bored stare up at the televisions above the bar. It’s our second day here. We’ve spent hours sifting through Knight’s laptop documents, aligning them with the parts of the Felix plan we know. I fill in the blanks where I can. Carefully. Strategically. Especially after my father leaves to take his meeting with his DEA contact, leaving me with Rivero and Parish.
“My dad is running late. Do you think you could take me home?”
“Sure. We can hang out for a drink if you want,” Rivero offers casually.
My instinct is to say no. But we’ve settled into slightly better rapport after another day of chasing the same enemies. He seems more interested in the baseball game than me anyway, and the prospect of being home alone doesn’t thrill me. I’ve also had about six Diet Cokes, and my nerves are akin to live wires.
Parish clicks his computer shut and stretches his arms above his head with a groan. “I’m heading home.”
“Long day at the office?” Rivero smirks.
Parish laughs and shakes his head. “Something like that.”
He packs up and gives me a little wave goodbye on his way out of the pub. The patrons are livelier at this hour, yelling at the television and swapping stories animatedly. I’m in shock that after a day of drinking, some of them are still able to form sentences.
Rivero saunters to the bar. His arrogance doesn’t seem put on but rather stitched into his inherent makeup. Perhaps if we’d met under different circumstances, I could appreciate it more. He’s an attractive guy. Strong, dark, and handsome. And smart. Abrasive at times but driven. And when we’re driving toward the same thing, I almost think I could like him. After a few minutes, he returns with two pints of beer.
“Pale ale okay?”
“Perfect. Thank
s.”
“How are things going at home?” Rivero lobs the question casually, like we’re friends now. We’re not.
“My mom left a couple of days ago. Dad says she just needs time, so I suppose all we can do is give it to her.”
He looks me over briefly, a discriminating kind of stare like he’s trying to figure out a riddle. Maybe to him I am.
“What?”
“I just keep looking at you and wondering how a pretty suburban girl like you could get mixed up in all this. I mean, I don’t know you very well, but Morgan doesn’t strike me as someone who’d raise an unruly kid.”
I wince. “I’m not unruly.”
Although maybe lately I am. In fact, if Tristan were here, he’d probably chime in on that. Rivero knows about my situation but not enough to see the full picture. I don’t know if it’ll encourage him to ease up on me, but I decide to speak up in my own defense.
“I love my parents, but they smothered me. After my sister died, my mom was paranoid something would happen to me too. I didn’t understand why until all this happened.” I pick at the corner of a cocktail napkin, marveling anew at how dramatically things have changed.
“So you rebelled.”
“Striving for any degree of independence was met with strong opposition, but I kept fighting until I finally wore them down. Call that rebellion if you want.”
He pops another peanut into his mouth and chews with a sly smirk. “Now you’re blowing up buildings and trying to take down an international pharmaceutical giant.”
I roll my eyes at his persistence. He’s obsessed with what happened in Paris or at least that he managed to loosely connect it to me.
“Are you ever going to own that?” he presses.
I clench my jaw, suddenly regretting this decision to linger here with him. I take a drink and pretend like the baseball game has my interest.
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