“I was in Reykjavik.”
“Were you ‘ordered’ to kill someone there, too?” Brooklyn used air quotes to show how much contempt she felt for the word.
“Yes.”
“Was it anyone I know?”
“Brooklyn—”
“Well, was it?”
Santana sighed as she came to terms with her fate. She had known Brooklyn wouldn’t understand, but she deserved a right to know. Everything.
“Jusuf Mladić. He was the former warlord who—”
“I know who he was. He was an evil man who deserved to pay for the many atrocities he committed back in the day, but who gave you the right to decide his fate?”
Santana felt her body slowly begin to go numb. “I didn’t make the decisions. I just carried them out.”
Brooklyn looked at her as if she didn’t recognize her. “I defended you.” She angrily dried her eyes. “Every time someone said something negative about you, I told myself that they didn’t know you like I did. I told myself that I was the one person who knew the real you.”
“Because you do.”
“Bullshit. I know who you were pretending to be, not who you are.”
“The only time I wasn’t pretending was when I was with you.”
Brooklyn’s face crumpled as her resolve finally broke. “How I wish I could believe that.”
Brooklyn gathered her things and prepared to walk out of Santana’s life for what felt like the last time. Santana longed to go to her, but Brooklyn already felt like part of her past. When Brooklyn opened the door and walked out without looking back. Santana could do nothing but let her go.
* * *
Brooklyn felt lost and didn’t know where to turn. She normally relied on her family and friends whenever she had a crisis, but she couldn’t go to them now. Not this time. This was a problem she needed to solve on her own.
She headed home after she left Vilma’s apartment. Not Vilma. Santana. How could she possibly have allowed herself to fall for someone who had lied to her about something as fundamental as her name?
After she let herself into her apartment, she locked the door behind her, then dropped her purse and coat on the floor. She sat in the dark rather than risk catching a glimpse of her own reflection. She didn’t think she could take seeing the pain she felt reflected on her face. Experiencing it was bad enough.
Her day had started out so well. She had received an unexpected but generous offer to purchase her company, then the woman she loved had asked her to move in with her. At least, that’s what Vilma—Santana, damn it—had been leading up to before she had been interrupted by someone from her past. Someone who had introduced her to a life of crime. The life she had lived before she and Brooklyn had crossed paths in a bar in Tokyo.
She had told herself that their meeting had felt like fate. Now it felt more like the premise of a supremely bad joke. And she was the butt of it.
She held her head in her hands and tried not to cry. She had done more than enough of that already, yet it seemed like she was just getting started.
She still had Detective Barnett’s card. If she told him what Santana had confided in her, perhaps he could use the information to find Charlie’s killer. Of course, that was contingent upon him believing her story and Santana remaining in the country long enough to corroborate it. Both were long shots. Winslow Townsend was a tech billionaire, not a criminal mastermind, and now that their relationship was over, Santana had no reason to remain so close to the scene of the crime. Especially if there was a chance she might end up in prison if she did.
Brooklyn didn’t reach for her phone because she had no idea what to say.
And what was she supposed to tell her parents? She needed to think of a plausible excuse when they asked why she and Santana had stopped seeing each other. They genuinely liked Santana. She didn’t want to taint their opinion of her, but some secrets were too big to keep.
Initially, she couldn’t reconcile the person Santana had appeared to be with the person she actually was. Then she remembered the circumstances under which they had met. When Santana had nearly broken a man’s wrist simply for coming on too strong. By her own admission, she was not only capable of violence, she was capable of murder. Charlie’s murder?
Santana had admitted witnessing Charlie’s death, but she had denied being involved in it. Was it possible that Brooklyn had allowed herself to fall for the woman who had killed her best friend? She had made love with her. Slept in the same bed with her. Dreamed of sharing a life with her. She was sickened by the realization that she had been at her most vulnerable with someone so dangerous. Or had that been part of the attraction?
It didn’t matter now. None of it did. Because she and Vilma or Santana or whatever the hell her name was were done.
Now all she needed to do was get her heart to buy into the mantra. Because every time she closed her eyes, she couldn’t stop reliving all the good times they’d had. The bad ones, too. She remembered the sound of her voice, the tenderness of her touch, the taste of her skin, the wistful look in her eyes she got when she thought no one was watching. She remembered laughing with her. Talking with her. Just being with her. Those moments had felt so real. Now it appeared they had only been an elaborate illusion.
She didn’t want to love Santana, but how was she supposed to stop?
A few weeks ago, her life had been perfect. She and Santana had sat in a porch swing in the middle of nowhere, serenaded by the sounds of nature on one side and the sound of her parents having sex on the other. What she wouldn’t give to have that moment back. What she wouldn’t give to feel that carefree—that loved—again.
“Who needs love? I’ve got a company to run.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Santana had burned all of her identities except one. Vilma Bautista was the only alias that remained. She had a few more loose ends she needed to tie up while she waited for Winslow Townsend to finalize their separation, then she would be able to get rid of that one, too.
Saying good-bye to Delphine Durand had been somewhat bittersweet. She had always enjoyed embodying her. Someone with no ambitions and no responsibilities. Someone so unlike herself. Before she had shredded Delphine’s identification documents and smashed her phone, she had reached out to Hekla one last time. Not directly, of course. She hadn’t wanted to risk reopening any old wounds.
She had sent her some money. Not enough to draw anyone’s attention but enough to help Hekla fulfill some of the dreams she had spoken about. Santana wondered which dream she would chase first. Would she watch the sun rise on a beach in Australia or ride a donkey down the Grand Canyon? No matter which she chose, at least she would be living her life instead of sleepwalking through it.
“Good morning, Harry,” Santana said after she walked into the flower shop. “I need you to make one last delivery for me, so let’s make it a good one, okay?”
Harry tossed his floppy hair out of his eyes. “What do you mean ‘last’? You haven’t found another florist you like better, have you?”
“Like that could ever happen.”
“Then what gives?”
“I’m going to be putting my apartment on the market soon. I’ll be heading home to put my feet up for a while until I decide my next step.”
“That’s too bad. I mean, I’m happy for you if you’re doing something you truly want to do, but my dads and I are going to miss having you around.”
She felt a surge of melancholy after he came around the counter and gave her a hug. She had literally watched him grow. The first time she had met him, he was in middle school. Now he was preparing to go off to college. “I’m going to miss you, too.”
“Are these for your girlfriend?” he asked. “I don’t want to assume this time.”
“Yes, they’re for Brooklyn, but she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”
“Really? The two of you didn’t break up because I put my foot in my mouth, did you?”
“No, we broke up because I
did. Now I need your help saying good-bye.”
“I’m all over it. What kind of theme would you like?”
She thought about the time she had spent with Brooklyn and her parents in the Catskills. A time she would always treasure, even though her time with Brooklyn had come to an end. “Something sophisticated but rustic.”
“Choice of flowers?”
“Something that won’t die if she forgets to water them after spending too many hours hunched over her computer.”
“She sounds like a real character,” Harry said with a laugh. “I’m sorry you guys parted ways.”
“Yeah, so am I.”
“Last but not least, would you like a cut flower arrangement or a potted one?”
“Potted. I want it to last a while.”
“Aww. That’s sweet.” Harry stuck his pencil behind his ear as she scanned the notes he had made. “I’ll need a few minutes to create something fabulous. Do you want to wait or come back later?”
“Work your magic. I’ve got nothing but time.”
While he ran around pulling the items he needed to create the perfect arrangement, she grabbed a note card and tried to figure out how to cram all the things she wanted to say into such limited space.
It had been just over a week since she and Brooklyn had broken up. One of the longest weeks of her life. She had spent the first few days waiting for her phone to ring. Waiting for Brooklyn to reach out to her and say she wanted to talk. But the call hadn’t come. She didn’t know if she and Brooklyn would ever be on speaking terms again, but she did know she couldn’t leave without saying good-bye.
She knew Brooklyn wouldn’t want to see her—she would feel the same way if she were in her shoes—so she had to find another way. This was the one she had chosen.
“Does this work?” Harry asked as he added raffia handles to a wooden crate he had filled with a variety of succulents.
“That’s perfect.” She sealed the note in an envelope and handed it, along with a small gift box, to Harry. “Could you make sure she gets this, too?”
“I’ll put it in her hands myself.” He gave her another hug.
Her cell phone rang. “Finally,” she said when she saw Winslow’s number printed on the display. “Excuse me, Harry, but I have to take this.”
“No biggie. I want to add a few more finishing touches to your order anyway.”
She moved to the other side of the shop so she could have a bit of privacy.
“I apologize for the delay in reaching out to you,” Winslow said. “Let me start off by offering you my overdue congratulations on completing your most recent assignment.”
She didn’t want to be thanked for taking a man’s life, even a man as malicious as Jusuf Mladić, so she quickly changed the subject. “How would you like to handle the sale of the apartment? If you have a buyer in mind, I can call a lawyer and arrange a title transfer. If not, I can contact a real estate agent so they can place it on the market.”
“No need.”
“Is everything already arranged? If so, I can leave by the end of the week.”
“No, I need you to stay right where you are.”
Santana didn’t like the direction the conversation was heading.
Winslow sighed. “We’ve had a good run, you and I. A very prosperous one, I might add.”
He had benefited from their one-sided partnership far more than she had, but she didn’t want to argue with him when he was this close to finally freeing her from their unwritten contract.
“That’s why I have chosen to extend our arrangement rather than terminate it.”
Winslow liked to boast he was a man of his word, yet she couldn’t remember the last time he had followed through on any of the guarantees he had made to her. “But you promised to—”
“Promises, like bad business deals, are made to be broken. And you, my dear, are one of the best business deals I have ever made. Your recent exploits showed me that you’re capable of much more than I gave you credit for. I’m willing to increase the amount of your compensation, but there’s no way I’m willing to release you from my employ.”
“But I thought—”
“Do yourself a favor and leave the thinking to me. You will work for me until the day you die. Or until your mother does, whichever comes first. The sooner you accept that fact, the better. This conversation is becoming quite tedious, and I have a meeting to attend. I will forward your next assignment as soon as I am presented with one worthy of your skills.”
“Are you okay?” Harry asked after she ended the call. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She hadn’t seen one, but she definitely felt like she had become one. “I’m fine,” she said, even though she was anything but.
“I’m sure my dads will want to have you over for dinner one last time before you go. You’re not leaving right away, are you?”
“No, I’ve got a few things I need to take care of first.”
What she was about to do wouldn’t make up for all the wrongs she had committed in her life, but she had to start somewhere.
* * *
Time was running out for Brooklyn to respond to TechSass’s offer. She was tasked with the most important business decision she had ever been asked to make, but she hadn’t been able to give the matter any serious thought since Santana had told her the truth about herself. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything other than work, and she was doing a piss-poor job at that, too. If not for the quality control team checking behind her, there was no telling how many bugs would have ended up in the software she had worked on during the past two weeks.
“Hey, boss.”
Brooklyn looked up after AJ knocked on her door. “What’s up?”
“Do you have a sec to talk?”
Brooklyn waved her inside. “As long as you promise not to tell me you’re about to put in your two weeks’ notice.”
AJ closed the door, cluing Brooklyn in that the conversation they were about to have was not for public consumption. “Did Vilma tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
AJ grimaced as she took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Brooklyn’s desk. “That Luke tried to poach me. He invited me to meet him for lunch a few weeks ago, and she saw us together in the lobby downstairs. The receptionist just forwarded me a call from her.”
“What did she want?”
“To know how my meeting with Luke went.”
Brooklyn was flabbergasted. “I almost don’t know where to begin. With her, you, or him. Let’s start with you. Are you staying or going?”
“Like I told her, I’m not going anywhere,” AJ said firmly. “I felt I owed it to myself to hear what Luke had to say, but I didn’t like the terms of his offer. Plus he seemed a lot more interested in hearing about our past projects than telling me about his current or future ones. After I reminded him that all of our software is proprietary and wouldn’t be coming with me if I decided to join his company, he seemed to lose all interest in our conversation. The whole thing was a bust. That’s why I didn’t mention it to you.”
Brooklyn decided to deal with Luke after she’d had time to rein in her temper. She couldn’t blame him for going after one of her best employees. She only wished he had given her a heads-up about it. As for trying to steal her software, that deserved more than a disapproving finger wag.
“Thank you for telling me. Did Vilma say why she picked now to follow up with you?”
“I think she’s worried about you. We all are.”
“Worried? Why?”
“You’re off your game. I’m not the only one who’s noticed it. I’m simply the one who pulled the short straw when the time came to tell you so.”
When Brooklyn glanced out her office window, nearly a dozen heads suddenly snapped in the opposite direction. “Wow. Okay.”
“Based on your reaction when I said her name, I assume you and Vilma broke up.”
Brooklyn wanted to tell AJ that her personal life wasn’t he
r concern, but it had become just that the moment she had allowed her personal life to affect her professional one. “Yeah. She was—I was—It didn’t work out.”
“Relax. I wasn’t planning on saying, ‘I told you so.’ I admit I had some issues with her, but I can tell she truly cared about you. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have asked me to look out for you if something ever happened to her.”
“When did she do that?”
“The day she saw me and Luke downstairs. I thought she was kidding at first. When she bit my head off after I didn’t give her an immediate answer, I realized she was serious. I don’t know what was going on with her, but she sounded like she was more worried about you than herself.”
Brooklyn thought back to that day. During lunch, Santana had told her about her upcoming business trip and they had made a date to talk about their future when she returned. Santana had said she was going to Switzerland, but she had actually traveled to Iceland, where she had come face-to-face with a man who was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocent men, women, and children. There had been no guarantee Santana would survive the encounter. It was telling that in the days leading up to it, she had been more concerned about Brooklyn’s safety than her own.
“She’s fine,” Brooklyn said. “So am I. It just—”
AJ finished her sentence for her. “Didn’t work out. I heard you the first time. Whose idea was it to end things, yours or hers?”
“The decision was mutual.”
“Do you have any regrets?”
“Plenty.”
“But if given a choice,” AJ said gently, “would you do it all again?”
“My head says no, but my heart says yes.”
And when she saw Harry standing outside her office with a box of flowers in his hands, she knew she needed to figure out which one was lying.
She tried to tip him after he set the flowers on her desk, but he wouldn’t accept her money. “Ms. Bautista already took care of it.”
Heart of a Killer Page 25
