Emma was waiting up for her when she got home and let her hold the baby to put him back to sleep. “Will this take long?” Emma asked as she watched Cain dress completely in black.
“I’m hoping to be home late tonight, if it goes like I think it will. It’s Thanksgiving in a few days, and you know how much I love turkey.”
The trip to California would be completely off the grid so she’d turned down the offer of Remi’s plane, and, instead, Jasper had arranged what she understood was a plane that transported ghosts. No one on board existed. Colin and Judice were next to her, but she wasn’t interested in conversation so she closed her eyes and went to sleep. Her brain needed a break from all the thinking she’d been doing since Nicolette had taken a bullet in that swamp.
Before she went to sleep she wondered if Shelby had accepted her invitation. Salvatore was her true target, but there wasn’t any reason to not do a favor for someone in a black hole. Three hours later she woke up and smiled at the sleeping duo sitting close together holding hands. Maybe Colin was starting to wear Judice down. Now all she had to worry about was whether Carlos Luis had come through for her.
Colin jerked awake when the wheels hit the tarmac in what looked like an airstrip in the middle of nowhere. The guys waiting outside hopefully were Colin’s people, because she’d left Katlin and Lou behind to give the illusion she was still home.
“We’re not dying yet, cousin,” Colin said as he stretched. “They’re mine, so let’s go.” When she left the plane, she noticed some people who still sat in their cars, so she walked in that direction, surprised to see the late Rodolfo’s son, Carlos Luis.
“Good to see you again,” she said and shook his hand. “Have you been well?”
She waited for the translator, but Carlos nodded, answering himself. “I do well, and get good business again.”
“It’s good to meet you,” the young woman at Carlos’s side said. “I’m Carlos’s wife, Paloma, and he’s hoping the next time you meet his English will be better. But for now he understands what you’re asking for, and we’re ready to go.”
“Tell him I’ll owe him a favor, and I don’t say that often,” Cain said. Paloma immediately repeated it in Spanish, and Carlos responded.
“It was because of you that he was able to avenge his father’s death. He owes you more for that than doing this for you. If you like, you can ride with us.” She pointed to the large black Suburban. It felt almost like a test.
“Sure.” Cain waved to Colin. He nodded and got into his car, to follow. “Are we ready to go?” she asked as they pulled out to head for LA.
“Carlos called our contacts in the gangs here, and they’re waiting for our phone call. They know Salvatore Maggio because they’re doing a lot of business with him. It’s an easy contract since they buy from us, then turn around and sell to Salvatore for more. The setup has dropped exposure to the watchful eyes of the police so the gang has grown.”
“Please let Carlos know the arrangement will continue, but with only Colin Meade. Salvatore intends to cut Colin out. If that happens you’re going to be dealing with someone who’ll eventually bring war to get what he wants. That easy money isn’t going to last.”
Paloma had a small conversation with Carlos, and he gave short answers to whatever she was saying. “He trusts you, so all you have to say is you’re ready to go, and he’ll call his friends.”
“We’re ready to go.” She gazed out the window at the large expanse of the city passing below them, quiet until they reached the spot she’d requested. The place, well off the main highway, appeared as if it’d been abandoned for years. She walked through the house to enjoy the view behind it, trying to imagine why someone would’ve let this place go like this.
The pool was dry, its bottom littered with dead vegetation, but the chairs nearby appeared clean and fairly new. All they had left to do now was to wait. She planned to hit Salvatore hard and fast, but not leave any of her family’s fingerprints anywhere on the action. When the shit settled, the police would think it was simply another skirmish between the local criminals over drugs.
Carlos came to sit with her, holding out a picture of his wedding day.
Cain smiled at him. “Beautiful,” she said. “Your father would be proud.”
“I find happiness, and you help me. I work like my papi, and I thank you for Gracelia. Today you owe me nada.”
“Thank you, Carlos, and I think you’re doing a good thing.” He waved Paloma over. It seemed important that he know what she said. Cain repeated what she’d said, then waited for Paloma to translate before adding the most important part. “Today he’ll make more than one friend.”
They sat and talked for five hours about nothing else of importance, and as the day grew overcast, a man came out and reported something that made Carlos nod.
“It’s done,” Paloma said. “Salvatore as well as everyone of importance to him is gone.”
“Thank you, and the other thing I asked for?” Cain asked.
Carlos held up two fingers, and his men carried two guys out of the house and into the empty pool. Their hands and feet were then tied and their heads covered by hoods. They’d die on their knees.
“If you want, go ahead and take off,” Cain said. “I need to do the next part alone.”
“What they did for Gracelia, they did without the sanction of their leaders,” Paloma said.
“I have a feeling they did it for the money and for someone else we’re both looking for. Anthony Curtis, the tainted FBI agent, is still out there, and he’ll survive only if both of us are dead.”
“Carlos hasn’t stopped looking, so keep in touch. Whatever your plans, delivering these men won’t put you in debt to anyone involved today.”
She accepted Carlos’s embrace and watched them leave. Her next visitor arrived forty-five minutes later. Shelby appeared in the doorway of the house, her Glock extended with both hands and sweeping the area in a wide arc, as if she expected an ambush. She relaxed when she saw Cain.
“I didn’t think you went anywhere alone,” Shelby said.
“I’m not really here. I’m a figment of your imagination,” Cain said and wiggled her fingers. “Did you bring the paper I gave you?”
“Yes.” Shelby lowered her gun and walked toward Cain, but her eyes stayed on the hooded men kneeling in the pool.
“Read the names,” Cain said, watching as the men’s heads turned toward their voices when Shelby called them out. “Holster your weapon, Shelby.” Cain handed over one of the guns Carlos’s men had left wrapped in the bandana of their gang colors. “There’s no more real irony in this world than getting shot with your own gun.”
“It’s really them?” Shelby said, taking the gun and sliding her finger onto the trigger.
“From what the guys who found them told me, they killed your parents on direct orders from Gracelia Luis and her business partner Anthony Curtis. The guys working for Gracelia had no idea he was an agent, but they wouldn’t give up anything else about him.” She pointed to the two guys. “These two, though, were responsible for the actual killing. So Shelby, the next step is your choice. I’ve led you to your orchard, but to pick the fruit isn’t something I can force on you.”
“And if I don’t, what happens?”
“They killed two people on the order of an FBI agent, one of them a retired cop. The FBI and employers of the two men in the pool won’t take kindly to that, so they’re here to give you the chance you said you wanted.”
“You’ll stay and watch so you can use it against me, I guess,” she said, bouncing the gun nervously against the side of her leg.
“Actually, I’m leaving. My ride should be here in a few minutes, so you have an hour to decide, I’m told. You can see these two aren’t going anywhere. If you choose to do nothing and leave, the cleanup crew will finish the job. They’ll be dead no matter what, and whether it’s by your hand or theirs, I’ll never know.”
“Did pulling the trigger help you?”
“No life can be free of regret, Shelby, but I sleep well at night no matter what you think of me.”
Shelby laughed and shook her head. “You never really answer anything, do you?”
Cain rose at the sound of a car pulling up in front of the house. “My answer is clear enough, so good luck.” She put her hand on Shelby’s shoulder and squeezed. When Shelby kissed her cheek, Cain returned the gesture, then started toward the house.
“Can you do one favor for me before you go?”
Cain stopped and nodded.
“Can you remove the hoods? I hate them so much I can’t really get that close to them, and I want to avoid—”
“No need to elaborate,” she said and walked down the pool’s stairs. “Remember one thing,” she said as she uncovered their heads and pointed to the teardrops tattooed on their faces. “They carry different reminders of your parents than you do. These little mementos are earned only with bullets and killing.”
“Thanks again,” Shelby said when Cain left the pool and, again, headed to leave.
On the ride back to the airfield, Cain reviewed her actions to ensure she’d left nothing of herself behind. Whatever Shelby decided would be on Shelby alone. Her debt was paid.
*
“You’ve watched that video about a million times already,” Abigail said from the sofa where she was reading a book while Finley worked. “I’d think you’d have memorized it by now.”
“There’s got to be something I’m missing.” Finley had hacked the police department in St. Charles Parish’s files on the warehouse case. The explosives didn’t have any kind of special ingredient, and they were still reeling from this happening in their quiet town.
“Maybe you need a fresh set of eyes,” Abigail said, getting up and putting her arms around Finley’s neck to kiss the top of her head. “Play it from the beginning in real time.”
Finley pressed the mouse, and they watched the two people walk around the office before going to the back, supposedly to set a bomb. Something made Abigail want to run. “Play it again please,” she said, leaning down to get closer to the screen. “It’s impossible.” She hadn’t noticed it before when she’d only briefly looked at the footage.
“What?” Finley asked, turning so Abigail could sit on her lap.
“Play it again, but slow it down when that one starts to go through the drawers of the desk.”
On the video, the door opened and two people entered, glancing around the room. The taller of the two walked to the first desk with a pronounced limp, and Finley slowed the action like Abigail had asked. The person paused with a hand on the drawer, then yanked it open as if expecting something to jump out. When nothing did, the person ripped the rest of the drawers out of the desk, but all were empty.
“Did I miss something?” Finley asked.
“Watch,” she said as the person flexed their hands from a fist to a completely open palm. “One, two, three, four, and five,” she counted along as the person repeated the action.
“How’d you know that?” Finley asked, replaying that part again.
“It was an old injury,” Abigail said, “something about landing on broken glass on the playground when she was seven. The cut was deep, and though it healed, it left residual pain that got worse with age. The only thing that helped was physical therapy, and that’s where she learned to stretch it to ease the ache.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Nicola, that’s her,” Abigail said, fighting the sudden urge to throw up. “That’s her. She did that all the time.”
“Nicola died in a plane crash.”
“Finley, that’s her. I lived with the woman for years and watched her do that move about a thousand times a day.” She repeated it in the cadence Nicola had used as Finley played the video again. It was the same. “It’s her.”
“Where’s she been then?”
“I don’t know, but it explains what happened in New York. No court would give her back the kids, so she had to kill me. Maybe she really was in a plane crash, and it’s taken this much time for her to rehab her injuries. She didn’t have that limp before.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, but why would someone copy her on purpose? An accident might have changed her distinctive stride, but that move with her hand…” Abigail restarted the video and they watched it again. The person repeated the hand movement when the pair stepped into the security closet. “That’s Nicola. I’d swear to it in court.”
“I noticed it before, but I attributed it to the gloves. Not everyone is used to wearing them, but I believe you. If it’s her, though, we’ve got a problem.”
“It’s a huge problem,” Abigail said, biting her lip. “No way did her parents come down here without her knowledge, so, if she’s alive, she’s going to follow the breadcrumbs back to us. What are we going to do?” Abigail held onto Finley. She felt like she’d fall from a great height if she let go. “She’s going to kill us and take the kids.”
“She doesn’t know we’ve figured it out, so we’ll look through David or Yury’s stuff until we find the clue that will lead us to her first.”
“Do you think Cain will help? I can’t lose my children, Finley. I can’t.”
“She’s already offered us protection, so I can’t see this changing her mind. Do you feel comfortable with that, or do you want me to put you someplace safe until we find her?”
“You want me to go?” She put her hand on Finley’s cheek and kissed her. It was like finally finding the needle in a haystack the size of Manhattan, then being asked to let it go. She was tired of putting off her happiness because of the Eatons.
“I want you and the kids to live here with me. Cain’s already offered to add on to this house so you’ll feel comfortable and more like it’s ours. Some people might think what we’ve been through builds false feelings, but I love you, Abigail. I love you and I want a life with you and the children—a life we can make our own.”
“I love you, and I’m glad you showed up that day. I have faith that you’ll keep us safe, but even if I didn’t, I’d go through hell to stay with you because I love you.”
“It’ll change how we live until we find her.”
“Do you think we can talk to Cain? I don’t want to run anywhere. Not for Nicola, her family, or any other reason.” She kissed Finley again, loving the way Finley held her. “If she wants me that bad, she’s going to have to come and get me.”
*
“Where is she?” Marisol asked the woman in Nicolette Blanc’s apartment. She’d seen the woman before and vaguely remembered she was Nicolette’s secretary or something. “She’s not answering her phone, and everyone else with her is gone.”
“I really don’t know,” the woman said for the fifth time. “She left last night and hasn’t returned.”
“Was she with someone?”
The woman hesitated, so Marisol grabbed her by the collar. “Where is she?”
“She’s got another apartment not far from here. She was going there.”
Marisol got her people moving and waited outside the small rental while Julio picked the lock. Inside was minimal furniture and a bag of stale pastries, the kind Nicolette always ate. The clothes on the bed, though, belonged to a man, and Marisol tore the shirt in half in a fit of anger. The bitch had been playing her.
“Stay behind and see if you find anything else,” she said to one of the guys with her. “Julio, let’s go.” They drove back to the house, but when she stepped into the office, the only one there was Tracy. “Where’s my father?”
“He’s upstairs talking to Mrs. Delarosa.” Tracy stood and handed her a file. “I put together the numbers for this month. Mr. Delarosa wants you to look at them and then try to find some new places to move his stuff through. He wants to find some that are better defended and limit who knows about them.”
“He didn’t want you to do it?”
Tracy’s face, as always, was hard to read. “Mr. Delarosa was specific in that he wanted you to do it.”
“Have you heard from Nicolette?” Admitting to Tracy that she’d lost track of Nicolette made a pain blossom over Marisol’s right eye.
“She cancelled an appointment with your father last night at the last minute. She said something about having to do something for her father. I haven’t heard from her since.” Tracy flipped through her appointment book and put her finger on a phone number written in it. “Hang on and let’s ask, if you’re worried.”
Tracy had a brief conversation with someone after punching in more numbers than a normal call, then thanked whoever was on the other end.
“Who was that?” Marisol asked.
“Her father says he talked to her last night and hasn’t found her since, and he’s tried all day today. He sounds worried and confessed that she’d gotten a call from someone in Nunzio’s organization.”
“Someone from Nunzio’s people called who?” Hector said, coming in with a leather bag.
“Nicolette. And now she’s missing,” Marisol said. She stiffened when Hector came close to her.
“The guy I put with you says you’ve gotten close to this woman. You ran to her after this,” he said, putting his fingers on her still-healing lips. “Did you cry to her about what an animal I am?” He pressed harder to keep her quiet. “The time for you to grow up and start thinking is now, Mari.”
“I kept her close only because she seemed like she was up to something. I did it for you. I would never go against you.”
“Remember that, and forget about the Blancs. If they’re trying to play both us and the Lucas, they can drown in their French wines.”
“Are you sure? They wanted to move more than anyone else who buys from us,” she said. Her head snapped back when he slapped her.
“When I’m dead you can do whatever you like, but for now, forget about her. Your other choice is to walk out and keep going. I’ll give you enough of a head start to make it sporting because I’m tired of being questioned.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said. She had not cried out and resisted the urge to touch her throbbing cheek. “Whatever you say.”
For now, she’d play along, but she had another option. She could kill him for putting his hands on her again. She’d discovered that she missed Nicolette’s company, and, no matter what, she’d find what had happened to her. Even if it meant going to war with her only family.