SOMEONE IS ALWAYS watching or listening or both.
Roland’s first words to her, the day she’d met him for undercover training.
No matter where you are, no matter what time of day, even when you’re sleeping. You always have to be Faye Simpson. And sometimes Faye Simpson will have to say or do things that Ellie Batista would never say or do. If you can’t commit to that, then tell me now, spare me, the bureau, all the people who will be working for you, the time and expense.
Ellie gave Roland her word that she would do whatever it took.
When she walked into the restaurant a few minutes shy of seven and saw Max, she acted excited to see him. She kissed him, pretending he was Cody, her real-life boyfriend, and not her make-believe one.
After she broke away from his kiss, Max slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. “It’s so good to see you,” he said, and then kissed her cheek. His lips slid to her ear and he whispered, “Last stall.”
Ellie knew what that meant.
Her tastes in cuisine were limited to taco trucks, Five Guys double bacon cheeseburgers, and, when she really wanted to celebrate and let loose, a buy-one-entrée-get-the-second-free coupon special at a local restaurant. She never understood the fuss of getting dressed up all fancy to go out to eat, but as the hostess brought them to their table, Ellie had to admit Belle Âme was pretty damn impressive. First, there was the matter of the building—the historic building, she had read on the restaurant’s website, that had once been home to the Bank of Italy. The gold-domed ceilings looked luxurious instead of Las Vegas tacky; the booths were upholstered in rich, dark leather; and the tables had candles, the flames twinkling like stars in the gloom.
A bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild sat on their table, opened, to allow the Bordeaux to breath—compliments, the hostess told them, of Kane and Associates.
“You must be doing one hell of a job,” Max commented after consulting the wine list. “That bottle costs five hundred bucks.”
Ellie excused herself to use the restroom. It was downstairs, housed inside an actual bank vault. She seemed to be the only one inside but checked the stalls, just to be sure.
The stall door locked, she removed the toilet tank lid. The burner floated in the water, sealed inside a pouch. She removed the phone and hit the redial button.
Roland answered, his voice loud, almost explosive, against her ear. “Sebastian’s security guy, Ron Wolff, is in Vegas, trying to dig up information on Faye Simpson.”
That explains why Sebastian has so many people watching me, Ellie thought, fear blooming in her heart. “Did he—”
“No, absolutely not,” he said. “Your cover story is flawless. He’s been going around asking questions, showing people a copy of this picture of a boy of maybe seven or nine sitting in front of a Christmas tree.”
Ellie felt unsteady on her heels.
“Any idea what that’s about?” Roland asked.
“I don’t know.” Although she did. The photo of her missing brother had been tucked inside her shoe. Sebastian—or someone in his organization—had found it before her clothes were incinerated. If Sebastian hadn’t found it, someone had given it to him.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Roland said. “If you’ve deliberately hidden something from me, something that will jeopardize this operation, I swear to Christ I’ll—”
“Sebastian had two visitors come by his house this morning, a Fed and a woman named Ava.” She kept her voice low, barely above a whisper, but it still echoed off the cool marble walls. “I don’t know her last name.”
“Lewis. Her maiden name is Martinez. She and Sebastian grew up together, were heavily involved. She was there when he killed that undercover cop.”
Wonderful. Thanks for reminding me, Ellie thought wryly.
“He went off to prison,” Roland said, “and she went off and got married.”
“She seemed upset.”
“I’m sure she is. Her daughter was recently kidnapped. She’s a carrier.”
That explained why the woman had broken down in tears. But why had she come to Sebastian? Did she know he was in the blood business?
“There’s a ransom—twenty million,” Roland said. “She’s going to several people, including Sebastian, looking for additional money. We’re keeping a close eye on the situation.”
“Paul also reached out to Sebastian earlier today, while we were in his car. He didn’t reach out to him directly; he called Sebastian’s secretary at the real estate office, looking for his new phone number. She told Sebastian that Paul had sent him an email—and I’m quoting here—on how to meditate with grace.”
“That’s it?”
“I didn’t read the email, and Sebastian hasn’t mentioned anything to me about it.”
Roland sighed. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“Grace is the name of Ava Lewis’s daughter. Maybe Paul phrased the email that way as code, to let Sebastian know he has the young girl.”
“And use her for leverage. Now put Cody on.”
The bathroom door opened. Ellie heard the click of heels and terminated the call. That was the rule. You never knew who might be listening.
She flushed the toilet, drowning out the sound of her removing the battery from the phone. The phone went into her purse, along with the bag.
Ellie sat on the toilet lid with her eyes closed, and thought about Ron Wolff going around Vegas, showing people this picture of her brother. Ron wouldn’t find anything out there, but that didn’t mean he—or Roland, for that matter—wouldn’t keep digging.
And digging.