Page 123 of You Know Why

Theresa is still trying to wrap her head around this. “You’ve left Brook and the kids unprotected this whole time. And Alex Durov has been doing his damnedest to kill Brooklyn since you left.”

“She’s had guards on her room from the moment we realized he was coming for her. The kids are under constant surveillance. They’ve been much safer away from me.” He gestures to his own injuries. “We’ve tangled a few times already. There’s a body at the Knights Inn, by the way. No idea who he is, but he was driving the SUV that took me from the airport.”

“Otto Deppe. Low-level lowlife. What about your parents?”

Trey shakes his head, eye shining. “Another message,” he manages. “You know I couldn’t do that.”

Drake has been quiet through all of this. He comes to life with an annoyed growl. “So what the hell is your tie to Durov? How does he fit in all of this?”

Baldwin gets up and points to a photo on the wall. A man with curly blond hair and ice-chip eyes stares out from a passport photo. “Serious bad guy. He’s a bagman for the cartel. Has ties all over Europe, used to run drugs. He went off the radar a decade ago. No one’s seen anything from him until he showed up in Atlanta this week.”

“He was in jail in France for a while, then jumped ship. Interpol has a Red Notice out for him.”

“Yes, I saw that. And now you’re up to speed,” Baldwin says.

Theresa scoffs. “Sort of. What’s the plan here, Andr––sorry, Trey? What are you going to do, take off and leave them behind again?”

“Of course not. How can you think that? Everything I’m doing is to keep Brooklyn and the kids safe. Everything.”

Baldwin gestures to the wall. “Our hand’s being forced. Durov thinks Trey is dead. He dumped him on the side of the road in rural Tennessee last night. But there are too many people peeking under the covers for this to stay quiet much longer.” He lets the words linger, and Theresa knows he’s talking about her and Drake. “We’re keeping Brooklyn and the kids under constant surveillance while Trey finishes moving the money around so we can finalize the case. We can’t tip off the cartel—or the Gussins, for that matter—that we’re wrapping them up. This can still go sideways on us. The Justice Department is involved, so are Homeland, the SEC, and the CIA. We are coordinating. We can’t take down the Gussins without taking down the cartel, too.”

“And when is that going to happen?” Drake asks.

“In the next twenty-four hours. I assume we can count on you to keep out of it?”

Drake looks at Theresa, who nods. “Yes. But I need something from you, too. I need to know who killed Chloe. Because if it wasn’t you, the only lead I have is a blond-haired man who stayed overnight in a barn near Malogen the night after the murder.”

“It was Aleksey,” Andrew says quietly. “He told me, in the car, leaving the airport. That if I didn’t cooperate, he would do to Brooklyn what he did to Chloe.”

“Okay,” Theresa says. “Then he is my responsibility. So where is he now?”

“You don’t want to go up against him, Theresa,” Andrew says. “Let the task force handle him. He’s dangerous.”

She flexes her hand. The stitches itch and pull. “So am I,” she says. “So am I.”

Andrew follows them out into the hall, limping. He looks hard. Tired. Determined.

“Theresa. If you’re going after him, I’m coming.”

“You absolutely are not. Look at you. You can barely stand up. Stay here and finish your job. I’ll handle the rest.”

For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow

Brooklyn

I fold up the blanket and hold it to my chest for a moment. Everything that’s happened over the past few days has been reactive. From the second Trey told me we were going on a surprise trip, I’ve been on my back foot. And then, of course, his leaving us at the airport, the accident, the poisoning, the hallucinating . . . I’ve been stuck in reverse. I’ve gotten soft sitting at my desk in suburbia. No more.

It’s time to put it in gear.

I take the gray lockbox off the shelf and put in the combination. It is the password to our phones and all of our devices. It clicks on the first try, and the box opens. At least that hasn’t been changed.

Inside is a small handgun with two magazines. It is already loaded, but I check it anyway, sliding the rail and seating the bullet, then replacing it in its holster. Trey made sure I knew how to shoot, and I have a concealed carry permit. I haven’t shot the weapon in years, but he keeps it oiled and clean just in case.

Am I thrilled to bring a gun into my home with two small children? Of course not. But the FBI agents have them, and now I need one, too.

I have the burner phone, but I need Trey’s phone from my bag to check the passcodes for the crypto wallets. Four said I’d know what it is. I can only assume it’s the same code as the rest of our lives.

Maybe that’s why Trey changed his phone code—in case someone did guess our passcodes, they wouldn’t be able to activate his phone to open the crypto wallet?