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They’ve been lying low and I haven’t. The country—the president—wants me for my crimes but don’t have a shred of possibility without cause and evidence. You can’t be proven guilty of words alone, and the citizens demand proof of the murders committed.
“Her father is in Athens, Georgia.”
“And the whore?” Because I’m well aware of the second set of roses Mariah received, even though the stubborn woman hasn’t spoken of the incident. Nor did she tell me of her encounter with Mildred a few days ago. I might not be there, but I have ways of keeping tabs. “Has she left the state?”
“According to Mildred, she was heading home last night to Utah. She’s put her home on the market and there’s been an offer.” He chuckles, the sound of papers shifting coming through the line. “Her plane landed two hours ago in Atlanta where she rented a sports car, and she is on her way to see my uncle.”
“How many are tailing her?”
“Three, and two on him.” At his response, I hum, scratching the five-day-old stubble on my chin. “They’re too cocky and reckless. Antonio was honest in what he’s shared so far.”
“He’s been useful,” I admit. “Has his sister asked for the body again?”
“No. My word that he’s dead sufficed.”
“And the Dermots?” Both Lane’s mother and father were killed last week—an unfortunate incident at their vacation home in Italy. House fires are a dangerous thing, and unfortunately for them, I traveled to the Italian countryside to play with matches. “Does Mariah know? Are the other two making any moves?”
“Negative, but her brother did warn us before you left. They’re staying quiet as all avenues begin to close.”
“Evening, gentleman.” Malcolm steps into the room, nodding at the guards standing watch. “Antonio. Delia.”
“Boss,” his men answer in unison while I grab a chair and take a seat, keeping my eyes on the bloody man in front of me. He fidgets. She whimpers.
“The food has been ordered as Mr. Lucas requested.” Carmelo hands over the credit card I’d given him and I pocket the plastic square, not taking my eyes off Antonio and Delia. These two know more than they let on, and I’m not taking any chances with Mariah’s safety.
“Thank you, kid.”
Malcolm drags a chair beside mine and we wait. And wait. No one in the room says a word until Mrs. Frederick breaks the silence. “Is there any scenario in this where we don’t lose our lives?”
An honest question, and Malcolm nods. “There’s always an open option, but the outcome lies solely at your feet.”
“What do you need?” she asks, gripping her husband's hand tightly in hers. “Name the price and it’s done.”
“The truth,” I answer for him after having discussed this development. “We want the full story, Antonio. Why did you try to kill Mildred and then turn your wife into her replica?”
The male twin sighs, rubbing a hand down his face, wincing from the pain of Malcolm’s bullet. “My sister was sleeping with Lane Dermot and working with his family on a shady contract with an overseas investor. The laboratory was being used as their personal tester, playing with viral agents that we’ve yet to encounter as a society—creating and testing—for a profit. This wasn’t about the betterment of the world, but a fat profit. One she was going to use to order Mariah’s death.”
Every muscle in my body locks down and beside me, Malcolm is just as angry. Fire burns through my veins while the need for vengeance—her blood—grows. “What else? Who else is involved?”
“Her father.”
“That son of a bitch,” Malcolm hisses, fingers twitching on the gun sitting atop his thigh. “Why did you do it? Jealousy or anger?”
“Fear.” Antonio looks over at his wife and his expression softens. It’s full of so much remorse. “I was afraid that if the Ashers caught wind, we’d go down with her sinking boat. It was only a matter of time before the shit hit the fan, but I never thought I’d be the catalyst.”
“Which brings me to my next question…” Asher sits forward, eyes hard on the couple “…why try to move money through me if you’re being investigated? What kind of game are you playing?”
“I’m not.” Antonio shakes his head rapidly, sweat dotting his upper lip. His wife isn’t any better; her body’s shaking and leg bouncing. “I came to you because we had to keep up the appearances of nothing being wrong. Had we gone with a different financial institution; more flags would’ve been raised. You would have asked around or demanded to know the why.”
“And the federal investigations?”
“Mildred.” Delia spits out the name with so much venom. “She sent them to the lab, even though we stopped all experiments the day I switched into this role. He screwed us on the records we kept in boxes down in the basement, but no active work was being done at the time.”
“But trust me, my sister is cunning. And when push comes to shove, she’ll hide to save herself.
Alejandro snaps his fingers and I look up, pulled from the memory of a few weeks back. My hunch about Mildred Frederick was on point, and the woman didn’t disappoint. Rats never stay hidden for long, and I know she’s digging around. Looking for payback.
“Parce, look at the screen.” Emiliano points, and I pay attention to the footage playing on the giant TV screen. It’s of a small, worn-down home a half an hour from the Presidential palace, inside of a community owned by the central bank of Colombia’s owner. He hasn’t remodeled it since the purchase, nor do people reside within the subdivision’s gates. The home on the screen is large, and in its prime, I’m sure cost a pretty penny, but that’s not my focus.
