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“I’ll answer it if you want.” Reggie moves toward my purse while I stand frozen in the kitchen doorway. “It’s a 212 number. That’s the D.C. area code.”

Reggie holds up a small black phone, not my personal cell phone in its teal case. “That’s the other phone. The cell they gave me at the church,” I breathe out, and my knees shake a little. “It has to be my handler, Agent Powell? Or someone in WITSEC?”

Reggie passes me the phone, and I answer in a low voice, nameless fear floating around me. I don’t know what they’ll say, but even routine things feel like great big terrifying problems.

“Mrs. Gray?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Mr. Powell. Is now a good time to talk? Do you have any company?”

“Just Reggie. My husband, Reggie,” I answer, plopping bonelessly into a recliner in the living room.

“A hot day, isn’t it? I bet you could use a drink.”

That’s my safety question. If I answer with “Yes, I could use a lemonade” or use the word lemonade in some other way, that would be the code for needing help.

“It’s humid as heck. I’m fine. Everything is good. I really am alone with Reggie, and I was about to cook dinner.”

“Excellent. I was calling to check on you.”

The sarcasm in my voice is sharp enough to peel the potatoes in the next room. “I’m peachy.”

“Understandable. That’s not the only reason I called. Mr. Delgado’s lawyer has filed a motion for discovery. The judge won’t hear about it until Monday, but our evidence will be presented to him. A source close to Delgado expects him to turn and inform on his higher-ups in the organization. Do you think that’s likely?”

“What? Me? How the hell should I know? I was sleeping with a fucking terrorist for a year and didn’t even know it!” I know I sound like a crazy bitch, but I can’t help it. That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard—asking the Queen Dupee to assess the King Duper. “I’m sorry. Sorry for cursing at you.”

“You have a unique perspective. You know if Mr. Delgado is more likely to protect his own interests or those of others. That’s all. Nothing hinges on your comments. I simply think your insight might be valuable.”

I think back. I can hear Reggie running water and moving pans in the kitchen. I wish he were holding my hand instead, but I guess it is getting late. We need to eat.

Would Matteo take an opportunity to get out of jail? How do I know? No one likes prison! But... I close my eyes and envision the face I’ve tried to block.

Smooth. Suave. Perfectly gelled hair. Perfectly pressed suits. Dripping money and charm.

“If he informs, would there be a chance he could go into WITSEC? Or would he just get a lighter sentence?”

Powell hesitates. “Well... That depends on the information he provides, of course.”

The conviction (and the distaste) grows within me. I used to think Matteo wanted to look good for me, but I realize now that he just plain wanted to look good. It was all about his image—down to the pretty blonde wife he picked to dress up and bejewel.

“If he can stay out of prison, I’m sure he’ll talk. Armani doesn’t make prison uniforms. $300.00 bottles of cologne and $200.00 shots of tequila aren’t going to come along with his weekly phone call, right?” I ask, the bitterness in my tone burning my throat.

“No. Not even the most lenient prisons offer that kind of luxury.”

Without warning, I see the next chapter of Matteo’s life. He’ll talk. He’ll go into hiding. Instead of cowering in fear, he’ll become a hot sugar baby to a wealthy older woman who can keep him safe and spoil him. He won’t mind, because any imperfections on her face or body will have been remediated with silicone and laser sculpting. I know love won’t matter. I’m proof of that.

I want Matteo behind bars, where he can’t hurt me or anyone else—but more importantly, I want the organization that terrorizes hundreds of people every year to collapse as quickly as possible. I want the demons they summon to be sent back to Hell, not that I can tell Agent Powell that.

Mainly, I want to be alive to see those things happen.

My voice is faint as the truth drags out of me, “I think he’ll talk if he can keep his kind of lifestyle.”

“The program won’t pay him a salary, Mrs. Gray. We may give the citizens under our protection some seed money, so to speak, but—”

“Matteo will use his looks and his charm to get what he wants. He’ll find someone to let him live lavishly, even if he has to work at it for a little while.” Or he’ll summon another demon, and make another sacrifice to get a brand-new life. Again, can’t tell them that. “There. That’s my ‘insight.’”

“Very useful. We’ll update you on Monday evening or Tuesday morning. Once we see you on Tuesday, we’ll begin discussing your time at the orientation center in D.C.”