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EIGHTY

I RACE BACK TO the hospital, violating any number of traffic laws, distracted, unnerved, so many thoughts flying through my head.

The money. I protect my family with the money. It’s our only saving grace.

Or our downfall. The end of everything.

I park in the hospital’s garage and run into the building, texting Camille that I’m coming, wondering if she’s in the kids’ playroom or David’s hospital room or the cafeteria. I jump into the elevator and wait for the doors to close.

Before they do, a hand blocks the doors.

Kyle steps into the elevator.

“I don’t have time for you,” I say.

“Too bad.” The doors close behind him. As the elevator begins to rise, he hits the Stop button. The elevator rocks to a halt.

“I don’t have to talk to you.”

“Yes, you do!” He grabs me by the arms. “I was wrong, Marcie. I was wrong about David. I just ran his prints and DNA. We got the rapid results. They’re not admissible in court until they’re confirmed, but we usually rely on them —”

“I know police procedure,” I say, rolling my hand. “Get to the point.”

“I ran David’s prints through AFIS. Know what they came back as?”

I don’t answer.

“I had this all wrong,” he says, stepping back. “I thought David was Silas Renfrow and Camille Striker was his girlfriend and a former computer analyst for the marshals’ office who helped him escape. That’s all wrong. David — he’s here under witness protection, isn’t he? And Camille was never his girlfriend — she was his supervising agent in the WITSEC program. Right?”

Right on all counts. Though the correct term for Camille’s job, according to what she told me last night, is witness inspector — the primary point person on a witness relocation. But the US Marshals Service is so secretive that they give the inspectors varying official titles, so anyone doing research won’t know. To all the world, Camille appeared to be nothing more than a computer techie, not the person responsible for keeping David safe under witness protection.

“David can only be one person, then,” says Kyle. “There was only one real witness against Cagnina after he killed all the others. His accountant. Wesley Price.”

So he figured it out. But I can’t involve Kyle. Silas was right. Cagnina won’t stop until he gets that money.

“Let me go, Kyle —”

“The DNA?” he says, flustered. “David’s sample came back inconclusive.”

“Let me out —”

“But we sampled a spot of blood on his forehead. That came back for Silas Renfrow.”

Dammit. He’s figuring everything out. I can’t have that.

“When David headbutted his attacker? He connected with the attacker’s mouth, which wasn’t covered by the mask. He must have drawn blood.”

“I have to go see my kids, Kyle. Unstop that elevator.”

He draws back. “Did you not hear me? Silas Renfrow is here in town! He tried to kill David. You don’t have anything to say —”

“I am trying to hold my family together,” I say, choking up as the words spill out. “My kids need their mother right now. I am hanging on by a fucking string here.”

“Okay, all right.” He moves back, gives me space. “But I’m bringing Silas in. I’m going to find him —”

“Don’t. Just please — don’t do anything, Kyle. Please.”

“What? Why in the hell not?”

Because he doesn’t understand everything. He thinks Silas and Cagnina are after David for revenge. He doesn’t know that this is about money.

And if I tell him — if I do anything other than what Silas specifically wants — more people will die.