Page 25

The last thing I recalled was a voice saying, “Don’t move and you won’t get hurt.”

S omething hard stabbed into my hip as I washed my hands in the store’s steel and sterile bathroom that smelled like bleach.

Then the light changed, it got hotter, and I found myself leaning heavily on someone’s arm. I tried to call for Reggie, but all I could do was whimper and grunt.

But that’s okay, I told myself, because he’s magical. Mystical. Bound to my family.

He’ll protect me. Find me. Measly little humans can’t stop him.

IT WAS ALL A DREAM . All of it.

I know, because I can smell the stale cigarette smell that always lingers and feel the thin, scratchy blanket under my cheek.

I’m in a hotel room. Where else would I be? I’ve lived in hotels for months.

I blink away the bad dream, holding still as I wonder how much champagne Matteo and I poured into each other last night. My jaw hurts, and it feels like I’ve been munching on cotton.

Matteo. Even though I know now that it was all a dream, as I struggle to sit up, I’m not... happy. I realize that I need more. That strange hangover dream about agents and murders and a hero named Reggie has shown me how I want to live my life.

I struggle to make Matteo a part of it, even though I remind myself that he’s not really the villain. It was a bad dream. A nightmare.

Wasn’t it?

I try to call to Matteo, but my mouth won’t open. My eyes are fuzzy, and my wrists hurt.

“She’s awake. Put Estrada on.”

“Shhh! Fuckwad! Don’t say his name.”

“Like she’s going to say anything.”

A warm piece of plastic is shoved next to my head, and the fabric that wedged my jaws open and rendered me unable to talk is ripped out of my mouth.

A voice crackles too loudly in my ear. The shout of a phone’s speaker makes me jump. “Therese? This is a friend of Matteo’s.”

The voice catches me off guard. It’s pleasant and lilting, the voice of an older man with a rich accent that rolls. Columbian? Mexican? I don’t know.

I know now that my nightmare was real, and this is the sequel. Part One: Therese’s Marriage is a Sham. This is Part Two: Therese is the Victim.

“Can you talk, my dear?”

I’m too stunned. Who the hell would call me “my dear” after tying me up? Well, he’s on the phone, so I assume that he didn’t tie me up himself, but he’s responsible for it!

Hey, that was pretty logical for someone who can’t tell if she’s in a dream or not. Good brain.

A rough hand smacks my cheek lightly, at just the right angle to sting.

“Answer him!”

“I’m here!” I croak. I’m so glad I made it to the bathroom before this all happened. Even so, the urge to vomit or void is overtaking me. “I need to sit up. I’m serious. I don’t feel—”

“It’s fine, my dear. A little side effect, that’s all. You’ll be fine in a few hours. Now, this ugly mess of Matteo’s... It must be dealt with. You know that the police have pinned nasty things on him.”

What am I supposed to say to that? I don’t want to admit my role in all of this—but I’m guessing they already know. How much do they know, that’s the question. I pick a safe answer. “I heard.”

“Because of you.” The pleasant voice hardens.

“Not because of me. He did it. I just saw it.” I bite my lip. I should stop talking. Reggie would tell me to—

Oh my God. Reggie. Things make more sense as whatever they gave me starts to fade. If they got me, they got to me through Reggie. There is no way they could have grabbed me without incapacitating him.

A bomb couldn’t stop him. What did they do? How could they stop him? I picture the worst—clay slabs cut into pieces. Little bits of my lover, the only man I think I’ve ever truly loved, crumbled up like pebbles, desperately trying to piece himself together to rescue me.

I blink and realize that there is a piece of gauze or mesh tied over my eyes. I can see fuzzy shapes and outlines, but no more. My tears are choked by this stretchy nylon trap. “What did you do to him?” I demand. “Is he still alive?”

“Matteo? Yes, and I wish to keep him that way as long as he continues to prove his loyalty.”

Tears work their way down to my lips. He didn’t answer about Reggie. He didn’t know who I meant.

Estrada continues, “Now, I have a very good friend at the Marshals Service.”

“Powell,” I spit. I need to ask about Reggie, but I need to pay attention. If I make it out of this, I want every possible detail in my mind to give back to the right people—the safe people. Maybe Powell isn’t one of them.

“No, no, not him. Agent Powell is very trustworthy—just very stupid. Very talkative. He’s a senior agent making a big bust. It’s easy to get him to open his fat piggy mouth, and my very good friend did just that.

Whatever Powell knows, I know—thanks to his ego and my friend’s excellent memory.

You should listen now, my dear. Boys? Make sure she listens. ”

Cold, sharp metal digs into the soft spot below my ear where my throat begins. “Don’t talk, or I’ll make another hole for your voice to go through.”

The sinister threat seals my lips. At this close range, I can see under the mesh, see a hand with a bloody pentagram on the back of it.

Is it carved? Tattooed? I don’t know, but my heart sinks.

This man is either trying to prove he’s tough stuff, or he really is in league with the devil, and if that’s the case. ..

I swallow, thinking about Reggie, but the goon holding me chuckles in a satisfied way, digging the edge of the knife in a little more, clearly believing my swallow is one of fright, not tears.

It’s both.

“She’s listening, jefe .”

“Good. Now, then, Therese. You already handed over a bunch of recorded evidence implicating my godson. So killing you won’t help me.

And killing Matteo is a waste. He hasn’t talked.

..yet. He’s loyal. A good boy. Besides, I paid for that fancy education of his, and I’d hate to waste it.

And he knows I’d have him killed, which is also an excellent encouragement for silence.

But... if someone manages to place him in hiding, he may feel that it’s safe to open up, and at that point.

.. Well. He’s not blood kin. But it’ll be much harder for me to accomplish my task, not to mention the delays it will bring to my business.

He’s very useful and his work is excellent.

” Estrada clucks his tongue like his coffee is cold, not like he’s fretting about rearranging his business to murder a witness. “Are you paying attention, Therese?”

A pinch of metal at my throat, and I gasp in shock and pain. “Yes, I’m here!” I hiss.

“Good. Here’s how we can fix this little matter.

I want you to tell the police you made the whole story up.

You discovered Matteo was cheating on you, and in a fit of jealousy, you decided to concoct an elaborate lie.

You may be fined for wasting police time, or even jailed, but I’m sure that a few years behind bars is better than a permanent location in a box, isn’t it, dear? ”

The knife point leaves my skin. I guess they trust me to speak and not scream. “I guess so.” I say as little as possible.

“So, you’ll tell them it was all a lie?”

“Yes. But not until I talk to Reggie.”

“Reggie?”

“Reginald Gray. An old family friend, the man who was with me. My husband.” My husband. Yes. The word leaves my lips with the desperation and ring of truth, the kind of truth you feel in your soul. “My soulmate,” I add, for me, not for them.

“Oh. So that was real . You know, I thought it might be. Matteo is very handsome, but he can be very impulsive and immature. He tires of women quickly, and smart women tire of him. And you’re a smart girl, aren’t you, Therese?”

Think like Reggie. Be calm. Steady. Strong.

Keep storing info in case you get out of this.

Friend in the Marshals Service. Not at the ‘wedding,’ or they’d know it wasn’t real.

Someone who knows about the murder, that I’m the witness, and where I was staying—or—they heard me say where I was when I talked to Powell inside the restaurant.

Near Powell, but not equal to Powell. Great.

I’ll tell Reggie if I ever see him again.

“What is she saying? I can’t hear anything.”

“She’s not saying anything, sir.”

I pipe up, “I want to speak to Reggie. I want to know he’s safe.”

“You’re not in a position to make bargains, young lady.”

“I know!” I snap, fear suddenly turning into anger.

“And neither are you! If you kill me, Matteo will make a plea bargain. You think he’d rather go to prison than rat you out?

You just said he was selfish! He’ll talk Powell’s head off as soon as he figures out he can get a clean start somewhere else where he can seduce rich cougars who want a ‘hot Latin lover’!

” I push myself up, using my protesting muscles.

“I guess your good buddy didn’t know everything Powell has planned—did he? ”

“What? What does she mean? Make her say what she means!” The pleasant voice is suddenly wandering into hysteria, edges of words shrill against my ear even after the phone is pulled away.

“I’m not saying anything unless you prove that Reggie’s safe.”

“Ah! Why couldn’t he have stabbed this one, too? Where is the man? Who is he? He’s not an agent?”

“I don’t know where he is! In the store somewhere where we picked her up. She said he’s the new husband, and it sure seems that way. At least, they were a couple. We followed them when they left, just like your buddy said to do, and then Mickey went in and black smoked the house.”

“You burned down our house?” I shriek.

“Huh? No! Black smoked. That’s when... Never mind. We made it so that we could find you. Boss, I don’t know how much she knows about that side of things.”

The magical side. The demonic side. I don’t say anything. Playing stupid seems safer here.

“Well, no matter. The man is fine, he’s in the store. Now—”