Page 38 of Velvet Chains (The Dark Prince of Boston #2)
Taken from a surveillance camera, maybe. He was wearing a Red Sox cap and holding a Styrofoam cup. There was a date in the corner: 11.17.25.
“He met with federal agents seven times in the last three months, before December. We believe he began collecting physical evidence sometime at the end of last month.”
My heart knocked once, hard, against my ribs.
“What kind of evidence?” Alek asked, his voice calm but clipped.
Lucy didn’t look at him. She was watching me. “Encrypted financial records. Names. Possibly communications involving shipments flagged by Homeland Security.”
Another chill slid down my spine.
Lucy continued, flipping to another page. “On the night of November 22nd, Mr. Russell was scheduled to meet with his handler. He never showed. Forty-eight hours later, parts of his body were recovered along the Charles River.”
She didn’t need to add the rest. We all knew it.
“I heard about this,” I said. I stopped myself short of saying I heard Kieran Callahan killed him, even though Kieran had confessed.
Lucy finally broke eye contact, glancing at her folder. “Yes. I understand Agent Fitzgerald and Fitz had a conversation with you about this on the 24th of November.”
Alek shifted beside me. “Is Ms. Marquez a suspect in Mr. Russell’s death?”
“No,” Lucy said. “Not at this time.”
“But you believe she may have material knowledge.”
“I believe she may have witnessed—or become entangled in—events following Mr. Russell’s disappearance.”
“And what events are those, exactly?” Alek pressed.
Lucy opened a third folder. This one was thinner. Inside was a photograph—blurry, grayscale, printed on low-resolution paper. She placed it on the table.
It showed the outside of my house.
Kieran. Entering the front door.
Time-stamped: 10:34 PM. 12.22.25.
I didn’t move.
Lucy placed a second image beside it. A man—hood up, broader build—carrying something down the front steps. The resolution was too poor to see what it was.
That wasn’t Kieran. That was one of the men he’d had clean up the mess. But I sure as fuck wasn’t going to say that.
“We believe this was Mr. Callahan leaving your residence with a body.”
I didn’t speak.
“Did you see Mr. Callahan that night?”
“Yes.”
“Was he carrying anything when he left?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
I shook my head.
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
Lucy leaned back slightly. “Why not?”
Alek cut in. “She’s answered your question. She did not know.”
Lucy didn’t argue. She just let the silence sit.
Then, calmly: “We recovered a burner phone near Mr. Russell’s body. On it was a single, unsent text message. It reads: ‘I’m scared. If anything happens—’ The rest is missing. Possibly deleted, possibly interrupted. We don’t know.”
My palms were damp against the table.
“Did Mr. Russell contact you that night, Ms. Marquez?”
I hesitated.
Alek spoke before I could. “Given the scope of the investigation and the presence of federal agents, we’re not going to speculate on the content or timing of any private communications unless you can present concrete evidence.”
“DA Marquez, did you know Mr. Russell was in your house that night?”
Alek answered for me. “Once again, Special Agent, we will not speculate.”
Lucy didn’t flinch. “That’s not a denial.”
“It’s also not an admission,” Alek said smoothly.
Darnell looked at me again, but I kept my expression still. I wasn’t sure what they already knew—or what they were waiting for me to admit. Lucy held my gaze a moment longer, then nodded once. She slipped the photograph back into the folder and closed it with a quiet click.
“That concludes my questions for today.” Her tone was smooth. Neutral. But I could feel the weight of the word today hanging in the air like smoke.
And it felt like she’d gotten something out of me.
She probably had.
It was already ending…faster than I could’ve imagined.
Alek straightened in his chair. “Are we free to go?”
“For now.” Lucy glanced down at her watch, then at the agents behind her. “But Ms. Marquez, I do need to make something clear.”
Here it came.
“You are not currently a suspect in any criminal investigation. However—” she paused, just long enough to make sure I was listening, “—given the evolving nature of this inquiry, and the risk of flight or interference with ongoing proceedings, I am instructing you not to leave the state without notifying my office.”
Alek opened his mouth, but I beat him to it.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Lucy offered me a faint smile. “Good. I appreciate your cooperation.”
She stood. The men behind her moved as if they were wired to her spine. Alek stood too, his hand lightly touching my arm as if to remind me not to say another word.
We exited in silence.
The door shut behind us with a soft thud, and the receptionist gave me a polite nod as we passed, as if I’d just had a dental cleaning and not walked out of a room where the walls had quietly closed in.
In the elevator, I didn’t breathe.
Alek didn’t speak until we were back in the car.
“That was a fishing expedition,” he said finally, as he pulled out of the parking garage. “But they’ve got bait. And now they think you’re circling.”
I pressed my forehead to the cool window. “Am I?”
“You tell me.”
Outside, Boston carried on—people in scarves clutching coffee cups, salt trucks crawling down side streets, the first signs of snow just beginning to tease the sky.
“They knew more than I thought,” I said. “They had pictures, Alek.”
He drummed his fingers once against the steering wheel. “They don’t have proof. They have pieces. Enough to scare you, not enough to move in. Not yet.”
I didn’t answer. Because he was right. But fear didn’t care about legal thresholds.
“They’re going to keep circling,” I murmured. “Waiting for me to slip.”
“He was an informant on the Callahans. Kieran confessed to killing him,” Alek said, his brow furrowing. “What I don’t understand is why they’re still fishing. This seems like a RICO case tied in a little bow for them. What do they care about you?”
“I don’t know,” I said, leaning my head back on the seat rest. “But it can’t be good.”