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Clicking the green button, I wait until a warbled voice comes from the other end of the phone.
"Hello, Remington." It sounds ridiculous—the kind of throaty, high-pitched tone used by overly dramatic killers in nineties slasher films. It’s the kind of voice simulator that would send a spike of fear through most women when they answer it unassumingly, but I have to fend off a laugh. I don’t have time for theatrics… not now, not ever.
"Who is this?" I demand.
"Let's say I'm… a friend."
"I don't have friends," I say seriously. Friends would be a weakness in a profession like mine. "Is there a reason you're calling?"
"I saw your sister tonight.” The voice is slow, like the person on the other end is deliberately dragging their clauses apart in a desperate attempt to build tension. “She looks nothing like you. Tight dress, tight body... I bet that pussy is pretty tight too. I'll let you know when I find out for sure."
I go rigid, rage turning my muscles to lead. Just the mention of my sister has me tense. My mystery friend just crossed a line they will severely regret overstepping. "Who the fuck is this?" I growl.
"You'll find out… when I drive a knife through the back of your skull." The man on the other end chuckles.
"You must be either very brave or very stupid to threaten me,” I say coolly. “Although, it's pretty cowardly to disguise your voice, so I'm guessing you're the latter."
"I guess we'll see."
"When I find out who you are,” I work to keep my voice even and calm. The girls can’t hear me from downstairs, but I don’t need to let this fucker hear how much his threat concerns me. “I will personally rip you apart limb by limb for even talking about my sister. And then we'll see."
The warbled voice on the other end laughs again, the sound like static in my ear. "Sleep tight, Boudreaux."
The line goes dead before I can say anything more.
I clench the phone in my hand, torn between hurling it off the balcony or slamming it against the ground. I decide to do neither, pressing a number on speed dial. Jovich answers on the first ring. "Boss?"
"Tell me you've learned something new today," I command, shutting the balcony doors and letting the curtains fall into place. One last look into the dark of the woods assures me that no one is out there. Not yet, anyway.
"Sure.” He agrees, though the flippant way he says it tells me I won’t like what comes next. “It seems your father may have crossed both the Russians and the Saudis."
"Fantastic," I say drily, pinching the bridge of my nose where a headache is starting to take root. "Add them to the ever-growing list of my father's enemies."
"I have,” he confirms, “along with the guy at Boulder Tech."
I sit on the bed and notice Claire's purse abandoned there. A quick glance at the door assures me no one is near, so I grab the strap and drag it closer to me. It’s a small black thing with a silver clasp… basic, unassuming, so very tempting.
"Boulder Tech?" I puzzle. "What makes you think they're involved?"
"Call it a hunch."
"Work faster, Jovich. Somebody just called and threatened Rhea. I'm with her tonight and bringing her home with me, but I'm trying to keep her out of all this. Can you figure out who called?"
He makes a sound like a growl. Jovich is probably the second-most person who loves my sister— or third, depending on the extent of Claire’s loyalty. "Which cell did they call?"
"The private one."
"I'll reach out to my guy." Jovich says, assuring me it will be looked into swiftly. "In the meantime, don't let Rhea out of your sight."
"Wasn't planning on it."
I end the call and toss the phone on the bed, breathing out my frustration.
I’m tired... not just physically, but down to the marrow. Down to my black soul, I’m tired. My mother had loved to say that there was no rest for the wicked, and the older I get, the more the words resonate. My mom was right about a lot of things over the years, but I can’t find it in myself to forgive her for everything. I’m not sure I ever will.
My eyes fall back to the bag beside me. I don't usually make it a habit to look through a woman's stuff. In fact, I could usually care less about what things a lady deems important enough to carry with her. But I want to know if Claire has secrets that could pose a threat to my family. Our first encounter may have seemed like an overreaction to her, but my suspicions aren’t without merit. I know the lengths people will go to for vengeance, money, power… all things that can be had by moving the right pieces into the right places on the chessboard.
The clasp is already undone, so I open the purse enough to see that there isn't much in there. Judging by how she's kept my room clean enough that I hadn't even realized she was living there, I guess she is either a minimalist or obsessive about order.
