She waits for me to spin around the chair opposite the stainless desk she’s seated behind and straddle it before she hits me with her trademark one-sided grin. It’s the smile she always does when she wants to remind me how she went to bat for me.
Agent Moses’s death wasn’t broadcasted across the globe. Excluding a teeny tiny little obituary in the classifieds ofRavenshoe News, his death wasn’t mentioned in the newspaper. I thought I was imagining things, that I had dreamed about killing him instead of actually doing it, then I found an article hidden amongst the headlines of political corruption and a billionaire getting married. An unnamed agent had been placed on a paid suspension pending an investigation by the Bureau’s Internal Affairs Department. Her suspension was the same day I killed Agent Moses.
The story was buried so deeply, it took eight weeks for Smith to attach a name to the case file. I wasn’t shocked when he came back with Agent Macy Machini, but I was stunned to learn the lengths she went to protect me. It made it obvious I wasn’t the only one feeling guilty about what happened to Demi.
I rub the burn scars on my palm with my thumb when Agent Machini replies, “Can’t I visit my favorite prisoner just to say hello?”
“They have this thing called a telephone. You should look it up sometime.”
She laughs before telling me the real reason for her visit. “I’m in town working on a case.”
“Dimitri’s?”
My contact with Dimitri has been sporadic for the past four years. The first thing he did after murdering his father in the middle of a joint FBI/Ravenshoe PD operation was offer to get me out. I declined.
Why you ask?
For one, I don’t want to owe Dimitri for a single thing. He isn’t as bad as his father, but he doesn’t deny who he is. He’d destroy the world for his family. He just didn’t come to that conclusion until it was too late for Demi. And two, I’m not innocent anymore. I killed Agent Moses. I stabbed him to death, so I deserved to do the time for my crime.
Do I believe four years is a long enough sentence for murder? If it were for anyone but Agent Moses, I would say no. Since he was the victim, and my actions were clearly in self-defense, my feet are beginning to itch. The desire to scratch them isn’t enough to have me reaching out to Dimitri for help just yet, but if the offer came from any other source, I’d consider it. My chances of finding India will dramatically improve once I’m outside of these walls.
My lips twist when Agent Machini confesses, “Not exactly. I’m more aiding Dimitri than searching for ways to convict him…for now.”
The smile she delivers her last two words with lifts my lips. I’m not shocked by her statement. Tobias trained his team to use the gray in every situation to their advantage. They don’t break the rules, they merely bend them to suit their needs.
I’ve done the same the past four years. Dimitri’s visits are nonexistent, but I hear from Rocco every couple of months. He keeps me up to date on the only person responsible for the oxygen in my lungs. India Dvoráks.
The evidence Agent Moses let slip before I murdered him already had India on my shit list, but her top placement was undeniable when Rocco explained exactly how far her crimes extended during a one-on-one visit a month after Agent Moses’s death.
There’s evil, then there are people like Col and India.
They deserve their own category of fucked-up.
Col paid for his crimes. India has yet to be brought to Justice. Dimitri’s team is working on it, and if Agent Machini’s confession is anything to go by, they’ve sourced help from avenues outside the norm.
“I’m going to show you a selection of photos,” Agent Machini says, drawing my focus back to her. After digging a confidential-stamped manila folder out of her briefcase, she places down a set of surveillance images on the desk between us. “Take your time perusing them—”
“It isn’t like I have anywhere else I need to be.”
She rolls her eyes about my interruption before waving her hand over the blown-up photographs. The first three are obvious drug-manufacturing hideouts, but the last two pique my interest. They’re of young women bordering legal age with grubby faces. They’re all wearing plain cotton nighties.
When I gather those images into my hand, Agent Machini’s brow involuntarily arches. That’s a telltale sign I headed in the direction she was hoping. If you haven’t caught on yet, we’ve played this game a handful of times the past four years. It isn’t a you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours arrangement, it’s just two people who mutually respect one another enough to value their opinion.
“How long ago were these pictures taken?”
Agent Machini checks a yellow-lined notepad at her side. “Approximately a month ago.” She breathes noisily out of her nose before adding, “They packed up and moved camp two hours after they were captured.”
“So India knows you’re onto her?”
It kills her to do, but she halfheartedly shrugs. “Possibly.”
I dump the photographs back onto the desk before slouching low in my chair. “How do you think that’s occurring?” The answer to my question pops into my head before her lips part a millimeter. “Agent Moses wasn’t the only agent India was working with.” I take a moment to deliberate before giving her my findings. “It makes sense. She didn’t get out of New York without help. She had a bullet wound and Henry Gottle tracking her down. She would have needed someone high up to move her through his city without being seen.”
Agent Machini nods, agreeing with me. “I forwarded my findings to the head of my department. They—”
“Want more concrete evidence?”
Her nod isn’t as liberating this time around, and it’s quickly chased by a squeal-free growl. “This case is frustrating me to no end. Like how can men not see how evil she is? Yes, she has tits and ass and a stupidly pretty face, but her insides are so rotten, how can they pay them an ounce of attention?”
