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Anna stopped breathing. She read it three times, then read it again.
No. No, no, no, no, no!
She swallowed, and it felt like a ball of razor blades going down her throat.
Barrel number thirty.
She shook her head. There was no thirty. The barrels in the warehouse were numbered one to twenty-nine. The bodies had been in barrels three, six, and eleven. She knew this—she took note of things like this. Diaz had numbered the barrels and given everyone close to him—including her—a number. It was a warning, a threat. Then she remembered the additional barrel she’d counted as the Feds wheeled them out.
Her heart stopped stammering in her chest as heat rose in her body.
Anna paused, reading through the reports again—more calmly this time.
Lower basement.
There was only one basement. Why would they write lower basement?
This report was fake, it had to be.
Jackson was playing her.
She leaned back against the couch, staring at the screen. It took her a moment to realize the odd sensation in her chest, one she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Disappointment.
Disappointment in him, disappointment in herself.
She should’ve known she couldn’t trust him—Jackson and his charming smile.
She bit her lip, shaking her head bitterly.
Okay, Jackson, you want to play games?
She was going to use something in this report to deliver him to Diaz, and then Diaz would do the rest for her.
She continued reading the report, for different purposes now. She didn’t like being played—Anna didn’t get played, especially not by the Feds.
One-inch scar above right eyebrow, resulted from past injury. Not related to death.
Anna paused, her breath suddenly ragged once again. She read the line over and over as her mind recalled the memories of the day Olivia got that scar.
She’d fallen and connected with the edge of their dining table. Anna still remembered the blood, how it rushed down little Olivia’s face.
Her mother and father had picked Olivia up, sat her on the dining table, washed the wound, and taped it up. Olivia had worn that tape for months. The cut had needed stitching, but her parents hadn’t had the money to go to the doctor.
And because of that, it was very unlikely this incident would’ve been reported on her medical file, even if Olivia had reported it at a later time.
Olivia had always been self-conscious of the scar and had covered it with makeup. She’d done it so well no one ever noticed it unless they saw her face bare.
There was no way for him to know about that injury.
Unless he had her body.
Anna wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks.
Anna squeezed her eyes shut. She’d spent hours, cumulative days, in that warehouse. Was it possible there was a trap door, like in Damon’s office, and there was another basement she knew nothing about?
That meant every time she’d been in the warehouse, Olivia had been there too.
