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She listened to the clomp of his footsteps fading down the stairs. The security system chimed again, confirming he’d gone.
Good. She angled up the bottle once more and focused on cutting her own path away from here.
8
Session One
Three Years Ago
“I am Dr.Oliver Holden. With me is my patient, Sadie Cross, age thirty-one. This is regression therapy, session one.”
The sounds of rustling papers float up from the recording.
“Sadie, are you ready to begin?”
“Guess so.”
“I want you to close your eyes and relax. Allow your muscles to loosen. Start with the muscles in your neck and shoulders. Let them soften; release any tension. Slow your breathing. Slow and deep. Now your arms. Allow them to lie beside you. No tension. No anticipation. Just lie there. Deep breath. Slower. In ... out. Your legs should be relaxed. Soft. Pliable.
“I’d like you to count down in your mind, starting with three hundred. Slow, going down, down, down. The numbers slip away. The thoughts and senses that hold you to this time and place are slipping away with the numbers. Away. Away. Away.”
Slow, deep breaths whisper from the recording.
“It’s eighteen months ago, Sadie. Fall. September 7. Remember September 7?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about that day.”
“I was working undercover to infiltrate the Osorio drug cartel.” The pitch of her voice rises as she speaks.
“Deep breath, Sadie. I’m with you. Tell me where we are.”
“At the dump where I lived for my cover. Shitty little place in Druid Hills.” A gasp rises in the quiet. “He’s there. He came back. Like he said he would.”
“Who ishe, Sadie?”
“Eddie—Eduardo Osorio. My target.”
“Your target.” Pause. “What do you mean bytarget?”
“The son of Carlos Osorio, the leader of the largest, most ruthless drug cartel in Mexico. Their reach extends up into the United States. From Atlanta to Houston. New York to Chicago. Everything in between,” Sadie explains. “Their primary base of operations in the Southeast was Atlanta. Had been for years. But, at the time of the operation, they were moving things for some unknown reason. Here. To Birmingham. Eduardo did all the face-to-face business. His father never left their Mexican compound. He was too afraid of being executed or grabbed by law enforcement. Still is, if he’s alive.”
“You’d met Eduardo before?”
“Yes. He stopped at my food truck every time he was in Birmingham. That was my cover: food truck operator. I stationed my truck near his hotel. He always stayed at the same place. A strange ritual that could’ve gotten him killed but he didn’t appear worried about it. He gave the impression of being fearless. Fierce. Powerful.”
“You sound as if you admired him.” Holden’s tone is tinged with a note of surprise.
“It was my job to understand him. To know his MO. How he moved, reacted.”
“All right. Explain to me how you were ordered to approach this target?”
“I was tasked with finding a way to get close to him. To lure him into trusting me. The goal was to get invited back home to meet Daddy. No one had ever gotten into that compound and survived to talk about it. I wanted in. Whatever it took.”
“Why was Eduardo back in Birmingham on this particular day?”
“It was Friday. I was supposed to go home with him for the weekend. He said he’d come, but I wasn’t sure. It was happening faster than any of us anticipated.”
