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Add money laundering, drug running and (unknowingly) balancing the books for an entire human trafficking operation for the better part of ten years, and it was easy to watch the consecutive life sentences stack on top of one another like Tetris bricks.
Dornan was snoring soon after he finished his coffee and I’d finished him. He didn’t even make it to the bed, sprawled out on the couch in the sitting area. I prodded him a couple of times, then, relatively comfortable with the fact that he was deep asleep, I got dressed, brushed my teeth, grabbed my purse and headed downstairs.
A black Escalade was parked at the front entrance to the Wynn, the door already open for me. I picked the guy holding the door straight away – black suit, short hair, one of those little earpieces in his ear with a cord that ran down under his suit jacket. He held out a hand to help me step up into the SUV, but I ignored it, preferring to use the handle inside the doorframe to pull myself up and onto the black leather seat that flanked the rear of the interior. I winced as the door closed and the central locking clicked with a sound of permanence.
FBI Agent Lindsay Price sat beside me in the dim cabin, the dark tint on the windows saving us from the worst of the unrelenting Nevada sun. He was still the same as I remembered – green eyes and dark hair cut close to his skull, military style – but he looked a little rougher around the edges than the first time we’d met. He looked like he’d missed a day of the impeccable shaving routine he obviously adhered to. His chin bore a five o’clock shadow and his eyes were lined with fatigue, despite it being only nine in the morning.
‘Your bag, please?’ Lindsay asked.
‘Well hello to you, too.’ I clutched my bag tightly, glaring at him.
Lindsay raised his eyebrows. ‘Look,’ he sighed. ‘We can do this the hard way. I can take out my gun,’ he patted his hip holster, ‘and I can threaten you, maybe throw some cuffs on you. But I don’t want to. I’m not going to.’
I didn’t say anything.
‘Just give me the bag,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Please.’
I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the fact that I was so tired. Worn out, frayed. It seemed I’d momentarily lost the ability to resist. Without breaking eye contact, I placed the bag on the seat between us and he scooped it up, rummaging around until he found my gun and pulled it out.
‘That’s mine,’ I said, reaching for it.
Lindsay opened the chamber, presumably to check for bullets. ‘A woman carrying an unloaded gun, and there are no bullets in her bag. Did your boyfriend take them?’
I didn’t bother correcting the term boyfriend to husband. He’d find out soon enough, no doubt.
‘What, were you filming us on the car trip, too?’ I asked.
‘Educated guess,’ Lindsay shrugged.
‘How’d you know I’d bring a gun?’ I asked.
He smiled. Not in an arrogant, cocky way. Just a smile. ‘Because I told you not to.’
‘You think you know everything about me?’ I asked.
‘Twelve years in the FBI profiling unit, there’s a good chance I know more about you than you know about yourself.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah. I know you’re planning something. I know the only thing stopping you from running is one John Portland.’
I sat back, stunned. I don’t know why I was stunned. I mean, if they’d been watching me, then they’d probably know about John.
‘I know you’re still hoping you can get out of this without anyone getting hurt,’ Lindsay added, his voice softening.
‘And let me guess,’ I said evenly. ‘You’re here to tell me I can’t. Right?’
‘I’m here to implore you to do the right thing.’ He patted the gun on his lap –myfucking gun, the one I’d used to kill Murphy and Allie.
Panic began to rise in my throat. ‘Why do you need my gun?’ I asked.
‘Insurance.’ He paused for effect.Insurance for what?‘That’s all. Go see your little boyfriend. Stay out of trouble.’
With great irritation, I flashed him the skull tattoo on my ring finger. ‘You mean my husband.’
Lindsay snatched up my hand and studied the tattoo. ‘What is this? You guys got matching promise rings?’
I rolled my eyes, holding up my right hand, where my actual wedding band sat. ‘I can’t wear it until the tattoo heals. Apparently gold just doesn’t seal the deal like ink these days.’
