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‘Soon. Very soon.’
I swallowed thickly. ‘How am I supposed to trust you?’ I asked. ‘What if you’re just like everybody else?’ And suddenly I wanted to cry. Because he didn’t seem like everybody else. Lindsay Price seemed like a real stand-up guy. Maybe hewasn’t. He could have been an axe murderer, for all I knew. Could have been working for Emilio.
‘I’m not like the men you’re used to,’ Lindsay said. He put his hand on my arm in a comforting gesture, and surprisingly, I didn’t shrug it off. It was warm.
‘What are you like, then?’ I whispered. My eyes burned with unshed tears as a lump grew in my throat.
‘I believe in justice,’ he said, handing me the gun back. ‘But I also believe in survival. I believe that sometimes, the law doesn’t understand what a person can endure before they break.’
I stared at the gun in my hands in disbelief. ‘I thought–’
‘A gesture of goodwill,’ he interrupted. ‘That gun is my only piece of evidence linking you to Alexandra Baxter’s murder. I know you killed her, Mariana. I don’t need to take your gun to know that. I only need to take your gun toprovethat.’
‘If Emilio finds out I’ve spoken to you, he’ll kill me,’ I said, my hands shaking as they cupped the gun.
Lindsay nodded. ‘Don’t tell anyone. Don’t write it down, don’t even think about our conversation until the next time we meet. Understood?’
I nodded.
‘I know what they did to your family,’ he added. ‘For what it’s worth . . . I’m sorry.’
In the edges of my mind, I saw them screaming as they burned. I didn’t want to see that. I looked out of my window. ‘How long does that sedative last?’ I asked him, changing the subject as I stared at the gold-tinted stack of glass that made up the Wynn.
Lindsay tapped a button in his armrest and a screen unfolded from the ceiling. He aimed a small remote and it flashed to life,a black and white image of a hotel room becoming visible. He pointed to the middle of the screen. ‘Long enough.’
I peered closer, picking Dornan’s still frame on the couch in the centre of the suite. I glanced at Lindsay as something unsettling occurred to me. ‘What happens next?’ I asked quietly.
‘That depends,’ Lindsay replied. ‘The situation isn’t as clear-cut as it was. You’re now not compelled to testify. You’ll have to choose. We can’t force you to give evidence against your husband.’ He said the word ‘husband’ like he was talking about having to wipe dog shit off his shoe. I got the feeling he really didn’t like Dornan.
Neither did I, anymore, so we had that in common.
‘No shit,’ I replied. ‘Could’ve gotten here a day earlier, saved me the pain.’ I flashed my tattooed finger at him.
‘I think you like the pain,’ Lindsay murmured, his tone almost sad. ‘I think you don’t remember how to survive without pain. You’re always either running at it, or away from it, but what you can’t see is that you’re going to drown in it. Either that, or your husband will kill you. At this rate, I’d put my money on him.’
Ouch.
Neither of us said anything for a moment. I glanced at the screen in front of us again. Dornan hadn’t moved. Maybe he was dead. That would solve some of my problems.
‘I’m tired of the pain,’ I answered finally. ‘I don’t want it anymore.’
I was only too aware that Dornan would stir if I was gone much longer.
‘You testify against Emilio, against Dornan, and the rest of his club, and you get immunity. You get your son back.’
Fuck him for using my son as blackmail material. ‘I’m not saying one word for you unless you can guarantee John’s safety. We both get immunity.’
Lindsay lifted his eyebrows. ‘No can do. He goes down with his club.’
‘I love him,’ I said quietly. ‘I can’t let him go down with them.’
‘You loved Dornan once, too. And see how that turned out?’
I closed my eyes and tried not to have a total meltdown. I had to agree to whatever Lindsay was saying or he’d never let me out of his sight again. I couldn’t very well slip away into the night if I was being tracked by the FBI.
‘You say you’re tired of the pain,’ Lindsay added. ‘Let me help you. Let me take it away. All you have to do is say yes.’
I rested my forehead on the back of the seat in front of me. Everything, it seemed, hinged on the next thing that came out of my mouth. Three letters or two.
