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I’ve heard the rumors. Best has personally waterboarded dozens of prisoners. Stress positions, hooding, rectal rehydration... Word on the street is, he got the fucking job done in the desert, and he gets it done here, on US soil.
The problem is, we don’t have anyone to interrogate. Alix is the only person I know who’s ever seen Jonas and Ansel Herzog in person. And she’s already…highly motivated to share whatever information she has.
Or is she?
“What?” Best pounces.
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrow like he’s sighting down a firing range. “The way I see it, you’ve got three choices. One: You let us loose on their compound, and we do what we do best.”
I shake my head. The fallout would be too much.
“Two: You find out where those motherfuckers are going to be in the next week, and you let my men remove the problem.”
“And three?”
“Three. You hire the best lawyer in the world. Because once that video goes public you’ll need him. You and Alix both.”
I don’t know if he said her name on purpose. If he’s trying to egg me on, to get me to do something I really don’t want to do.
But now that my mind has snagged on Alix, I can’t tear myself free. She knows the brothers. She understands the way the sick fucks think. In the past three years, she must have heardsomethingwe can use. Something that can help. Something that can load the weapon of Sawgrass Industries and point it toward a vulnerable target.
Best hands me a card.
“What’s this?” I’m staring at ten digits. There’s not another mark on the white rectangle.
“A phone number.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with it?”
“Call me when you get your head out of your ass and accept what needs to be done. Use a fucking burner. And don’t wait too long.”
15
ALIX
* * *
It’s after two in the morning when Trap finally comes upstairs. I’ve spent the last three hours staring at a romance novel, pretending I can follow the plot. I keep getting to the end of a chapter and realizing I can’t remember anything on the preceding pages.
I should have gone with Trap on the boat. But it’s bad enough knowing video exists of the night I killed Herzog. I can’t imagine socializing with the men who were in the room that night.
When Trap walks into the bedroom, I put my book on the nightstand, not bothering to mark my place. “How’d it go?” I ask.
“Exactly as well as you’d expect.”
He looks exhausted. I climb out of bed and cross the room, ignoring the chill on my bare legs.
I’m wearing a soft cotton sleep shirt. I didn’t think Trap would be interested in my seducing him tonight.
I’m right.
I want to tell him he smells like a still, but that won’t do either of us any good. I think about asking how much he lost at poker, but I don’t really care. I can’t think of anything I can say to make it all better.
But he lets me loosen his tie and pull his shirt from his trousers. I undo the buttons, one by one. I don’t feel remotely like a lover luring my man to bed. I feel like a mother. Maybe a nurse.
His hands close around my hips, just holding me, not trying to bring me close, not trying to fan the fire that always simmers just beneath the surface with us. He lowers his head and brushes his lips against my forehead. I fight the sudden urge to cry.
