Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“What two things?” I hear myself ask.
“He wants me to determine if Mr. Wheeler is capable of taking care of you—”
I guess?
“And making you happy.”
“Yes.” I don't even hesitate. “He is.”
I just find myself lying through my teeth.
Rollo doesn't move.
“Are you certain about that, Mrs. Sesti—”
I cut him off with a shake of my head. “Will you please stop calling me that?”
“It's the truth, ma'am.”
“Not for me.”
“But it is for him, signora.”
Rollo's voice turns grave as he says this.
“And that's why I am asking you now. Because I do not want to risk making a mistake. Do you really mean it, signora, when you say you believe you'll be happy with him again?”
Chapter Nine
I LET THE PHONE RING twice before I pick it up. My guts are already telling me it's going to be bad, but just this once...I want to be wrong.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Sestini.”
But I'm not.
And the pause that follows...that only means it's worse than I can ever imagine.
“Mr. Pascual escaped.”
And I'm right. Again.
Juan Pascual. El Carnicero. The very reason I signed up for witness protection. He was supposed to stay behind bars because of my testimony, while I built the case against the rest of his lieutenants. But now that they've let him slip?
“How long ago since he's escaped?” It must've been recent, since no one's reporting it yet.
“Forty minutes.”
“And do you have any leads?”
Another pause.
“Zero then.”
“I'm sorry, sir.”
I look at the wall. Good quality, as it should be for the hotel's penthouse suite. But is it good enough for what I need?
Three floors above me, my wife is finishing whatever a bride finishes in the bridal suite of a hotel in Como, Italy, and on the other side of the Atlantic, Juan Pascual is loose.
“Mr. Sestini, I want to assure you—”
“There's nothing you can say that can change my mind, and you can tell that to your superior, too.”
Agent Dodd gulps audibly. “Sir—”
“I told you what I'd do, remember?”
Another gulp, which tells me he does remember. The bridge at the edge of town. Away from the crowd. Just before I signed up for witness protection. Pascual had just been nabbed because of the lead I personally fed them.
You lose him, this deal is over, and I'll do it my way.
“I'm sorry, Agent Dodd. Don't say I didn't warn you.”
I hang up.
And then I get moving.
I pull a drawer open, with its built-in industrial grinder, and drop my burner phone in it. One push of a button, and it's ground into dust. There's nothing of it left, just like there's no longer anything that binds me to the United States government.
From here on out, it's my way.
I walk back to the wall I was studying earlier. Should be good enough. Right? I just need something right now...just one.
PUNCH.
I pull my fist back. My knuckles are bloody, but the wall has it worse. It's actually not as tough as I thought it would be since I've now left an embedded imprint on its surface like I want it to bear my autograph for eternity.
Pain starts to register, and I welcome it. Pain is a good reminder of why I need to do what I'm about to do, and a glance at my watch tells me I don't have much time left. I feel sick to my stomach as I make the necessary calls. Going alone to kill an entire warehouse of gang members is easier than this. Anything is easier than this.
Rollo knocks on the door. “Sir, there's someone—”
“Let her in.”
A pause.
“Let. Her. In.”
Rollo doesn't answer, but a moment later, a woman walks in, and she's exactly what I ordered. Beautiful and brash and bitchy. She's even snapping bubblegum as she looks at me from head to toe.
“Honey, if I knew you looked like this, I'd have given you a discount—”
“You have one job, and it doesn't include you talking.”
She makes a face. “Spoilsport.” She looks around. “Where do I set up?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Are you sure? In my experience, it's a lot more painful if we set up in the kitchen—”
“Don't make me repeat myself again.”
“Okay, okay, sheesh, you're touchy, aren't you? Do you need me to have my clothes on or off?”
“I need exactly what I paid for.”
“Naked then.”
She saunters away while I walk to the powder room and wash the blood off my hand in cold water. I watch the water run pink down the drain, but I avoid looking at the mirror. I have a feeling I'd start punching my own face again if I see my reflection.
My chest starts to tighten as I prepare myself.
I take off my jacket. My tie. The cufflinks come out of my cuffs and onto the marble counter, and the shirt comes off after them, and I do all of this in the methodical order of a man getting dressed, except in reverse, because there's no other way to do it that wouldn't undo me.