11. Alice
11
ALICE
TWO DAYS LATER
T he weight of the gun pressed against my hip through my patchwork bag as I moved through the cemetery. Each step crunched in the fresh snow, counting down the moments until I’d finally face him. Bobby Kane stood a few feet from Sarah’s plot, exactly where I knew he’d be. The bastard who killed my sister had actually shown up for the inurnment as I’d hoped he would. Still, it galled me that he thought he had any right to be here. As if he wasn’t the one to extinguish the bright light she’d been.
My heart thundered against my ribs, but my mind was crystal clear. The crazy quilt bag Sarah had made me last Christmas held what I needed—the .38 Special—only one of the weapons I’d bought from a guy who didn’t ask questions. She’d always teased me about bringing that bag everywhere she and I went together. Now, it carried the means of her revenge.
The bitter January wind whipped strands of my long hair, which even pulled back in a hair tie still hit me across the face.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the bag, but not from the cold. I’d never killed anyone before, but for Sarah, I’d do anything. Bobby Kane deserved to die for what he’d done to her.
The closer I got, the harder it was to steady my hand. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Bobby stood with his hands in the pockets of his tattered wool coat, staring at Sarah’s temporary marker as if he had the right to mourn her. Did he see her face in his dreams, like I did? Did he hear her laugh, only to wake up remembering she was gone? Or was he too high on the same fentanyl he’d used to kill her that he felt no remorse for what he’d done?
I barely registered the shouts in the distance or the flash of movement in my peripheral vision. My focus narrowed to Bobby and the gun now in my hand. Just a few more steps. Just one clean shot.
“Alice!” Pershing Kane’s roar came too late—I’d already squeezed the trigger. But before I could see if I’d hit my target, he slammed into me from behind. The impact drove me face-first into the snow, pushing the air from my lungs. His massive body pressed me down, pinning me as the deafening sound of gunfire exploded around us.
“Man down!” someone yelled.
I twisted my head just enough to see Bobby’s body sprawled in the snow, crimson spreading beneath him like the spilled wine I’d seen on the floor of my sister’s bedroom.
While I didn’t know for sure, something told me it wasn’t my bullet that had found him—someone else had beaten me to it. Someone else had stolen even this from me. First, Sarah. Now, my opportunity to avenge her death.
The rage and grief I’d been holding back erupted. “You fucking bastard!” I screamed into the snow, my voice breaking as sobs tore through my chest. The man on top of me had ruined everything. My one chance at justice for Sarah, gone.
When Agent Kane finally lifted his weight off me, I tried to fight. My fists struck uselessly against his solid frame as he pulled me up, keeping my arms pinned to my sides. Through my tears, I saw another man retrieve my weapon from where it had fallen.
“Give me my fucking gun!” I demanded, though I knew there was no point now. Bobby was dead, but not by my hand.
“I’ll handle it,” Agent Kane said to his men, his grip on me unwavering. His voice was deep, authoritative—the kind used to being obeyed. Under other circumstances, I might have been intimidated. But I was beyond fear now. What else could they take from me?
He didn’t understand. No one could. Sarah wasn’t just my sister. She was my protector. My best friend. The one who’d helped me get through the grief of my parents’ death. The one who’d always been there for me. The one who always got me back on the right track when I strayed too far from it. Now, there was no one. No other siblings, no grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins. Cousins. My God, that’s who Bobby was to Pershing Kane, and he’d witnessed his death.
I couldn’t look at him. If I saw his grief over the death of a murderer, I’d never get over it. I’d hate him the same way I hated Bobby.
The snow soaked through my jeans as he held me, waiting for something or someone. Each icy crystal melting against my skin reminded me of Sarah’s laugh—like winter sunlight, warm despite the cold. I’d never hear that laugh again. And now, I didn’t even have vengeance to keep me warm.
“We need to move,” Pershing said, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear. His grip on my arm shifted, becoming less restraining and more guiding. “More players are about to enter the game, and you don’t want to be here when they arrive.”
I tried to wrench away. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” But even as I said it, I saw dark vehicles pulling into the cemetery’s winding drive. The emerging men wore expensive suits that didn’t quite hide their weapons.
“Those men aren’t coming to pay their respects,” he said. “They’re here to clean up loose ends. You’re a loose end, Alice.”
With the other men I’d seen hovering around me covering us, he lifted me in his arms and ran to a black SUV idling behind a cluster of snow-draped pines.
“We need to get you somewhere safe,” he said, resting me on the rear bench seat when someone opened the door for him. He climbed in behind me, and I wanted to argue, to demand answers, to scream that I didn’t need his protection. But something Sarah had once said whispered inside my head. “Sometimes, the smartest thing you can do is run, baby sister.”
It was a motto I’d lived by every day since she’d uttered the words. I ran. I escaped. I ghosted.
I raised my head and watched men sweep through the cemetery with deadly purpose, knowing I should be grateful I was safe inside the SUV. I couldn’t be, though. Anger seeped from every pore in my body.
I looked down at the bag sitting in my lap, studying Sarah’s quirky stitching through my tears that turned into sobs.
Pershing’s arms were around me, holding me as the pain of loss racked my body. I’d cried for Sarah before, but not like this. It was as though she was really, truly gone now. Like my parents were. Leaving me all alone in the world.
We drove for hours. Out of the city, through small towns that gradually gave way to wilderness. Snow-covered mountains rose around us, and signs for the Adirondacks flashed past. I should have been afraid, being taken God-knows-where by a man I barely knew. Instead, I felt hollow. Empty.
“Where are you taking me?” My question broke the silence as we turned onto a narrow road.
“A place called Canada Lake,” Pershing said. “My camp’s secure. You’ll be safe here while we sort this out.”
“Sort what out?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “Why are you helping me?”
He was quiet for so long that I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he uttered two simple words. “For Sarah.”
The sob that tore from my throat was unexpected. Raw. I didn’t know exactly what his words meant, but if she was here, she’d want someone to protect me, to keep me safe.
“We’re here,” he said when the SUV came to a stop and the driver cut the engine.
I raised my head from where it was buried into his shoulder and surveyed the surroundings. The camp, as I knew they were referred to in this area, looked more like a fortress than a wilderness retreat. I glimpsed cameras hidden in the trees and sensor arrays disguised as birdhouses. Two more SUVs were parked in the cleared drive, which I assumed meant more FBI agents were already inside.
“This is yours?” I asked as he led me up the porch steps to the front door. The cabin’s great room, with exposed beams and walls of windows overlooking the frozen lake, opened before us when he ushered me inside. A fire already blazed in the massive stone fireplace, and the smell of coffee filled the air.
Four men looked up as we entered. I recognized two from the cemetery—the one who’d called out “man down” and the one who’d taken my gun. The first stood near the fireplace, speaking quietly into a phone. The second was checking what looked like surveillance feeds on multiple tablets spread across the dining table.
“Diesel,” Pershing said, nodding to a tall man with sharp features who was pouring coffee. “Status?”
“Perimeter’s secure. Atticus has eyes on the access road. We’ve got overhead coverage in place, and the rest of the team is either already in position or on their way.” The man brought two mugs over, holding one out to me.
“She prefers tea. Matcha.”
“Roger that, Admiral.”
“Code name,” he muttered, his arm still around me when our gazes collided. I should’ve wriggled out of his hold, put space between us, squared my shoulders, and reestablished the independence that was my way of life, but inexplicably, I couldn’t bring myself to.
“This is Diesel,” he said.
The man’s manner was different from the others—less military precision, more casual confidence. “I’m Caleb Jacks, but as Admiral said, everyone calls me Diesel. The quiet one in tactical gear over there is Atticus.” He motioned to two other men. “That’s Tank and Blackjack. We work together at a private intelligence firm and have been assisting in the investigation into your sister’s death.” He shifted on his feet. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, taking a deep breath when I felt tears threatening again.
“Did someone say they preferred Matcha?” Another man came around a corner, carrying a steaming mug. Pershing—Admiral, whatever the hell he went by—reached for it and held it out to me.
“By the way, that’s Kodiak. He also works with Diesel.”
I nodded and took the tea, noticing how each of the men appeared to be positioned between me and the windows. Protection detail wasn’t just a job to these guys—it was instinct.
“Admiral and I were roommates at Cornell. Though back then, we spent more time in Ithaca bars than in our dorm room,” Diesel said with a hint of a smile.
“Diesel,” Admiral warned, but there was familiarity in his tone. They were old friends. Real ones.
“Bryar’s got dinner in the oven,” he added. “She said to ask you whether you want her to bring it over or send one of the guys to get it.”
“Your wife’s a godsend,” said Admiral, still standing beside me, giving me the warmth I needed even though I’d never admit it or ask for it. “By the way, what’s the news?” he asked.
“You’ll have to wait until she’s here too.” Diesel turned to me. “Bryar’s former FBI,” he explained. “She used to work for him before she decided catching bad guys with me would be more fun. We’re just down the lake if you need anything.”
The casual conversation felt surreal after everything that had happened. These people moved in a world I couldn’t comprehend. The closest I’d gotten to anyone professionally was Tex, who I still hadn’t met in person.
“Does Alice know?—”
“Not yet,” Admiral snapped at Diesel’s question, and I bristled.
“Know what?” I asked.
“We’ll talk later.”
I jerked away from him. “Know what?” I repeated.
All eyes in the room were on Admiral, but he didn’t say a word.
I poked my finger into his chest hard enough that his eyes widened. “ Fuck you! Tell me what you’re hiding from me, or take me back to the city. Right now. I don’t need this shit.”
“Come with me,” he said, taking my hand before I could jerk it away.
“Whatever you have to say, you can do it here. Everyone in this room already knows whatever it is anyway.”
He nodded once. “Let’s at least sit.”
Based on the looks on the faces of the other guys, I gave in. Whatever I was about to learn was big. I could feel it as much as see it.
Admiral led me over to the sofa that faced the fireplace, and we both sat. While I didn’t turn to look, I knew the men were no longer in the room. I wanted to scoot away, fold my arms, and somehow shield myself from what I was about to hear. Instead, I left my hand in his.
He cleared his throat. “Your sister…”
“What? Just fucking tell me!” I shouted.
“While not with me directly, Sarah worked for the bureau. Specifically, the FBI’s organized crime unit. She was undercover, investigating the Castellano family at the time of her death.”
Bile rose in my throat, and dizziness overwhelmed me enough that I grasped his hand tighter. “I don’t understand,” I said in a voice barely above a whisper. I looked down at where Admiral’s thumb rubbed the back of my hand as I processed what he’d just told me. It couldn’t be true. If it was, it meant I knew nothing about my sister’s life. Nothing. “You’re lying.”
He shook his head. “It’s the truth, Alice.”
“But how?” I asked the question, but wasn’t sure I was ready to hear the answer. Would Admiral be able to explain why she’d never told me? Why she’d kept so much of her life a secret from me? Could he explain why she’d spent years lying to me? Tremors turned into jolts so strong I felt as though I’d come out of my skin. Before I realized what he was doing, Admiral lifted me from the sofa and onto his lap. He tightened both arms around me while I continued to shake uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against my hair.
“For what? Her lies? Her betrayal? Her death?” I gasped the words as much as said them.
“All of it.”
“You said she didn’t work with you. Did you know her?”
“We never met.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?” I sounded like a child. A kid who’d just found out she never really knew her sister.
“She wanted to protect you,” he said, raising one hand to stroke my hair.
“How do you know that?”
“Because it’s how I feel. Why I didn’t tell you until now. Why I wouldn’t have if Diesel didn’t say what he did.”
“You would’ve kept it from me? For how long? Would you have ever told me?”
“Yes,” he answered simply.
“When?”
“I don’t know. I guess when I felt you were ready.”
“How can you say that? You know nothing about me.” Tears filled my eyes once more, and I hid my face in his chest. “You don’t know me.”
“Don’t I, Alice?” he whispered, continuing to stroke my hair. “I know what I’m about to say will sound crazy, but I think Sarah wants me to protect you. She wants me to be here for you, to ease your pain.”
I couldn’t admit it now, but it didn’t sound crazy. I squeezed my eyes shut, and Sarah’s image appeared. “Let him take care of you,” I could swear I heard her whisper.