Prologue #3
He stared at her before saying in a solemn voice, “Then I’d encourage you to think very carefully about your situation.”
He reached into his coat and produced his phone, turning the screen toward her.
A woman she didn’t recognize stared back at her. Blonde hair, maybe thirty, smiling at the camera in what looked like a backyard somewhere.
“Her name was Penny Caruso. She was married to one of Roderick’s associates for three years. Fourteen months ago, she died in a car accident.”
Ellie looked at the woman’s smile and said nothing.
He swiped to the next photograph.
She froze at the picture. She knew that face. Light brown hair cut just below the chin, warm hazel eyes, and the kind of smile that immediately made you feel at ease.
Ellie had sat next to that woman at a dinner party a couple of years ago. The woman had leaned over and whispered something about the centerpiece that had made Ellie laugh out loud for the first time all evening.
Katilyn Almeida had been the first friend Ellie had made after she started dating Roderick.
“As you know, Katilyn fell from a balcony in Miami last year. Her death was ruled accidental. Investigators said she had too much to drink. Called it a tragedy.”
Ellie swallowed hard. She’d been at the funeral. She’d held Katilyn’s mother’s hand and cried and thought what a terrible, senseless thing it was to lose someone so young, so full of life, to something as random as a fall.
Ellie hadn’t questioned her death for a single moment.
Until now.
“And this is Sandra Reeves.” A third photograph—a redhead, mid-thirties, caught laughing at something off-camera. “Drowned. Lake Michigan. Eighteen months ago.”
The tremble inside her only got stronger.
“Spouses who become inconvenient tend not to stay inconvenient for long,” Connelly murmured. “The Barone family is very good at solving problems.”
Suddenly, Ellie couldn’t breathe.
Roderick would never hurt her . . . would he?
“There’s something else you should know.
” He pocketed his phone. “The Barone family has enemies. Serious ones. People who want the entire organization dismantled—and everyone connected to it. When those people come for Roderick, Mrs. Barone, they won’t stop to ask whether you knew what your husband was doing. ”
She set her coffee on the elevator’s handrail. Her arms shook so badly that she didn’t trust herself to keep holding it.
“And if you’re thinking you can simply walk away, I’d encourage you to reconsider that as well.
You’ve been married to Roderick for two years.
You’ve met his associates.” He paused, his gaze locking onto hers.
“You could be charged as an accessory, Mrs. Barone. The evidence of your presence alone would be enough to open that door.”
The words hit her like a physical blow, and her pulse hammered faster. “That . . . that sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a reality.” He said the words without flinching. “I’m not your enemy. I’m the person standing in this elevator telling you the truth about your situation before someone less inclined to give you options comes along.”
She stared at the elevator doors and tried to think clearly. She stared at the red Stop button and the man who’d pressed it.
Her thoughts raced all over the place but found nowhere to stop. “What exactly are you asking me to do?”
“We need documents. Specifically, we need records of transactions, names of associates, a list of meeting locations. We need any evidence that connects the Barone organization to its operations. You have access to your husband’s files.
To his office. To the people he meets with.
We need you to pay attention and report back. ”
“You’re asking me to betray him—while living with him.” She shook her head. “What happens to me if Roderick finds out I’m feeding information to the FBI?”
The agent didn’t answer, which was its own kind of answer.
One she already knew.
She could be killed. Sure, the FBI would offer her protection. But what kind of protection could they really give her when she was living with Roderick?
It was a no-win situation.
She pressed her eyes closed as frustration rose inside her. No matter what she decided, she would lose.
“I have patients I need to see,” she finally said.
He held the card out until she took it.
She turned it over. A dry cleaner’s card, plain as anything—a name, an address, a phone number. Nothing that should have meant a thing.
Connelly already had a cover story worked out. Ellie shouldn’t be surprised. But somehow that fact frightened her even more.
This was real. All too real.
Then he reached past her and released the Stop button. The elevator shuddered back to life.
“Think about it,” he said. “But don’t think too long.”
The doors opened on her floor.
Her knees almost buckled as she stepped out, but she managed to remain upright.
She made it to her office, closed the door behind her, and nearly collapsed into her chair.
The business card seemed to burn a hole in her pocket.
Her options weren’t good. Do nothing and go to prison. Betray her husband and be killed. Or run and be hunted.
What was she going to do?