CHAPTER 14
The sky outside my car is dark and ominous. The gathering clouds have a heavy look, like they’re full of damaging secrets they’re waiting to spill. Pressure builds as the developing downpour fails to unleash its fury.
But the storm I fear has nothing to do with the weather.
I have to do something. I can’t just sit around, hoping, waiting, driving myself crazy. The stakes are too high. I have to take action.
It’s just too bad that the only place I can think of to go for answers is one of the last I should visit, because I’m going anyway, ignoring the common sense that tells me I shouldn’t.
There’s no denying that the decision has made me tense, my hands tightening on the steering wheel until my muscles ache. My heart hammers erratically. My breath is quick and shallow. And when my cell phone trills as I receive an incoming call, I jump in my seat.
“Hello?”
“Hi, I got your message. Is everything all right?”
Though my boss’s voice usually has the ability to soothe my frayed nerves, this time it doesn’t. If anything, it makes them worse. I want to yell. To cry. To scream. Instead, my voice is eerily low and even.
“I don’t think so. No.”
“Tell me everything.”
How many times have I done exactly that? Offloaded on Marla? And though all the words I long to say are right there, on the tip of my tongue, I bite them back. Swallow them down.
I can’t confess the problems I feel brewing between me and Jake.
Though I want her comfort and reassurance, that’s not the most pressing need I’m faced with right now.
Because the first step toward fixing whatever’s wrong is to take back my life, and I’m not sure I can do that alone.
At least, not without some information first.
“I need a favor.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. What is it?”
“They identified the sniper who shot at me. His name was Don Farris.”
“That’s great news. Isn’t it?”
I make a noncommittal noise. “According to Agent Gellar, they can’t make any direct connection between him and Tony Bianchi.”
“Even if one exists, it might not be possible to confirm, Cassidy.”
“I understand. And I realize that the intel they do have establishing ties between him and Bianchi’s peers in the drug trade is almost the same thing.”
“But?”
“I need more. Exact names. Instances. Known accomplices. The type of beer he drinks. His mother’s shoe size.”
“So, all the things.”
“All of them,” I emphasize. “Most of all, I want to know how this guy found his jobs. If there’s some kind of middleman, or handler, or a job board where lowlifes advertise that they’re looking for hitmen.
If Bianchi didn’t hire him directly, I need to figure out who he has on the outside doing his dirty work for him. ”
Director Jacobson clears her throat. “What do you plan on doing with this information once you have it?”
Silence stretches between us as I struggle for an answer. Finally, I admit, “I don’t know. I’m not sure yet. Maybe nothing.”
“Or maybe—?” she prods.
“Maybe I’ll discover something that will help me keep Bianchi from trying to come at me again.”
I have no idea what that something might be, or how I could leverage it in my favor, but I have to look for it all the same, because if it’s there, I’ll find it.
For most of my fifteen years with the FBI, that’s what I did—search for patterns.
And I excelled at it. Now, I need to use those skills to help myself.
Because I have to believe that it was the attempt on my life that’s caused the shift between me and Jake, and not anything to do with his mother.
The issue is, I no longer have access to the databases I need to find this information out on my own, which means I really need to convince Marla to help me.
“Cassidy,” Director Jacobson’s voice is gentle. I brace myself for what’s coming next, knowing I won’t like it. “Maybe you should leave this for the Miami field office to handle. Come back up here for a little while. Just until things calm down.”
How can I explain that that’s not an option without sounding crazy? That there’s a twisting sensation in my gut telling me that if I don’t handle this myself—and quickly—that I could lose what I hold most dear? How could she possibly understand, when I don’t myself?
“I… wish I could, Marla.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her to counter with the question: why can’t I? But thankfully, it doesn’t come. She knows me. Which is why I should have anticipated the question she does ask.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
Exhaling heavily, I fill my lungs with fresh air. I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t share the truth.
“Let me rephrase that. On a scale of one to ten, how deadly is this secret you’re keeping?”
I consider the answer. While the possibility of losing Jake might feel like the end of the world, in reality, I know I’d survive it. But the people who caused the fracture between us? I’m not so sure what their fate would be.
“To me? Zero.”
“Do I want to know who’s at risk?”
“No.”
There’s a moment of prolonged silence before she says, “You’re probably right. But can you do me one favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Give me some advance warning if you’re going to need bail money, okay?”
She says it with a laugh, but we both know she’s serious.
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all I can ask. I’ll bring Mallory in on this and see what we can find out for you.”
I thank her, but as the call ends, I find myself not feeling better, but worse. Like I’ve just dragged one more person into the undertow with me. And as I turn off the main road onto the narrow dirt lane leading into the swamp, I know I’m about to get sucked in even deeper.
Because while there’s a difference between making a deal with a devil and simply talking to one, I’m not so sure that Jake would see it. Not where this particular devil is concerned. And to be completely honest, I’m not so sure I see that difference, either.