REBECCA
Maybe she had to become someone else. I don't know.
All I know right now is that, honestly, there were times I wanted to vanish too.
Where I didn't want to hit another boy because he called me the daughter of a family killer.
Where I didn't want to go to work, because I was tired, but did so anyway because I had to feed Rachel.
There were days and nights when I wanted to vanish and become someone else.
The thought of running occurred to me more than once. The big difference, though: I didn't.
So yeah, Rachel was taken against her will. But according to her, she had already planned on leaving. Instead of calling me, reassuring me that she was alive, she chose to start a new life. Without me. And that hurts. I swallow around the lump in my throat.
"I think..." my voice comes out rough, "I've heard enough."
Rachel's head snaps up. "Becca—"
I shake my head. "No."
I'm not angry. Not really, but I'm not calm either. I'm just… done. "I need time."
She nods once. "I understand."
I don't know if she does. Maybe she does. Maybe she understands better than anyone. Alessio quietly steps beside me. Not touching me. Just... there. Solid. Steady. Exactly what I need.
Rachel watches him for a second before looking back at me. "I hope..." Her voice breaks. "Someday..."
"I know."
It's all I can manage. She nods again. "I love you."
The words hit me like a punch. I can't say them back. Not yet. But... I nod. Because I do. I always will. Even if I don't know who she is anymore.
Alessio reaches into his jacket and pulls out one of his business cards. He turns it over. Writes my number on the back. Hands it to Rachel. "If you need her..."
Rachel accepts it with trembling fingers. "I probably won't call."
"I know." Unshed tears sting my eyes. I need to get out of here. Now.
We turn toward the front door, just as it opens. A broad-shouldered man carrying two grocery bags freezes in the doorway. His eyes immediately lock on Alessio. Then Rossi. "What the fuck?"
He instinctively moves toward Rachel. "Who are you?"
Rachel hurries forward. "It's okay." She gently touches his arm. "Jack." Her voice softens. "They're leaving."
His eyes stay on Alessio, like he's instinctively sensing the danger he exudes.
Outside, the Arizona heat slams into me. I blink against it and notice a dusty silver sedan pulling to the curb. The driver's door flies open before the engine even stops. Charly. He practically jogs toward me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I feel Alessio tense. Rossi steps forward, hand reaching for his gun.
"It's Charly. It's okay." I throw myself into the older man's arms. He smells like aftershave, motor oil, and coffee. Home.
His arms wrap around me so tightly I almost break. "You okay, kiddo?"
My throat burns. I shake my head against his shoulder. "No." I take a deep breath. "But I will be."
He kisses the top of my head the way he always has. "That's my girl."
When we finally step apart, Charly turns toward Alessio. The two men size each other up. Neither speaks. One private investigator/ex-cop. One mafia boss. Two men trying to decide if the other deserves the woman standing between them.
I swear... if Dad had lived... he would've looked at Alessio exactly like that. The thought almost makes me smile.
Alessio is the first to extend his hand. "Alessio Vitali."
"Charly Angel."
They shake. Firm. Testing, seeing who'll squirm first. I take mercy on them and separate their hands before either loses one from poor blood circulation.
Still, Charly stares at him. "You take care of her."
Alessio doesn't hesitate. "With my life."
Charly studies him another second. Then... he smiles. Barely, but it's there. "Good answer."
"We're flying back to Vegas." He turns questioningly toward the little sedan. "Want a lift?"
Charly looks at the car. Then back at us. "What the hell." He fishes the rental keys out of his pocket. "They can come collect it."
He tosses them onto the driver's seat before shutting the door. "I'm getting tired of Arizona anyway." He wipes a hand across his forehead. "Too damn hot."
I laugh. For the first time all day... it feels genuine.
The ride back to the airfield passes in comfortable silence. Well... as comfortable as silence can be after finding out your little sister willingly erased you from her life. Alessio reaches across the console and takes my hand. "You okay?"
I stare out at the Arizona desert rolling by. "I don't know." It's the truth. "I think..." I shake my head. "I need time."
He squeezes my fingers. "Take all the time you need."
I lean my head against the window. "I think there's still a lot she didn't tell us."
"I got the same feeling," he agrees. "Something doesn't fit."
"No."
I close my eyes. "I keep trying to picture it."
"What?"
"Rachel." I swallow. "Escaping."
I picture my little sister stumbling through the desert. Bruised. Terrified. No money. No phone. No identification. Just... running. Then somehow... she ends up married to a truck driver. Living in a little house with a daughter. Like she skipped half the story.
"No." I shake my head again. "I'm missing something."
Alessio doesn't disagree. "So am I."
An hour later we're airborne. Charly accepts the bourbon Alessio hands him. He studies the amber liquid for a second before taking a sip.
"Damn." He nods appreciatively. "That's good."
"It should be."
Alessio settles into the seat across from him. "So..."
Charly anticipates the question before it's asked. "How'd I find her?"
Alessio nods once. Charly leans back. "That's the damnedest part." He chuckles softly. "I didn't."
That gets my attention. "What do you mean?"
"I've been chasing dead ends for months, hell, years." He rubs a hand over his jaw. "California. Texas. New Mexico. Three different times, I found women I thought might've been Rachel. They weren't." He shakes his head, stares into his glass. "Then out of nowhere, I got a phone call."
My pulse jumps. "From who?"
He shrugs. "No idea. The number was blocked, the caller male, with no accent. He knew who I was and who I was looking for."
"And that didn't strike you as even a little suspicious?" I cry out before I can stop myself.
Charly chuckles into his bourbon. "Kiddo, I was a cop for thirty years. Anonymous tips are half the job."
Alessio leans forward. "You didn't try to trace the call?"
"Of course I did." Charly snorts. "Called in a favor. The call was a dead end. Burner phone." He spreads his hands. "Whoever it was knew what they were doing."
"So you just..." I gesture vaguely, "went?"
"What'd I have to lose? I'd already chased a dozen bad leads.
One more wasn't going to kill me." He smiles.
"My old partner used to say, Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.
I figured if somebody wanted to point me in the right direction...
I'd at least have the courtesy to see where they were pointing.
" He takes another sip. "Besides..." His smile fades.
"They didn't ask for anything. No money.
No favors. No meeting. Just... " He points a finger toward me.
"All he said was: The dead don't always stay buried. Try Phoenix."
Silence settles over the cabin.
Alessio's expression goes completely still. Too still. "Have you ever heard the name..." He watches Charly carefully, "El Recaudador?"
Charly furrows his brow.
"The Collector?" Alessio adds.
Charly slowly nods. "I have heard rumors."
I sit up straighter. My eyes dart to Alessio. He catches the look immediately.
"You think it was him?"
Alessio doesn't answer right away, and I give him time to think it over while he's connecting pieces. Somehow... I get the feeling another one just clicked into place.
Alessio leans back. His expression doesn't change. But I know that look. Pieces. They're moving. Somewhere... the Collector just got a whole lot more interesting.
A cold knot settles in my stomach. I look from Charly... to Alessio. "If the Collector knew where Rachel was..." My voice trails off. The implication hangs in the air.
"He knows about her," Alessio states gloomily. "He does."
"And Charly."
Another nod. "He knew enough to point Charly in the right direction."
I sit forward. "So they're in danger."
"No."
The answer comes too quickly. I stare at him. "No?"
"Not immediately."
He reaches across the aisle, taking my hand. "If the Collector wanted Rachel dead..." he lets that thought hang for a second, "she would've been dead long before today."
I don't like how logical that sounds. "Then why help us?"
"I don't know." He shakes his head. "But every move he's made has had a purpose. He doesn't waste pieces."
That doesn't make me feel any better. "What about Rachel?"
"I'll station men outside her house," he promises.
A large lump of gratitude settles in my stomach. If I still had any squabbles about him being a big bad mafia boss, they'd be gone now. He's the only one I trust to keep Rachel safe.
"They won't be seen," he adds. "They won't interfere with their daily lives. But if anyone so much as watches that house for too long..." His eyes harden. "I'll know."
My shoulders sag with relief. "Thank you."
He brushes his thumb across my knuckles. "I promised I'd protect the people you love. I meant it."
Charly clears his throat. "I think..." he points at the two of us with his bourbon, ".I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear any of that."
Alessio smiles faintly. "I was hoping you would."
Charly snorts. "You know, twenty-five years ago, I'd have had half a SWAT team waiting for you when this plane landed."
"I realize that."
Charly chuckles.
"And now he’s talking about posting armed guards outside my sis— Rachel's house like it's perfectly ordinary."
"For me, it is."
Charly shakes his head.
"Kiddo..." he looks at me, "...you're making this real difficult."
Alessio leans forward. "There are a lot of things I'm about to tell you..." he pauses, "that you'll have to pretend you never heard."
The two men study each other. Neither blinks. Neither looks away.