Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
CLOVER
The good news is that my leg feels great.
This is the only good news.
All other news is bad news. Very bad news.
I still can’t believe this is happening.
That I went from making pizzas in Dean’s kitchen and giggling with the girls over “sharp toots” to hiding in a creepy motel with Plato, hoping we can think fast enough to escape the noose we’ve apparently slipped around our necks.
I can’t believe this is my life, or that a room is capable of smelling this much like mildew and old B.O.
And not-so-old-B.O…
Is it me? I wonder for the tenth time. But when I pause my pacing across the tacky carpet to discreetly sniff my armpit, my skin still smells like honeysuckle deodorant.
But I’m sweating. A lot.
It’s forty-five degrees outside, not much warmer in our gross hotel room, and I’m wearing a sleeveless jumpsuit, but still…sweating. But that’s okay. It’s normal to be sweating at a time like this. It doesn’t mean I’m not ready to do what needs to be done.
It doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself when push comes to shove.
And it’s not going to come to push or shove!
I’m meeting Dex’s partner in a coffee shop down the street from their club, a busy public place where people will notice if a guy hits a girl over the head and drags her out back to an unmarked van.
Especially if that girl is wearing a bright red jumpsuit…
I smooth the fabric over my hips and keep pacing, resuming my silent mantra that everything is going to be okay.
It is going to be okay.
And then I’ll find some way to make things right with Dean again.
He’ll forgive me, even if I can never fully explain what happened…right?
God, I hope so.
I stop at the window, peeking out at the street below.
The curtains are the color of mustard and smell like old smoke—which I guess is better than old B.O.
, but still not something I want to stick my face in—but I’m too afraid to pull them back.
Plato has a new, fresh laptop that’s never been counter-hacked, both of our real phones are off, and to our knowledge, no one followed us here.
There’s probably no way Dex or Gio, his partner, or any of the crooked cops know that we’re spying on the UFC gym from across the street, but still…
Ever since Plato’s screen lit up, his QuickTime player showcasing a video taken of us from his laptop camera, along with a warning to get out of the gym’s system and await further instructions if we want to “keep breathing,” I’ve been paranoid as hell.
If only I’d been this paranoid sooner.
If only I’d realized how dangerous the man who hit my car last October really was. If I had, maybe I would have given up on my quest for justice before it was too late.
I don’t need justice. I just need Dean and the girls to be okay. I need to know no one is going to harm a hair on their precious heads because I was too stupid to realize I was punching way above my weight class.
“Stop staring out the window, it’s not good for your mental health,” Plato says from the desk without lifting his eyes from his laptop screen. “Neither is beating yourself up.”
“I’m not beating myself up,” I lie.
“Yes, you are. Your shoulders creep up when you’re beating yourself up. Right now, they’re up around your ears.”
Realizing he’s right, I force my shoulders to drop and my jaw to unclench as I let the curtain fall back into place. “I’m just ready for it to be ten, and for all this to be over.”
“You and me both,” he says. “But I’m glad we have a little more time.
I want to go over everything again with you.
Just to be sure you’ve got it on lock.” He rolls his neck, vertebrae cracking loud enough to make me wince.
His eyes are red from working on his “dead man’s switch” all night and well into this morning, but he’s positive it’s ready.
I hope it is. Ready or not, I have to walk out that door at nine forty-five. “Come look at this.”
I move to stand beside his chair, gazing down at what looks like a PowerPoint presentation. “You made a slideshow about our fuck up?”
“I made a slideshow, so all the details of my fuck up are crystal clear,” he corrects, clicking the first slide.
“This tracks things all the way from when I realized Dex was our man, to my first fact-gathering hack, to the canary I hit on my third time in their system that landed both our asses in boiling water.”
I rest a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I never should have asked you to help me. I’m the asshole idiot here.”
“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re a person who deserved justice.
Instead, everyone failed you. Including me.
” Before I can argue with him again, he hurries on, “But we don’t have time to beat that dead horse.
I want to be sure you understand everything, just in case.
So, what happened is these dicks set up a honeypot folder.
They made it look like regular data, just like the membership invoices I copied before, but when I mirrored it, I tripped a silent alarm.
There was a canary token embedded in the file that phoned home the second I opened it. ”
He stops, swallowing hard as he drags a hand through his unusually messy hair, “Then, they used my open connection to run a reverse shell back into my laptop. That’s how they recorded us and sent the video.
And their threats, demands, etc. Does that all make sense?
Do you think you could describe that sequence to someone clearly enough that they could understand?
I sent a link to the slideshow to your email.
But if you’re not able to access that for some reason, I want you to be prepared, just in case you have to roll the dice on going to the authorities. ”
I sigh, my stomach knotting. “Yes, I understand. At least the basics. But half the police force is working with Dex. We know that for sure now. That’s why we’re giving them what they want and not going to the police right now, right? Am I missing something?”
He sighs again. “No, you’re right. And hopefully everything will be fine.
But if for some reason I disappear, and you can’t reach my dad…
If you’re on your own and don’t know where else to go for help, you might have to risk it.
But you have the list of all the cops in Dex’s special ‘membership’ program.
Just make sure you go straight to the FBI and—”
“Cross my fingers? Hope they actually listen to me and don’t think I’m a crazy person?” I cut in. “Yeah. I don’t love that plan, Plato. These guys said they’d back off if we give them everything, so hopefully they will. Especially once they know about the dead man’s switch. It’s ready, right?”
Plato nods for a long time.
A little too long, but when he speaks again, his voice is steadier, “It is. Yes. If anything happens to either of us, the switch should fire automatically. All the files on the full Singapore V-9 drug Pipeline, the invoice chain, the bribe ledger for the NOPD, it all goes to the FBI field office, the US Attorney in Baton Rouge, the Times-Picayune, and four national outlets.” He turns to catch my gaze over his shoulder.
“But if it fires for me, you’ll be the only one left who knows how I got the info.
You’ll be in deep shit, Clover. Like, seriously deep.
Like dye your hair, change your name, and disappear until all the bad guys are behind bars, levels of deep. ”
“Yes, yes, understood. Be right back, gotta pee.” I nod, pretending I get it as I head to the bathroom to stress pee for what feels like the dozenth time since we got here this afternoon, but I’m not sure that I do.
It still feels surreal that Plato and I uncovered a massive smuggling ring for something called V9, a performance-enhancing cocktail that heals muscle tissue in half the time and turns human beings into rage-filled machines who never lose a match in the ring.
It’s not just a drug; it’s a form of currency.
And Dex isn’t just a gym owner; he’s the exclusive dealer for every alpha-male wannabe in the NOPD who feels like a god every time he mixes his V9 packet into his morning smoothie.
He bought their silence with cash, yeah, but also with an addiction only he can feed.
The cops “lost” all the evidence related to my hit-and-run because Dex is the only man in this part of the country who can keep them in supply. Justice was never in the cards for me. They didn’t even try. And sadly, the smartest thing I could have done was to move on without causing a fuss.
I wish I had.
Yes, a part of me still rages against the unfairness of it all, but the part of me that needs to keep Dean, Ava, and Bella safe is a hundred times louder. The accident is my past; they’re my future.
Please, let them still be my future. Please, let this nightmare be over soon, I chant silently to myself as I wash my hands and apply another coat of deodorant.
The bathroom mirror is cracked and the overhead light flickers like something from a horror movie, but I look remarkably fierce in my candy red jumpsuit and strings of glittering faux crystal necklaces.
I look fierce and hopefully unforgettable to all the people about to watch me swagger into a dive coffee shop dressed like a supermodel refugee from the age of disco.
The dead man’s switch is our heavy hitter, but witnesses are a form of insurance, too.
I look at the scar on my cheek, that two-inch streak of silver Dex is responsible for putting on my face.
I deliberately avoided covering it with makeup tonight.
I want Gio to see it, and the scars on my arm, too.
I want him to see that I’ve already been through hell.
I doubt he’ll feel any guilt for what his partner did to me, but I hope my scars will give me street cred, that they’ll prove I’m not kidding when I explain what will go down if anything happens to Plato, me, or anyone we love.
Back in the room, Plato is out of his chair, taking his turn staring down at the street below.
We set up a camera on the window ledge this afternoon to record my meeting with Gio and the street in front of both the coffee shop and the gym. If they try something sketchy, we’ll get it on tape. Plato’s recording to his laptop and to a remote folder somewhere, for extra insurance.
It might be too late for insurance to make any difference for me personally at that point, but…
Refusing to think about that, I pull on my jean jacket and reach for the backpack. “Everything’s set in here, right?”
Plato turns from the window, nodding. “Yep, my laptop, the external drive, and both our old phones. That’s everything.
Though once you give Gio the news about the dead man’s switch, they might not care about destroying the hardware.
” More of the color drains from his face as he adds, “Be careful after you tell him, Clover. He’s not going to be happy. ”
I nod. “I know. But I’ll make him see that it’s the only thing that makes sense to ensure everyone honors their part of the bargain. And I’ll make sure he believes me when I say that as long as they’re ready to forget this happened, we are, too.”
My sad, stressed-as-hell friend crosses the room, pulling me in for a hug. “Okay. Be careful. I wish they’d let me do this part. I don’t like that they insisted on it being you.”
“Well, if they think I’ll be an easier target, they’re wrong,” I say, squeezing him tight. I pull back, adding with a forced smile, “I’m way scarier than you are.”
His lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t form. “Yeah, you are. Don’t take any shit, and I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon,” I agree. “And again, I’m so sorry.”
“Stop.” He shakes his head. “Just go get it done and then head to the rendezvous point. I’ll pack up everything here and meet you there in fifteen minutes tops.”
I nod. “And we’ll celebrate.”
“We will,” he says, but I can tell he doesn’t believe it.
He’s deeply spooked. So am I, but I can’t give up hope. I have too much to stay hopeful for. That’s the funny thing about death threats and Trouble with a capital T. It really puts your average, everyday fears in perspective, while underlining the things that matter in permanent ink.
I’m no longer afraid of dating a man with children, or falling in love with him and his girls, or all the sacrifices I’ll have to make to be the woman they need me to be.
Right now, the only thing that scares me is the thought of never getting to hug Ava or Bella again, never getting to laugh with them in the kitchen, never drifting off to sleep again in Dean’s arms.
Promising myself that the future isn’t lost, that I can still get it back, I push through the mustard yellow door into the hallway. A few minutes later, I’m down the stairs, through the lobby, and stepping out into the chilly New Orleans night.
I cross the street before starting toward the coffee shop, ensuring as much of my journey is captured on camera as possible. I take deep breaths, filling my belly and exhaling slowly, doing my best to focus on the task at hand.
I push Dean and the girls from my thoughts.
There will be time to think about them later.
Hopefully, to think about them every day for the rest of my life.
It’s my last thought before thick arms close around me from behind, and I’m hauled backward into the dark alley beside the club.
Looks like I’m not going to make it to the coffee shop.
Not now, and maybe not ever.