65. Mandy
MANDY
Hendricks has been in the vault for almost two hours.
I know because I’ve heard him come upstairs twice—once for coffee and once for his phone charger. Both times wearing the same expression he gets when he’s trying to personally intimidate the universe into cooperating.
He’s checking Monday again: routes, security, Ashford’s men, contingencies for the contingencies… He’s also communicating with Ashford, feeding him information and making sure everything is set up properly.
Which leaves me alone to deal with the one thing we still haven’t figured out: Clara.
I sit in the kitchen, an untouched donut on a plate in front of me, staring at her picture on my phone. We can plan around Ashford all we want, but if Clara stays where she is, she’s a loose end with a pulse. We don’t know how Ashford intends to use her. We don’t even know if he knows she exists.
That’s the problem.
We can’t protect her from something we can’t predict. Turner being imprisoned doesn’t guarantee her safety.
So she needs to disappear.
Not Whitlock-security disappear. Not private-jet-to-another-state disappear. Actually disappear.
There’s only one person I know who can do that.
I look at the donut. “This is a bad idea, right?”
The donut remains dubious.
“Like you have a better idea.” I hit call before the donut offers any other objections.
Gabriel answers on the third ring.
“Mandy.” Suspicion is already baked into my name. “Tell me you’re not calling because you’re in trouble again.”
“Still,” I correct. “And I need a favor.”
He sighs.
“You don’t even know what it is,” I protest.
“I know you.”
Fair. I shrug. “I need you to pick someone up and keep her safe.”
The pause is more pregnant than Emma Callahan. “Who?” he asks, suspicion in his voice.
I take a breath. “Clara Whitlock.”
Silence.
Then, very quietly in his chilliest enforcer voice, he says, “No.”
Wincing, I get up and go onto the porch. I can tell this call is going to take longer than I thought, and I don’t want Hendricks to happen upon me until it’s done. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
“You said the name Whitlock and that finished it for me.”
Ignoring his drama, I say, “I need you to get her out of sight.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Mandy. You’re talking about Clara Whitlock, James Whitlock’s favorite niece.”
“So you know her.”
He snorts. “Everyone knows her. More importantly, my family knows her family.”
That’s why my plan is going to work. I hope. “I’m aware.”
“Are you?” His voice sharpens. “Because you just asked a Reyes to involve himself with a Whitlock. Not just involve myself, but to kidnap a Whitlock.”
“I asked you to keep a woman alive.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “That woman has a family with enough money, security, lawyers, and political influence to invade a small country.”
“None of that helps if they don’t know what they’re protecting her from. Turner has her marked, Gabriel.”
That shuts him up.
I stare off into the tree line. What happened to me was a long time ago, but some things stay no matter how much time has passed and how much you heal. “You know I can’t gamble her life. I’d rather be wrong and piss off every Whitlock in Montana than be right and too late.”
He’s silent a long time. “Tell the Whitlocks.”
“And say what? We think someone might come for Clara, we don’t know who, when, how, or why?”
“Yes, but preferably with fewer words.”
I snort. “They’ll throw me in jail.”
“One less liability in the world.”
“No one would look for Clara Whitlock with Gabriel Reyes,” I say brightly.
“Because our families hate each other.”
“See? It’s perfect.” I cross my fingers. “Absolutely no sane person would believe you’d risk your ass taking a Whitlock.”
“I’m hanging up.”
I have him now. “It makes you perfect.”
“Mandy, you want me to kidnap Clara Whitlock.”
Pursing my lips, I think about that. “Well, I guess technically, yeah. Does that make it more tempting?”
“Mandy, have you lost your fucking mind?” He’s walking, because I can hear his shoes clacking crisply on tile. “You’re asking me to abduct a Whitlock. If her family finds out I took her, they won’t ask questions. They’ll come for mine.”
I shrug. “Then don’t get caught.”
“Brilliant.” Sarcasm drips off the word. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you were too busy complaining,” I say sweetly.
He mutters something in Spanish I’m fairly certain is anatomically impossible.
When the cursing stops, I say quietly, “Gabriel, you know what happens to women who get caught in Turner’s world.” My fingers tighten around the phone. “I’m telling you Clara might be next.”
“Might.”
“Yes.”
He pauses. When he speaks, he sounds calmer. “And that’s enough for you?”
I think about Turner’s notebooks. The names. The girls who never got a warning. “Yes.”
A long silence stretches between us.
Then Gabriel starts swearing again—in English this time as well as in Spanish. I lean against the porch railing and wait him out.
Finally, he says, “You’re going to owe me for this until one of us dies.”
“Probably you, after the Whitlocks find out,” I tease.
“Fuck.” He says a few more things in Spanish. “Send me everything you have,” and he hangs up.
I lower the phone.
Well. Clara Whitlock is about to be kidnapped by Gabriel Reyes. God, I hope she has a sense of humor.
Going back inside, I send him the information we gathered on Clara before either of us can regain our common sense.
Then I pick up the donut. “I hope you don’t say ‘told you so’ if this all goes to hell.”
I take a bite before it can reply.
Yet I can’t help but think a floor beneath me, Hendricks is still in the vault, building contingencies for every possible way Monday can go wrong—and he doesn’t realize I’ve just created one he hasn’t thought of.
I make a face. I should probably tell him.
I stand.
Then I sit back down. Maybe after dinner.
The donut stares at me, glazed and judgmental.
“Shut up.” I take another bite.