This was the right thing to do. Maybe Dennis was wrong. Maybe there was someone she could trust.
She dialed the number for the FBI field office. When they answered, she swallowed hard and launched into an explanation.
“Hello, my name is Shanice, and I’m in possession of some data that I think you would be interested in.”
“What kind of data?” the woman on the other end asked.
“I’m not sure. Names and dollar amounts. I don’t understand what it all means, but I know it’s bad. There are people willing to kill to get this list.”
“And you have this information in your possession?”
Shanice paused, not wanting to say too much. “Are you the person that I should be speaking to?”
The woman’s voice gentled. “Ma’am, I need to get more information from you so that I’ll know how to route your call.”
“That’s all the information I’m able to give you. The only other thing I can tell you is that someone close to me died because of this information. I don’t want to die,” she said, voice trembling at the end.
“I understand. Based on what you’ve told me so far, I believe I know who I should route your call to. Please hold for Agent Stenson.”
“Thank you.”
Shanice waited in the silence while the call was being transferred. Then she had a thought. What if the agent who came on the line didn’t believe her or didn’t do anything to help? What if…?
Shanice squeezed her eyes shut, paralyzed by fear. Dennis was dead, and she was pretty sure he hadn’t killed himself. Could she be next?
“Hello, this is Agent Stenson.”
Shanice opened her mouth to speak, fully intending to tell him everything. Instead, she slammed her mouth shut and hung up the phone.
Shaking, she buried her face in her hands and fought the urge to cry. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to divulge what she knew.
That same feeling, the overwhelming sense of aloneness that had consumed her the past couple of months, charged back into her life.
She knew she had to do something. She just didn’t know what.
9
The ride home seemed extra long, and Shanice almost kept driving, heading out of town to go far away from her troubles. She wanted to start over. But where would she go?
She pulled onto the street where she lived, surprised there wasn’t a single car parked on either side of the road like normal. The tech guy’s house was dark.
Because of his constant partying, the neighbors had called the police a few times, so maybe he’d finally settled down and was showing respect to the people who lived here.
Or maybe he’s out of town, she thought.
Whatever the reason, tonight she got a break from maneuvering between all of his guests’ cars clogging the street.
As she pulled into the driveway, her phone chimed. She fished it out of her bag and saw a text from Ava.
Ava: Don’t be mad. I need to cancel. He called and wants us to get together tonight. Can I take a raincheck?
Shanice parked in the garage so she could reply.
Shanice: Of course I’m not mad. Have fun, and the next time I see you, I want all the details.
A twist of jealousy pricked her chest.
Ava: Deal! [kissy face]
Maybe she should call Vicente.
No. Stop being needy. She wanted company, but tonight was a night for thinking and planning. She considered trying the FBI field office again but wasn’t sure if she should. Maybe she should simply walk in there and tell them everything she knew.
Shanice let out a loud cry of exasperation. She liked to read. She liked walks on the beach and picking fruit in the summer. Her life used to be simple and uneventful. She had no clue how to navigate law enforcement and the information in her possession.
Once inside the house, she stopped suddenly and faced the door leading into the garage. Had she forgotten to turn on the alarm before she left? Sometimes she did forget. This was such a good neighborhood, there were times both she and Beatrice left the house without setting it, especially if they were going somewhere nearby and planned to come back within a short period of time.
Standing in the middle of the kitchen, her skin prickled with unease. She surveyed the room—the sparkling steel appliances and the toaster on the counter to her right. Nothing appeared out of place, yet the house was…off, for lack of a better word. The air, the energy, something.
Maybe she should call Vicente and beg him to stay with her. She would absolutely feel safer if he was there.
Then she laughed at herself, dismissing her apprehension. She was only nervous because she’d called the FBI office today. The call had reminded her of why she left Texas and the potential danger she faced.
Humming, Shanice poured a glass of water and removed a white plate from the cabinet. She pulled a serrated steak knife from a drawer in the island and cut two thin circles of bread from a loaf in the bread tin. Then she slathered peanut butter and jelly onto the slices and stood eating her snack at the island.
Needing a break from thinking so much, she scrolled through her Twitter feed. She laughed at a funny cat video and then started watching the shenanigans of a YouTube comedian currently trending on Twitter.
Behind her, the pantry door creaked open.
She became perfectly still. Before she could turn around, cold metal pressed into the back of her head, and she heard a click.
Shanice stopped breathing, and she became rigid with fear. Oh dear god, that’s why the house had felt off. Someone had been inside.
She whimpered, too afraid to move even a millimeter.
“Shh, you’re going to be fine. You have something I need,” a male voice said.
“I-I don’t know what you mean.”
She started trembling, eyes sweeping the kitchen for a weapon. She couldn’t move fast enough to smash the glass of water over his head. He’d shoot her before her hand lifted halfway from the counter. She could stab him, but how would she get to the serrated knife almost within reach without him shooting her first?
“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart.”
“If you tell me what you’re looking for…” Her voice shook. Maybe she could buy some time until she figured out what to do. He needed something from her and therefore wouldn’t kill her right away, right?
“Put the phone down and turn around. Slowly.”
“I don’t want to see your face.” He’d definitely kill her if she saw his face and could identify him.
“Turn the fuck around!” the man said in a harsh tone.
On the verge of tears, Shanice closed her eyes, and her face crumbled.
With a trembling hand, she placed the phone on the island and slowly turned to face the intruder. He was tall and dressed in all black—black jeans and a black T-shirt that showed off his wiry, muscular arms. His dark hair was curly and tapered in the back. With his serious face and cold eyes, he looked like he’d never smiled a day in his life.
He kept the gun pointed only inches from her forehead, which magnified her fear tenfold. What if the gun accidentally went off and he shot her?
At such a devastating thought, Shanice whimpered again and closed her eyes. Terror sent another shiver tearing through her body.
“Shh. You’re going to be okay.”
“You’re going to kill me,” she whispered.