“So let me ask you, Sam. You knew Lillian well. Can you think of anywhere she would have put this box and bottle?” Luis stands up and walks in front of me.
My dilemma comes around full circle with the amount of money involved. If my relationship with Mike is dead either way—by his death or by me confessing that I killed Lillian—then shouldn’t I at least benefit from the money? That kind of money is more than life-changing. It is life-creating. It could insulate me with enough security and anonymity to ensure a long, happy, and peaceful life, one of extravagant wealth. I deserve that. I’ve earned that.
“No,” I say weakly—and it comes out perfectly and convincingly. “I . . . I don’t have any idea where it could be. But please—maybe if you give Mike some more time, he could figure it out.” I put the focus back on Mike so cleanly, so perfectly, that I have to resist the urge to smile. Sometimes I do that—I give this smug smile that, as my father once said, makes someone want to “section off my lips with a bolt cutter.” Luis seems like he’d be good with a bolt cutter, so I keep my lips pinned together and my eyes concerned. Let’s not forget who is to blame here. Make Mike fix this.
“Mike seems to be struggling with the motivation to figure it out. I think we could help him along.” Luis holds out his hand toward a man in a black T-shirt and a full beard. The man passes him a gun, which he swings toward me. I inhale sharply, but before I can speak, the gun is moving farther left, sweeping past Mike and stopping on Jacob.
Jacob. When I met him, he was a chubby-cheeked twelve-year-old. We bonded over a shared love of crude comedians and action movies. He once confided in me that he found alien women more attractive than real ones. He thinks that his father is a dork and his mother is a horrible cook. He is terrified of high school judgments and opinions. In some ways, he is very similar to a young me. In other ways, I don’t understand a thing going through his head.
It was hard for me to post that video of Lillian. Not because of her—I could give two shits about her. But I understood exactly how Jacob, his friends, and his school would react to this. I understood how deeply it would negatively affect him, and I needed that level of embarrassment—and his reaction to it—to properly damage Lillian and Mike’s marriage.
Now I watch as he swallows, staring at the nose of the gun, and a tear leaks from the corner of his left eye. He shouldn’t have to die for Mike and Lillian’s mistakes. Am I really about to let that happen?
I have the key. I could tell them, right now, and throw myself on the sword.
Throw myself on the sword and lose Mike.
And the money.
And maybe they’ll kill all of us anyway.
I pull my gaze away from Jacob’s face and concentrate on a crack on the concrete floor.
Mike sobs out a plea, and I wait for the sound of the shot.
CHAPTER 72
LILLIAN
I can’t take this. I’m screaming at my husband, at Sam, at someone to do something . . . but they are all just standing there, while the businessman points a gun at my son.
Sam has the key—he knows he has the key—and he looked straight into my son’s face and stayed silent. It was then that I knew he had killed me. That drink, or maybe something after it—whatever it was, this man I welcomed into my heart, into my home . . . What was it that Luis said? Romance doesn’t mix well with our business.
He’s a snake and a liar and a killer, and I am once again responsible for all this. I brought Sam into our lives. I trusted him. I loved him. Apparently, so did Mike, who should be strangling the truth out of him.
The businessman gives Mike one last chance to come up with an idea, and Sam is staring at the ground like a coward, waiting for my son to die. My fury erupts and I’m trembling, and why can’t this be like the movies? Why can’t I create a gust of wind, or knock Luis backward, or sneak into Sam’s head and force the words out of him?
There’s a loud bang from above, not like a gun but like the thud of collision, and we all look upstairs.
Another thud sounds, followed by shouting and heavy footsteps, and all the men in the room, save my three, start to move and shout, but there is nowhere for them to go. We are all trapped down here, and something is thrown down the stairs and suddenly everything explodes in a glare of light and sound. I try to duck out of instinct, and I’m suddenly outside the home, and there are uniforms everywhere, surrounding the house, guns drawn, and then I see something that makes my heart soar with happiness and relief.
It is Lenny, in his work uniform, a bulletproof vest over his chest, standing away from the house, his back stiff, eyes scanning the house, features tight.
Lenny. My alcoholic knight in shining cemetery garb.
CHAPTER 73
MIKE
Four days later
Maybe Lill’s an angel and she called in a favor. Whatever the reason, my ass was saved in the fourth quarter with three seconds left on the clock. The task force was a combination of DEA and local cops, and they arrested everyone, even the old lady upstairs, then sorted out the pieces back at the station.
My fourth or fifth contingency plan was always to turn state’s evidence, and in handcuffs, it was an easy decision to make. My house is a treasure trove of documentation, and I gave up the combination to the guest-room safe, plus the shed—both items they would have found on their own.
For the third day in a row, I’m sitting in a room with four feds and a local cop and giving the details of every single cartel member and transaction I’ve ever been a part of, including ones with Sam—though I insist that he never knew anything about the nature of the money being used in the transactions.
They’re skeptical about this. I can see the looks that shoot between them. They aren’t sure whether I’m stupid or lying, but I stick to the lie and they move on, because I have a lot of other things to share.
I want a deal. Full witness protection, for the rest of Jacob’s and my lives. I want it somewhere cold, in the mountains. Near a big city but not in one. They nod—oh yes, sure—and are agreeing to everything, even the full immunity, which I expected but am still pleased by.
I am fine with them seizing all my assets, but I want Lillian’s life-insurance policies to go to whatever new identity Jacob gets. They aren’t sure about this—$6 million is a steep amount—but someone calls someone and it is approved. Congratulations, son. You’re a future millionaire. I insisted it be put in a trust until he’s thirty, which will give me enough time to teach him proper money management.
Jacob is pissed and I don’t care. I almost saw his head blown off, so I’m just grateful that he’s breathing—later, once everything settles, he will understand, or start to understand, why we cannot ever go back home and cannot ever speak to anyone we ever knew, ever again.
For me, it’s a relief. I was sick of Sam. Tired of the constant pressure of the cartel. I’d spent the last two years dreaming of retirement—granted, I expected to be in a mansion with a view of the ocean—but I can adjust to small-town life. Work at a job where no one will kill me, no matter how badly I fuck something up. Meet another woman, maybe a man. Do a better job of raising my son.
Tomorrow we’re getting on a private plane and heading to our new home. Midair, we’ll get our new identities and location, which is around the time that Lillian’s burial will be held. I haven’t mentioned this to Jacob, and he hasn’t asked about a funeral. Maybe he’ll think of it in a week or so, but it’s not like we will be able to ever visit her grave.