by Freya Barker
“What?”
Mike Bolter sticks his head inside. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Chief. Just letting you know I got a call from that San Antonio fed. He’s outside his witness’s house and was wondering where the patrol car was we told him would be there.”
“Shit! Let me guess, the officer assigned this detail is one of the guys who called in sick?” I start fishing through the stack of papers on my desk and grab the printout of the email the agent sent me before the weekend. I forget his name.
“Got it in one. You were on the phone, so I told him it was up to him if he wanted to proceed without backup. Thought you should know, since it’s right across from you.”
“What do you mean, across from me?”
“The address. It’s on Animas Place.”
My eyes scan the email and I spot it right away, the name I couldn’t place from Trinny’s open chat. Christian Rizzoli. Not bothering to read more, I shove the email in my jacket pocket, snatch my keys from the desk, and push past Bolter out the door.
“Chief?”
“I’m heading over. That’s my babysitter’s house,” I call over my shoulder on my way out the door.
I should’ve read the damn email on Friday when it came in, instead of telling Bolter to take care of it because I was in a hurry to get out the door. The entire way there, I’m trying to come up with reasons why Trinny is chatting with a guy the feds are interested in, when it finally occurs to me their similar last names may not be a coincidence.
I see the black SUV parked outside the moment I turn onto Animas Place. I pull the Toyota in my own driveway before jogging across the road and banging on the door.
The first thing I notice when Ollie opens the door is how pale her face is. She literally looks like she’s seen a ghost.
“Now’s not a good time,” she whispers, peeking behind her before trying to close the door on me.
“Ollie, let me in. I’m here in official capacity.”
I hate seeing the shock on her face, but my words have the desired effect as she swings the door open before turning her back and walking inside. I close her door and follow her into the living room.
“I suppose you know each other,” Ollie says, sitting down in the recliner.
“Actually, we don’t,” I correct her, holding my hand out to the agent who has gotten to his feet. “Police Chief Joe Benedetti. I presume you’re Agent Livingston?” He takes my hand with a grin.
“That would be me. Name is Cruz. Pleased to meet you, Chief Benedetti.”
“Joe.” He nods and is clearly waiting for me to say more. “You should probably know I’m also Ms. Rizzo’s friend and neighbor, and her daughter Trinity’s employer.”
“No shit?”
“None. You’ll have to forgive me. I never actually had a chance to read your email myself, so I’m not quite clear on what it is you want with Ms. Rizzo or her daughter.”
“It’s okay, Joe.”
I swing around to look at Ollie. “What do you mean it’s okay?”
“Cruz is not here to give me a hard time. He came here to warn me.”
“You? Why?”
She shakes her head slightly. “Sit down, Joe. Looks like my past finally caught up to me. This may take a while.”
“Want me to?” Livingston offers, looking sympathetically at Ollie.
“I’ll start, you can fill in whatever I’m missing. I should probably get some coffee going for this.” She starts getting up but the agent stops her.
“I’ve got it,” he says, getting up and walking into the kitchen where we can hear him opening cupboards.
“You want the long or the short version?” she asks me, the expression on her face one of defeat.
“Whatever is easier for you.”
“A nap would be nice right now, but I’m guessing that’s off the table.” She sighs deeply, staring at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Agent Livingston is a friend of former Agent Adam Szura, who helped me disappear from San Antonio eighteen years ago. They think my brother might come looking for me.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Olivia’s brother is the lawyer for the Montenegro crime family.” Livingston walks back in the room and sits down. “The Bureau has spent years trying to build a case against the family. Two months ago, we finally secured solid evidence against Mr. Rizzoli and his firm, and brought him in for questioning. When he recognized he was going down, he decided to talk in exchange for an amended sentence. He was able to give us some good information, but he must’ve gotten cold feet, because he managed to escape his escort to the safe house. We have reason to believe he’ll try to contact Ms. Rizzo.”
“He has. I spoke to him once, briefly, and he’s tried calling twice more, but I just answered that first time.”
I’m still trying to wrap my head around what they’re telling me. “Wait. You said the FBI helped you disappear?”
“Not the FBI, just Agent Szura. He helped me get into the Cottonwood Rehab Center, here in town, by pulling a few strings.”
“Why did you need to disappear?”
“Because I was naïve, and had no idea the boyfriend I’d just seen blown to smithereens by a car bomb—the man I thought was my brother’s friend—was really the son of a notorious Mafia kingpin and my brother’s employer.”
“Holy fuck.” The expletive slips from my lips as I stare at her slack-jawed.
“That’s what I said when the FBI agents by my bedside were pumping me for information I didn’t have.”
“Is that how you—”
“Lost my leg? Yes. I was just getting in the car when the bomb went off. I guess it was triggered when Vito turned the key in the ignition.” I notice she rubs her leg almost absentmindedly when she talks about it. “I don’t remember much of what happened, until I woke up in the hospital with my lower leg missing. It had been mangled and they’d had to amputate.”
“Jesus, Ollie,” I groan, but she waves her hand dismissively.
“It’s fine—I survived—but I didn’t want anything to do with the Montenegro family. Or my brother, for that matter. I was furious with him for pulling me into this sordid life he’d chosen, ranted at him for putting me at risk, and told him if he cared for me even a little, he would never attempt to find me.”
Over coffee, Agent Livingston explains that in the aftermath of the murder of Vito Montenegro, there’d been a slew of what was suspected to have been retaliatory hits, virtually wiping out a local gang. The group had been needlessly concerned about their drug turf—since the Montenegros were hardly interested in street level crime—and had gone head-to-head with the much more powerful adversary.
Ollie visibly shivers at what is apparently news to her, but listens intently to the agent.
Since that time, the Montenegro family had established a firm foothold in San Antonio’s crime world, and had proven not to be afraid to flex muscle when deemed necessary. Agent Adam Szura had been instrumental in the years-long investigation of the family before his retirement, and apparently still keeps tabs on its progress.
“I spoke to Adam last week. He was concerned about Olivia when I mentioned her brother disappearing from protective custody. Turns out with good reason, since he apparently has tried contacting her.”
My parental instincts want to protect, but my professional responsibility has me speak up.
“Not just her. You may want to talk to her daughter, Trinny.”
Ollie
You know that feeling? When you delude yourself into thinking you have everything under control, only to realize you’re absolutely powerless when the wheels start coming off?
That’s how I feel at Joe’s words. Like the rug is being pulled from under my life.
“Trinny?” My voice sounds breathless as a sick churning turns my stomach.
I have moved heaven and earth to shield her. She knows she has an uncle—I wasn’t going to lie about the only family we have—but I explained he made some bad choices, which is why
he’s not in our lives. Of course, getting older, Trinny had asked more questions and I tried to be as honest as I deemed safe, but I made her promise not to go looking, and to let me know if she were ever contacted.
Apparently that hadn’t been enough.
“It was just this Saturday night. She’d asked if she could use my laptop—she often does when she’s looking after the boys—but I guess she didn’t log out, because when I went to check my email, her chat was still open. I knew I recognized that name.”
“Whose name?” Cruz asks sharply.
“Christian Rizzoli. He mentioned something about it being a surprise and not telling her mom. Shit.” Joe runs a hand through his short hair, his eyes full of regret as he turns them on me. “I’m sorry. I should’ve come to you right away.”
“Can you pull it up?”
“I don’t know. I logged out. Are you good with computers?” Joe asks him. “My skill is rudimentary at best.”
“I know my way around them.”
“Let me go grab it.”
The moment Joe leaves the room; Cruz turns to me. “Does your daughter know—”
“No. Not from me. Never from me,” I firmly cut him off.
He raises his hands defensively. “I’m just making sure.”
“I thought this was over with.”
“I know,” he says compassionately. “For what it’s worth, your brother never once mentioned you. If not for your connection to Adam, I wouldn’t have had a clue where to look for you.”
“So what happens now? What am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing. You do nothing but go about your regular routine, but we’ll have to make sure you’re covered.”
Joe walks in and apparently catches his last words. “I have the entire police force at my disposal. I’ll make sure you have someone at your back at all times.”
“I also have a meeting with Damian Gomez this afternoon,” Cruz outlines. “He’s the special agent in charge of our La Plata County office. I have to be back in San Antonio first thing tomorrow morning myself, which is why I’ll hand over your protection detail to him.”
“I’ll want to sit in.” Joe’s voice is firm, as he stares unwaveringly at Cruz, who eventually relents and nods once.
Already riling, it doesn’t take much for my blood to reach boiling point. “Excuse me. I’m sitting right here. Any chance I get a say in what goes down? I mean I’ve only managed to keep us safe for the past damn eighteen years, and we would still be, if not for my asshole brother.”
Joe quietly hands his laptop to the agent before crouching in front of me, his hands on my knees. Oddly intimate and it works like a cold shower on my hot temper. “You have your daughter to worry about. She’s coming straight to my place after school to look after the boys. I’d feel much better if you could be there. Keep an eye out while we sort out logistics.”
Oh, I know I’m being manipulated, but he pushes all the right buttons and in the process makes a good point.
“Fine,” I bite off, none too graciously.
“I’m in,” Cruz calls out from the kitchen table where he’s moved the laptop. Both Joe and I get up at the same time and crowd behind his chair, trying to get a glimpse of the screen. “Looks like they’ve been talking from about the time he disappeared two weeks ago.”
“Looks like your girl has been very cautious.” Joe points to the latest exchanges on the screen.
Trinny clearly had evaded answering a question about her exact whereabouts. At least one of my Internet rules for her has stuck: never give out your address or phone number.
“If only I hadn’t reached out to him after she was born,” I lament, blaming myself. “He would never have even known of her existence.” I recall never having felt quite as lonely as during the fifteen or so hours of labor it took for Trinity to be born. I was relieved, lonely, and scared out of my wits, so I caved and called my big brother. The one who’d always stood up for me growing up, who’d taken care of me when our parents died in a car crash when I was Trinny’s age—but I forgot he’d also been the one to drag his innocent little sister into the middle of one of Texas’ notorious crime families.
“You can’t know that, and it serves no purpose to blame yourself.” Joe’s words are delivered in his usual soft-spoken voice, but I feel chastised all the same. Even if what he says is the truth.
“Do you mind if I borrow your laptop? One of Gomez’s guys is a computer wiz. I want to run up to the office early and see if he can trace Rizzoli’s IP address to one specific location.”
“Be my guest.”
At the door, Cruz turns to me and grabs one of my hands. “We’re gonna do our best to find your brother so your life can go back to normal.”
I snort at that—my life has never been quite normal—but I nod and close the door behind him. Only to find Joe looming over me when I turn around.
I’m not sure what possesses me, but I take the last step that separates us, and do a face plant in the middle of his wide chest. My arms slip around his waist just as his wrap around me.
Despite the fact my carefully reconstructed life threatens to fall apart at the seams—breathing in his scent and feeling his strength surround me—I feel safe for the first time in eighteen years.
Chapter 8
Joe
“The kids’ll be home soon. We should go.”
I loosen my hold on the woman in my arms and look down at her. Up this close, I notice her eyes aren’t just brown, they have flecks of gold around the irises with thick dark lashes curling away from her eyelids. Faint laugh lines fanning out from the corners the only hint at her age, since her downy skin is otherwise flawless. I try not to look at her lips that I know are full and inviting.
“Okay,” I mumble, letting her go when she finally steps away. I feel the loss right away.
I’m not sure what made her look for comfort in my arms, but once there, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. So the moment she locks her door behind us, I grab her hand and hold on as we cross the street to my place.
“What are you going to tell Trinny?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does she know how you lost your leg?” I open the door and indicate for her to go ahead.
“I told her a car crash. That’s been my story since I came to Durango. She doesn’t really know anything other than her uncle is in with a bad group of people, and I do not want her—or myself for that matter—exposed to that life because it’s dangerous.”
“Maybe you should tell her everything. She’s seventeen, she’s wicked smart, she likely knows there’s more to the story and is curious. Can’t put the genie back in the bottle now. It may be the only way to let her appreciate how dangerous this situation can be.”
“I’m not sure how well she’ll listen to me.”
“Do you think she’ll listen to me?” I ask, turning her by the shoulders to face me. “I’m not afraid to use the fact she used my computer to do something she clearly knows she wasn’t supposed to. To explain, how in doing so, she put not just me, but the boys in the potentially difficult situation as well. She loves my boys, you know?”
“I know.”
Right then the front door flies open and the boys come in, dropping their shit everywhere.
“Hey, Dad!” Ryder doesn’t stop moving until he has his arms around my hips.
“Hey, guys.”
Trinny follows close behind them, but she freezes in the doorway when she spots her mother and me.
“What are you doing here?”
There’s an accusation in her tone as she looks at Ollie. I don’t like hearing her talk to her mother like that, but I understand it.
“Mase, Ryder, put your stuff away, please.” Trinny stands frozen in the doorway, darting looks between her mother and me, as the boys scramble to do as I’ve asked them. “You can have half an hour of game time before homework.”
“Yay!” Rider yells, making a beeline for the basement. Mason follows a
little slower, shooting curious glances in Ollie’s direction.
“Close the door, Trinny.”
“What’s going on?” She closes the door, but stays standing in the hallway. She knows something is up.
“I need to talk to you,” Ollie speaks up. “About your uncle.”
Trinny’s face shows shock and her eyes immediately shoot to me.
“Why don’t you come sit, I’ll put on some coffee,” I announce, turning my back on them, busying myself but keeping my ears open.
“What about him?”
“I had the FBI show up on my doorstep when I got home. Looking for your uncle.”
I can hear Trinny’s sharp intake of breath as I scoop coffee grinds in the filter.
“FBI? Why?”
“He escaped protective custody.”
“What does that mean?”
I flick the switch on the coffee maker and turn around. “He agreed to be a witness against the people he worked for, but something changed his mind and he ran. They think he’s coming here.” I note she avoids my eyes when I look at her. “Trinny, I found your chat open on my computer the other day. I know you’ve been talking to him.”
She immediately looks at her mother. “I didn’t tell him where we were, I promise.”
“Why, Trinny? I told you he was bad news.” Ollie appears to be losing the hold on what is turning out to be a fiery temper, and I see Trinny steeling her spine.
“How did you find him?” I jump in, trying to moderate to avoid an explosion in my kitchen.
“I didn’t,” she immediately responds. “He sent me a friend request on Facebook a long time ago. I never talked to him though.” She adds the last with an apologetic glance at her mom. “Not until a few weeks ago.”
“You should’ve let me know.”
“Mom, I just—”