Unforgivable

by Laura Griffin

“Not at the moment, no.”

  “In that case, good night.”

  Mia clicked off and stuffed the phone into her pocket. She didn’t like to be snippy with people, but for heaven’s sake, they were supposed to be protecting her. That was part of the bargain. And somehow an armed man had slipped under their radar.

  She found Ric sitting in her living room with a basketball game on mute. He was eating something off one of her dishes.

  “I want to know how you got in here.”

  He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. He swigged water from one of her glasses. “Back door,” he finally said, plunking the glass down.

  “You just waltzed through the back door?”

  “You think I slid down the chimney?”

  Mia stalked into the kitchen. She inspected her lock. Everything looked normal. She pressed some buttons on her alarm system and saw that the last entry had been eight minutes ago through the back door.

  She returned to the living room. “Who gave you my alarm code?”

  “You did.”

  She stared at him. He must have watched over her shoulder as she’d entered it the other night. She’d never thought to hide it from him.

  “And the lock?”

  “Locks can be picked.” He polished off his food.

  “What about the FBI team?”

  “What about them?”

  “How’d you get past them? They’re supposed to be staking out my street.”

  He shoved his plate away. “Looks like they were sleeping on the job.”

  Mia refused to believe that they were sleeping. But they must have been distracted. Ric had proved his point.

  She went to stand beside her sofa where he sat, watching her with an angry gleam in his eye.

  “I told you this was a bad idea, didn’t I? I could have just as easily been someone coming in here to kill you.”

  Mia stepped closer.

  “And what would you have done, thrown a bar of soap at me?”

  She tucked her hands into the pockets of her robe. He was right. And he’d come there to demonstrate that he was right to her and the team of agents camped out half a block away. She hoped they’d gotten the message.

  “Thank you.”

  He scowled, and she could tell that he hadn’t expected gratitude.

  She sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. “You don’t understand why I’m doing this, do you?”

  “No.”

  She looked at him. “I realized something, only I realized it too late. I realized it after I’d already done what this guy wanted, after I’d already let him use me and compromise my integrity.”

  “You were coerced, Mia. That doesn’t mean shit about your integrity. This whole immunity thing is pure manipulation. Ask your sister if you don’t believe me.”

  “Just listen.” She had to explain this. She needed him to understand. At some point, his opinion of her had come to matter. “I thought going along with it would keep Sam safe, and me safe, and Vivian, and whoever else. But after it was done, I realized that it wouldn’t keep anyone safe at all. I did what he needed me to, and now I’m a liability. I’ll never be safe until he’s caught. Neither will my family, because he obviously knows that’s my Achilles’ heel. So if there’s something I can do to help investigators bring him in, I’m going to do it.”

  “I can’t believe you’d let them use you as bait,” he said. “They don’t give a damn about you. And they only care about this guy because they think they can flip him and get the goods on someone important.”

  Mia sighed. She couldn’t make him understand, so she redirected the conversation. “What did your brother say just now?”

  “Someone screwed up, but it won’t happen again.”

  “This wasn’t his idea, you know. Delmonico came up with it. You shouldn’t be mad at Rey.”

  “He should have given me a heads up as soon as he got wind of this, when there was still time to change the plan. He didn’t.”

  “Please let it go, Ric. I don’t want you mad at your brother because of me. You two seem close.”

  He watched her. For the first time since she’d sat beside him, she was acutely aware of the robe she had on and the way he was looking at her.

  She scooted closer to him on the sofa. She had no idea why she did it, except that he was there, and all of the logical things she’d been telling herself about shielding her heart from him seemed irrelevant now. She wanted that intimacy back from the other night, even if she could only have it for a few hours.

  “I saw the Sig in your purse.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “He give you anything else?”

  His voice had an edge, and he wasn’t just asking about firearms. But she decided to take the question at face value.

  “He lent me a shotgun. Said it’s the best home-security weapon because it doesn’t require much aim.”

  “Where is it?”

  “My hall closet.”

  He got up and walked to the closet. She watched him take the gun out and check to see if it was loaded.

  “Extra shells?”

  “Box on the floor,” she said. As if she’d ever need more than one. She’d had this argument with Scott that morning, but he’d insisted.

  Annoyed now, Mia cleared Ric’s dishes and dumped them into the sink. On the counter was a brown paper bag. She peeked inside and opened one of the foil-wrapped bundles.

  He’d sneaked into her house with a bag of tamales.

  When she went back into the living room, he was on her couch again, checking messages on his phone. She sat on the sofa arm and watched him.

  “I brought food if you want some,” he said.

  “I don’t like to eat right before bed.”

  He looked up. “You’re going to bed?”

  “Well, it’s after eleven. Why? How long are you going to be here?”

  “I’m spending the night.”

  She laughed at his audacity. “Oh, really? And where are you planning to sleep?”

  “I’m not. I’m here to work, not play.”

  She jerked back, stung. Those few glib words told her exactly what he thought of their night together. Very little.

  She stood up. “Good night, Ric. There’s a blanket in the closet if you get cold.”

  The State House was dark and quiet. Light spilled into the hallway from one of the offices, and he heard low voices coming from inside.

  Lane sat at his desk in the wrinkled remains of the suit he’d probably worn to some fund-raiser today. The jacket had been tossed onto the back of his chair, and the lieutenant gov and his spokeswoman were engaged in a quiet debate about something. The man stepped through the door, and Lane surged to his feet.

  “Where have you been?”

  He stood in the doorway and waited silently until Lane mumbled something to the woman. She tucked her legal pad under her arm and cast him a curious look on her way out.

  When she was gone, he closed the door and crossed his arms. “Don’t call me at home again. Ever.”

  Lane put his hands on his hips and had the nerve to look pissed. “Where the hell were you? I’m going out of my mind here.”

  “Taking care of business.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “And?”

  “And it’s almost taken care of.”

  “Almost? When will it be taken care of?”

  “Soon.”

  “You said that days ago! What the hell happened?”

  Ric Santos happened. Bitterness lodged in his throat as he saw him again through binoculars, slipping through Mia Voss’s back door.

  “I’ll get it done,” he said with confidence. He’d come up with a new strategy, and nothing could get in his way this time.

  Lane clutched the hair at his temples and looked like a man about to lose it. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

  Enjoying Lane’s distress, he calmly walked over to a credenza lined with photographs. Probably planted by some consultant who thought they’d look good on the new
s.

  Too bad Lane didn’t get the irony. With his control over the legislature, the Lite Gov—as his security detail called him—had more power than the real one, who was mostly a figurehead. Politically, Lane was a man to fear. A powerhouse.

  And right now, Lane was at his mercy, which made him the single most powerful man in the state. With one phone call, he could turn Lane’s life and his family’s lives and all of their political ambitions to dust.

  He glanced at the man with contempt, a man some said had hopes for the White House. Squashing him now would be an act of patriotism, more so than anything he’d ever done for his country.

  Problem was, by destroying Lane, he’d be destroying himself, too. Their connection went back further than he liked to remember—back to the days when he’d still had a conscience about this shit.

  Lane was watching him anxiously, as if he was going to say something to put all of his fears to rest.

  He let him squirm.

  Turning his back on the politician, he surveyed the wall of photographs. One showed his kid in a baseball helmet, his hands choked up on the bat. The boy was maybe eight, ten. About the age his own daughter had been when he’d first crossed the line.

  He’d been thinking about that case a lot lately. Fifteen years ago, but it was still fresh in his mind. It had been a known pedophile suspected in a kid killing. Scumbag was guilty as sin, but they’d had nothing, so he’d planted the dead girl’s sock in the guy’s car.

  One sock. That was it. Justice was done, and he slept easier knowing he’d made the world safer for his daughter.

  The things people did for their kids.

  “Well?” Lane demanded.

  He turned around and pulled a pack of smokes from his pocket. “Well what?”

  “What’s the plan?”

  He lit the cigarette and took a drag, then nodded at one of the pictures beside him. Lane and his wife at a college graduation ceremony.

  “You know, your kid’s a piece of shit,” he said, and Lane’s gaze narrowed. “What’s your plan about that?” He flicked his ash on the Oriental rug. “Two DUIs out in California. A drunk-and-disorderly here in Austin. Who’d you pay off to get that to disappear?”

  “Kurt is sick.”

  “No kidding.”

  “We’re sending him away soon for treatment.”

  He shook his head. “Whatever works,” he said, knowing it wouldn’t. They both knew it.

  There was a coffee mug on the corner of the desk, and he dropped the cigarette into it. He got up in Lane’s face and poked his chest hard.

  “Don’t call me again.”

  Hatred flared in Lane’s eyes, and the man realized he’d been wrong. Lane did get the irony. He knew exactly who had the power here.

  “Get your job done, and I won’t have to,” Lane said tightly.

  “I’ll get it done.” He crossed the room and reached for the doorknob. “You can count on it.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Mia found a Santos brother in her kitchen the next morning, but it wasn’t the one who’d been in her dream. Rey stood at the coffee maker in a crisp white shirt and a tie. He had a gun on his hip and a BlackBerry pressed to his ear.

  “I heard,” he was telling someone. “But what about the barbecue tongs?”

  Mia’s hand froze as she reached for a mug. Rey knew about the tongs?

  “All right, thanks … Yeah … Okay, will do.”

  He clicked off as she poured some coffee. She skipped the cream today because she needed an extra jolt.

  He watched her take the first gulp, and she wondered if she looked as tired as she felt. She’d slept restlessly. Her hair had been uncooperative that morning, so she’d stuck it in a ponytail before throwing on a sweater and some faded jeans. Now she felt underdressed beside Rey’s neat business attire.

  “What’s new on the case?” she asked.

  He hesitated, probably reviewing what she’d overheard before deciding how much to tell her.

  “We got some results back,” he said. “From the cigarette wrapper and the barbecue tongs collected at the incinerator.”

  “That’s interesting, because I thought the tongs were being processed by the Delphi Center, not the FBI.”

  “You might have noticed that we’ve taken over this case. Our agents are leading the joint task force. Other law-enforcement agencies are still playing a role, but we’re trying to coordinate efforts.”

  Mia rested her cup on the counter. “I’ve been involved with a lot of murder cases, but I’ve never seen quite this level of interest from so many agencies.”

  Rey watched her. He looked guarded, just like his brother.

  “Are you ever planning to tell me who this mysterious suspect is? Why is everyone protecting his identity?”

  “Not protecting his identity,” he said. “Protecting the investigation. We don’t want any leaks compromising the case we’re trying to build.”

  An uneasy feeling settled over her. There was something very unusual about all of this, but she wasn’t getting it.

  “What about the tongs?” she asked.

  “Prints came back to a twenty-three-year-old who has a record of check fraud.”

  Check fraud. Not what she’d expected.

  “He also happens to have a job in the stockroom at Sloan’s Hardware. The store carries tongs like that, which would explain why his prints were there.”

  “Any chance someone at the store might remember who bought the tongs?”

  “We’re looking into it. They sold nearly a hundred this year, though, so we’re not optimistic.”

  “And the cigarette wrapper?” she asked.

  “Nothing in the system. We were going on only a partial, so getting a match was iffy.”

  Mia watched him talk, struck once again by how much he looked like his brother. This was an older, more polished version, but their voices were similar, and so were their mannerisms. He had Ric’s intensity but his was slightly better hidden.

  Mia realized that she had an opportunity here—a few moments alone with someone who knew Ric better than anybody—and she’d be stupid not to take advantage of it.

  “Can I ask you something?” She sipped her coffee and wasn’t surprised when he simply gave her a neutral look. She set the mug down. “What happened with Ric and his wife?”

  “Sandra?” He looked surprised but covered it quickly. “You should ask Ric about that.”

  She tipped her head to the side and gazed at him. There was a barely perceptible softness in his brown eyes that told her he knew that Ric was keeping her at arm’s length.

  “It was messy,” he said.

  Okay, three words weren’t much, but they were a start. She decided to go with a hunch she’d had. She didn’t know where it had come from, maybe Ric’s reaction to her staying at Scott’s.

  “Did she cheat on him?”

  Rey looked at her and took a sip of his coffee. A few heavy moments ticked by. She’d gotten a yes without him actually having to break his brother’s confidence.

  He set the cup aside and folded his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

  “I’d love to, but—” She cleared her throat, feeling more pathetic than ever. “He seems to have this inability to, I don’t know, open up about anything personal. With me, at least. Maybe I’m the problem.”

  “You’re not.”

  From across the kitchen, her phone chimed inside her purse. She stared at Rey, trying to read the meaning behind that answer. The phone chimed again, and she walked over to dig it out of her bag. Vivian.

  “How’s it going over there?” Her sister’s voice sounded relaxed, and Mia hoped she was enjoying her early spring break trip with Sam.

  “Okay,” Mia said. “How are you guys?”

  “I won’t use the word b-o-r-e-d. But if I have to play another game of Old Maid, I’m going to need therapy.”

  “I thought you guys were going to spend your time on the beach?”

&nb
sp; “It’s been raining nonstop. Listen, I’m serious. How’s it really going? What’s happening with the investigation?”

  “Refill?” Rey held out the coffee pot.

  “Thanks,” she said, and he topped off her cup. “It’s coming along,” she told Viv. “They’re exploring new leads.”

  “Mia.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is that a man in your house at seven in the morning?”

  “Actually, yes.” Mia walked to the back door for a small measure of privacy. “He’s an FBI agent. He stopped by to brief me on the case.” And to play bodyguard, but she didn’t want to mention that to Vivian. Her sister was worried enough already.

  “Since when is the FBI—”

  “I’ll have to explain later,” Mia said as an enormous black pickup glided up the driveway. Scott stopped right beside the back stoop and jumped out.

  Mia pulled open the door before he could knock. “I’m almost ready. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yeah, love some.” Scott stepped inside and traded nods with the other alpha male standing in the room.

  “What is going on over there?” Vivian asked.

  “That’s Scott. He’s giving me a ride to work.”

  “Scott Black?”

  “I still haven’t gotten my insurance check, so he offered.”

  Silence on the other end as Vivian absorbed this. Mia grabbed her jacket off the kitchen chair and pulled it on. “Viv says hi,” she told Scott, who was pouring joe into her sixteen-ounce travel mug.

  “Tell her hi. You ready now?”

  Mia grabbed her purse and did an inventory: jacket, phone, keys, purse, bodyguard. Did she have everything?

  “I think so.” She held the door for Rey and then Scott, who turned and blocked her way when she tried to step out.

  “Conversation time’s over.” He nodded at her phone. “You need to pay attention now.”

  He was right. She kept trying to forget the whole reason all these people were there: someone wanted to hurt her.

  “Hey, Viv?”

  “Mia, what on earth—”

  “I have to go now. Everything’s fine, okay? I’ll fill you in later.”

  • • •

  Sophie poked her head into the office, and Mia knew she was cornered.

  “You’re skipping lunch again, aren’t you?”