“Miller, calm down,” Colin said, moving into his sight line, trying to catch his eye.
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Miller raged. “I gave him my word that he would be safe! He risked his life and now—” Miller’s voice broke and Colin cut his eyes away, discomfort etched in every line of his face.
“Fuck this,” Miller muttered, shoving out through the door.
He tore up the hallway separating him from Danny, enveloped in a swirling tornado of fury, buffeted on all sides by guilt and shame and the awful knowledge that his own zeal for Hinestroza’s blood had led to this moment. He’d been so damn anxious to nail Hinestroza that he’d ignored Danny’s human face, manipulated him and threatened him and bent Danny to his will.
And how’s that any different from what Hinestroza’s been doing to him for the last decade? You may be on opposite sides of the law, but your methods for breaking Danny look awfully similar.
Miller wanted to return to that cold interrogation room where the coppery tang of Danny’s blood clogged the air, where Danny had stood against him, so cocky and arrogant, and whisper in Danny’s ear, Don’t give in. Don’t believe a word I say. Fight me. Fight me. Because Danny had been right. There was no justice here.
THE LIST of potentially relevant features of criminal behavior is long; the fact that they can occur in multiple combinations means that the list of possible permutations of factors is virtually endless. The appropriate relationships among these different factors are exceedingly difficult to establish, for they are often context specific.
Danny slammed shut the Federal Sentencing Guidelines, the sound punctuated by the conference room door banging open.
“Hey,” he said, glancing up as Miller and Colin entered the room. He tapped the cover of the Guidelines. “This shit is so boring. No wonder lawyers are such assholes, having to read this crap all day. You should—” The rest of Danny’s sentence died in his throat when he looked at Miller’s face, cloudy with rage, his eyes unable to meet Danny’s, his jaw muscles tight as steel.
“What’s going on?” Danny asked, rising to his feet.
“There isn’t going to be any trial.” Miller’s voice slammed hard against the walls of the room, his hands balling into fists as he spoke.
Danny moved around the table, closer to Miller. “Okay,” he said. “Why not? What does that mean?”
“We’re having trouble getting Hinestroza into the country,” Colin said. “And without him here—”
“You know, he told me that,” Miller interrupted. “Danny told me weeks ago that we’d never get Hinestroza here. And I told him not to worry about it. I told him we had it covered.” Miller barked out something that might have been a laugh.
“Miller,” Danny said, reaching out to touch his arm. He could see Colin watching, his eyes darting between them, and let his hand fall.
“Without him here we can’t go forward.” Miller closed his eyes, scrubbing at his face with one palm. “And if there’s no trial, then you aren’t a witness. And if you’re not a witness, then there’s no Witness Protection Program.”
Miller’s words sunk in slowly, each one piling up on top of the last, leaving Danny buried under. “So I’m on my own,” he said. It was not a question. And he was not surprised. He believed in Miller, but he didn’t believe in this—the system or justice or that twelve people in a jury box and the judge behind the bench always came up with the right answer.
“We can keep you in protective custody for three more days,” Colin told him. “To give us a little time to try and come up with a plan. But yeah, after that, you’re on your own.”
“Jesus!” Miller exclaimed, turning away from Danny.
“Miller, there’s something else.” Colin spoke to his back. “According to Patterson, there are rumors floating around that you’re on Madrigal’s hit list now too. Apparently he took the tire incident personally.”
Danny’s whole body froze, each inhale burning into his lungs like acid. He’d known Miller was in danger while they were together. Madrigal wouldn’t hesitate to cut down whoever stood between him and Danny. But he’d thought Miller would be out of Madrigal’s path once Danny was gone, safe to move on with his life, to once again stride tall and confident through these halls.
“We’re going to have to talk about getting you somewhere safe,” Colin continued when Miller didn’t answer.
“So we cut Danny loose, but we protect our own. Is that how it works?”
“Miller, he’s right. Don’t worry about me,” Danny said urgently. “Worry about yourself. Madrigal won’t give up.”
“And what about you, Danny? Where the hell are you going to go that he won’t be able to find you?”
“I don’t know.” Danny shrugged. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.” He fought hard to hide the fault line opening beneath his words.
They rode back to the motel without speaking, Miller looking out the passenger window and refusing eye contact. The air was so thick with tension it made Danny’s neck muscles ache, relentless, oppressive fingers pinching down his spine.
When they pulled up to the motel, Miller threw open the car door, storming away before Colin was fully stopped. Danny moved more slowly, an icy north wind swirling around him as he stepped out.
“Danny.”
“Yeah?” He stuck his head back into the warm interior.
“I’m sorry,” Colin said. His words were sincere, but his eyes already marked Danny as a dead man.
Danny nodded, shutting the door with a sharp click. He let himself into the motel room and locked the door behind him, throwing his jacket on top of Miller’s already-shed overcoat and tie. Miller was pacing in the small space at the foot of the bed, his long frame traveling the same ten feet over and over, desperation pulsing off him like heat waves on a summer sidewalk.
“Why aren’t you screaming at me?” Miller asked angrily, his eyes blazing with guilt. “Why aren’t you telling me what an asshole I am, huh? Because you were right all along, Danny. You were right!”
“Yeah, I was right.” Danny sat down on the bed with a sigh.
“We’re going to figure something out,” Miller said. “Do you hear me?”
Danny laughed—a tired, hollow sound. There was nothing to figure out. They were both hunted men now, and Danny couldn’t live if anything happened to Miller. If Miller died, Danny died. If Miller suffered, Danny suffered. Danny’s heart was no longer his own. Hinestroza finally possessed the key to Danny’s undying cooperation—and he didn’t even know it. Gallows humor at its sickening best.
Miller ripped at his shirt with one hand. “I’m going to take a shower. Then we can get some food and talk about this.” He rubbed the back of his hand against Danny’s cheek. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Danny said. His fake smile bounced back at him from the mirror on the wall.
He waited until he heard the water running and then he got up and crossed to the mirror, studying his face in the glass. They could run, together or separately, but Danny wanted more for Miller than life on the run, always dreading what was coming around the next bend, never sleeping easy. Danny knew the price of fear and he would not allow Miller to pay it.
This is your chance, Danny. Finally, your chance to save someone you care about. To save the person you love most in the world. The only person you’ve ever loved.
Danny was no martyr. He could feel tiny pinpricks of terror bursting into larger life until they took up all the space in his body. But there was a rightness to this decision that he could not deny. Danny had been waiting a long time for Ortiz to call in his marker, to ask Danny to step up to the plate he’d run from the first time around. And now here it was: a chance to make up for what he’d done to Ortiz; a chance to make a choice that benefited someone else, for once, instead of himself; a chance to save Miller and give him back his life; a chance to be the kind of man Miller deserved.
Danny picked up Miller’s cell phone, tossed onto the dresser along with his wa
llet and keys. He opened the wallet with one hand, running his finger over Miller’s driver’s license picture. Miller’s face was somber, not even attempting a smile for the camera. Danny wanted Miller to be happy; he wanted him to live without looking over his shoulder.
It took him two tries to dial the number he’d had memorized for a decade, his fingers shaking against the tiny buttons on the keypad. He held the phone to his ear, the ringing sounding far away as he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked at peace; he looked already gone.
Someone picked up on the other end, a deep voice rumbling over the distance between them. Danny took a shuddering breath. “Mr. Hinestroza? It’s me. It’s Danny.”
“DANNY.”
Danny heard the surprise in Hinestroza’s voice, the slight upswing at the end of his name. He could imagine Hinestroza leaning back in his chair, eyebrows raised in curiosity. He would find Danny contacting him this way nothing if not intriguing. Hinestroza was always amused by a good surprise, secure in his ability to savor the last laugh.
Danny tried to speak, his voice failing to move past a throat clogged with fate and fear. The silence stretched out painfully, a rubber band of possibilities pulled taut, waiting to explode into meaning.
“Mr. Hinestroza,” he finally managed. “I want… I want to make a deal.”
Hinestroza chuckled, his tongue clicking out a faint tsk-tsk against the roof of his mouth. “Danny. I don’t need to make a deal with you.”
“Yes, you do,” Danny corrected him, struggling to keep his voice strong. “I’ve been pretty hard to catch so far. Madrigal’s already let me get away twice.”
Hinestroza was silent for a moment. “I’ll humor you. What kind of deal do you have in mind?”
“A trade.”
“A trade? Enlighten me.”
“The FBI agent who’s been protecting me. The rumor is that Madrigal is planning on killing him too. I want you to tell Madrigal to let him go.”
“I don’t care about the FBI agent. He was only ever incidental in getting to you.”
“But you can call Madrigal off, right? I mean, if you tell him not to kill the agent, he doesn’t get killed. You have the final say.”
Hinestroza’s lighter clicked into life, the sound of small puffs floating into the receiver. “Why are you willing to do this for some FBI agent?” he asked, disdain clear in his tone.
“That’s not important,” Danny said, closing his eyes. “What’s important is that I’ll let Madrigal come get me. I’ll go without a fight.” He clenched his fist. “Please.” He would beg if he had to, get down on his knees and plead, whatever it took. Begging was such a small price to pay when measured against Miller’s life.
“Are you setting me up, Danny?” Hinestroza asked, his voice smooth in Danny’s ear.
“What good would that do me? If I lure Madrigal into a trap, you’ll have someone else on my trail the next day.”
Danny could hear Hinestroza weighing the wisdom of his words. “Where are you?”
“Do we have a deal?” Danny countered.
“I always knew you were a brave man.” Hinestroza paused. “Yes. We have a deal. Your FBI agent is safe. And you go with Madrigal. No tricks, no resisting.”
“Yes,” Danny agreed, nodding as though Hinestroza could see him, relief an anesthetic in his blood. Miller was safe; Miller would live. “I’m at the Best Western Motel off I-35 and 43rd Street, room 132. I’ll be waiting.”
“Good-bye, Danny.”
Danny flipped the phone closed. He didn’t need anyone to tell him how sick it was that he felt a momentary pang of sadness, wishing Hinestroza had been sorrier to say good-bye.
MILLER STAYED in the shower a long time, until the hot water was running lukewarm, the steamy clouds of vapor dissipating against his wrinkled fingertips. He’d told Danny they would figure something out, but he had no idea what or how. Danny could run. But how far would he get? Miller could run with him, but how much was he willing to leave behind? A life with Danny… that was what Miller wanted. But if he was being candid with himself, he wanted that life on his terms—stable, honest, safe. But he couldn’t have those things and have Danny too.
He dried himself off with the scratchy motel towel, hardly bigger than a washcloth and thin as paper. He pulled on jeans and a black T-shirt, leaning on the sink to stare into the mirror. They would come up with a plan. They would find a way. Because if they didn’t… if they didn’t, Danny would die.
Miller shivered slightly when he moved out of the damp humidity of the bathroom. Danny was seated where he’d left him on the end of the bed. He’d put his leather jacket back on, his combat boots still on his feet.
“Are you cold?” Miller asked, rubbing his hair with the towel. “Or are you coming with me to get the food?”
Danny didn’t answer, his head swinging slowly in Miller’s direction. His eyes were big and bright, swimming in a too-pale face. Miller wanted to hold him and tell him it would all be okay, that Danny shouldn’t be scared, but he didn’t want to lie.
Danny pushed off the bed, moving steadily toward Miller, stopping when their bodies were pressed together, his eyes roaming over Miller’s face. He ran a finger across Miller’s eyebrow, down his cheek, rubbing against the stubble, tickling across Miller’s lower lip like a blind man memorizing a beloved landscape. Danny smiled a little, his mouth trembling as he brought his other hand up to frame Miller’s face, stopping Miller’s questions with his mouth, murmuring sounds that weren’t words against Miller’s lips, his tongue soothing and stroking. Danny closed his eyes, resting their foreheads together.
“I stayed to tell you that you’re safe now,” Danny whispered. “You don’t need to worry anymore.”
A pure, clean shot of terror catapulted into Miller’s chest. His heart tripped over itself, slamming hard against his ribs. “Danny, what are you talking—”
His head snapped up as a series of knocks rang out at the door—hard against the wood, but something jaunty in the rhythm, as though the person on the other side was singing a tune with their fist.
“Wait here,” Miller breathed, starting to ease around Danny’s body in the direction of the door. Danny put a staying hand against his chest, stopping his forward progress.
“It’s all right,” Danny said. “I know who it is.”
“What? You told someone where we were? Who is it?” Miller demanded.
Danny stared at him for a moment, running one hand along Miller’s jaw. Then he turned away, flinging the door open before Miller could make a move to stop him.
“Hello, Danny.” The voice from the doorway cut like a cold blade, Miller’s stomach dropping through the floor at the sound. And then the face came into view, the dark hair slicked back, the pointy white teeth framed by a leering smile. Juan Madrigal. And he already had his hand on Danny’s arm, pulling him out of the room.
Miller lurched for his gun, snatched it off the dresser, thumbed the safety off, cocked it, and aimed in less than a second. “Freeze!” Miller yelled. “Don’t move!”
No one reacted the way he expected. Danny watched Miller with sad and sorry eyes, but he didn’t seem afraid or even surprised. And Madrigal only smiled wider at Miller’s gun, his own brought up against Danny’s side, the hand on Danny’s arm tightening as he looked from Danny to Miller and back again.
“I thought you said no tricks, Danny,” Madrigal commented.
“Put the gun down, Miller,” Danny said, his voice even.
“What?” Miller barked, his fingers not moving from the trigger. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s not loaded. I took the bullets out of the magazine.”
Miller stared at Danny, not taking his eyes away even as Madrigal spoke. “You are one lucky man. You’re off my ‘to-do’ list, thanks to Danny here.” Madrigal thumped the side of Danny’s head hard with the butt of his gun. Danny stumbled sideways at the impact and Miller stepped forward to steady him.
“Uh-uh.” Mad
rigal swung the gun in Miller’s direction. “Back off.” Madrigal jerked hard on Danny’s arm, pulling him closer to pat him down with a rough hand, fingers sliding under his shirt to check for a wire. “Let’s go, asshole,” he said when he was satisfied Danny was clean.
“Danny!” Miller cried.
“Let me go, Miller,” Danny said, his voice low. “It’s all right. You’re safe now. He won’t come after you. I promise.” His boots scraped over the threshold as Madrigal dragged him backward.
“Don’t think about following us,” Madrigal said. “I’ll start shooting him. Bullets are pretty good at removing body parts, one by one.” He winked at Miller, shoving his gun hard against the front of Danny’s jeans.
Miller was waiting for someone to jump out from behind the curtain, announce that this was all a joke; waiting for Danny’s hand on his shoulder in the dark hours of the night, reminding him it was just a dream, soothing him back to sleep. But the chill wind gusting in through the door, the black gun against Danny’s body, and the spicy scent of Madrigal’s cologne all told Miller this was reality. This was happening. Danny had made it happen.
Miller’s body gave birth to a vast and impotent rage, none of his usual tricks retaining any of their remembered power. The gun in his hand was useless and silent, the strength of his limbs pointless with nowhere to strike, and the hot fury in his brain not knowing which way to burn.
He followed them out into the parking lot, stumbling along behind, not close enough to touch but close enough to drown in the anguish spilling off Danny in great, swamping waves, his eyes begging Miller to go back, to let go… let go. Madrigal shoved Danny into the passenger seat of his car, the tinted windows swallowing him in a single gulp. Madrigal stepped around the front of the car to fold himself behind the wheel. He didn’t even look at Miller, the blond man shouting hoarsely in the parking lot of no more interest than a pebble under his foot or a leaf dancing in the wind.
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