Quicksilver

by Elise Noble

  “What do you know about the house in Florida? And where’s Special Agent Arden?”

  “Leander Arden asked me to give you this.” Black slid a cream-coloured envelope across the table. “It’s his resignation letter. And as for the Florida house, I’ve spoken with two of the former occupants, and we know you used the house opposite for surveillance. You could have rescued those girls, but you chose to turn a blind eye to the abuse instead.”

  “The task force I head has nothing to do with trafficking. It was formed to catch one specific individual, so you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “The Banker? My sources tell me he’s abroad, so whatever your task force thinks it’s doing, it’s wasting its time.”

  “What sources?”

  Good. Childs had lost a little of his bluster. Bradley picked that moment to come back with coffee, and Black waited patiently while Childs fixed his drink. The man tried to hide the way his hands trembled, but he didn’t do a great job of it.

  “I prefer to hold those cards close to my chest, although it’s clear I’ve spoken to Mr. Arden. But I will tell you this. Unless you find some way to salvage what you’ve been doing for the past year, your career is fucked.”

  “How dare you speak to me like that?”

  “Simple. I just open my mouth and the words come out. Do you want our data or not? I should mention the files also include the details of Nevin’s clients. The Banker’s associates. I’m sure you could find plenty of crimes to pin on them too.”

  Black held up a flash drive—not the one that had been through Leander, although it had been tempting to use it. Childs made a grab for the device, but Black moved his hand away.

  “Not so fast. There are conditions.”

  “What conditions?”

  “One, you excavate the garden at the Florida house and give the girl buried there a proper funeral. Yes, I’m well aware that your inaction resulted in her death. She had a name: Kelsie. Did you know that?”

  Childs stayed silent.

  “Two, you ensure that all the women receive proper psychiatric help, plus assistance in rebuilding their lives.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

  “You’re a resourceful man. I’m sure you’ll find a way. Oh, and I expect weekly progress reports.”

  “Is that it?” Childs stood halfway up.

  “Almost.”

  Ah, the look of a defeated man. Childs slumped into his chair, and Black took a second to savour the moment. Then he got back to business.

  “A member of our surveillance team ran into a slight problem at a warehouse in Fort Lauderdale. I’m sure you’re aware of the situation. It involved your surveillance team almost letting a girl burn to death. She’s awake now. Did you know that?”

  Childs shook his head like a sulky teenager.

  “You should send flowers. Anyhow, there was a small issue at the police precinct afterwards. The cops breached procedure in numerous areas…” Black ticked off the points on his fingers. “Unclear reading of his Miranda rights. No offer of legal advice. Errors in the chain of evidence. For various reasons, we need to keep his involvement quiet, so I need you to tell the cops he was your guy.”

  “Are you crazy? He kidnapped a woman.”

  “No, he walked out of the precinct with my wife. And don’t even get me started on all the fuck-ups the cops made in that incident. Just tell them it was a security exercise and they failed.”

  “What about the knife he was carrying? The murder weapon?”

  “He saw it on the floor, thought it might be evidence, and figured he’d better pick it up before the place burned. Perhaps you should take a look at the Mafia? After all, you’ll be needing something new to do in a few weeks.” Black smiled, and Childs shrank back another inch. A broken man, and one who’d never advance further up the ladder at the FBI. “Now I’m done.”

  CHAPTER 46 - CORA

  “WHAT IS THIS place?” Izzy asked.

  Last night when Rafael brought her back to Riverley, Izzy had barely said a word, just cried along with everyone else. Dores’s initial elation that her daughter was back from the dead had quickly turned into devastation when she realised what Izzy had been through. Up until Izzy’s return, Grandma had kept Dores sheltered from the details, but now there was no hiding what had happened to both of us. Izzy had regressed from the confident, sometimes brattish girl I’d grown up with to the child who’d withdrawn into herself for years after Valento was destroyed.

  Dores blamed herself for not doing more after Izzy disappeared—as we all did—and when Blackwood’s doctor came, she had to sedate Dores rather than her daughter. Izzy huddled in my bed all night, silent, and only as the sun rose did she start asking questions.

  “Where am I? I don’t even know where I am.”

  “This place? The Riverley estate. It belongs to…” Deep breath. “It belongs to my uncle.”

  “Your uncle? What uncle?”

  I told Izzy the story. The whole horrible, crazy, beautiful story of what had happened after she disappeared, and every word stirred up emotions, both mine and hers—some good and some bad.

  If she’d never met Roscoe, Rafael would have kept his distance from us, and Grandma would have carried on making bandeja paisa and skulking around with Vicente while Dores worked at the hospital until she retired. And me? I’d be teaching English in Medellín today, happy, but also incomplete. I’d have avoided the humiliation of having to submit to so many different men, but I’d never have met Lee or the rest of my family.

  I still felt sick when I thought of those men on top of me, of having to lie there and take it in pursuit of my goal, but knowing what I knew now, would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

  Because I’d won. I’d fucking won.

  I had a new goal too. Somehow, I had to help the other girls to put their lives back together, starting with Izzy, Hallie, and Mercy, then moving on to the thousands of other women who found themselves in similar situations every year. For so long, I’d drifted in life, but now I had a purpose.

  A soft knock at the door made Izzy jump, and I padded across the room to see who it was.

  Emmy. With coffee.

  “Hey. How are you both?”

  “Izzy’s…frail.”

  “And you?”

  “Drained, but okay.”

  “Leander’s up. You’ll probably want to keep an eye to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

  At the mere mention of his name, warmth spread through my chest. “I’ll take care of him. Do you think we could get some clothes for Izzy?”

  “Bradley’s downstairs with a garment rail, champing at the bit. Is she up to his shenanigans?”

  I’d only met Bradley briefly, and although he could be over-exuberant, his heart was in the right place. Izzy would love him.

  “Send him in.”

  How should I describe life at Riverley? The place was an odd mix of house and hotel with the facilities of a country club and an atmosphere that changed from all-business during the day to party-like in the evening.

  Twenty-four hours after Izzy’s return, I curled up on a sofa beside Lee with a plate of food balanced on my lap and an almost-empty glass of wine in my hand. I was just contemplating whether to get up for a refill or live with a dry mouth because I was really, really comfortable when Black appeared with a bottle of white in his hand.

  “Top-up?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He filled my glass, then took a seat on the coffee table in front of us. “Busy day. How are you both doing?”

  My smiles came easily these days. “Good. We’re doing good.”

  Black tapped his head. “How about up here? We’ve got a lady coming in to talk with Isabella and Mercy tomorrow—would it help you to have a session? Either of you?”

  “You mean a therapist?”

  “Yes. She’s a good listener.”

  My time in the two houses of horrors haunted my dreams and stopped me from sleeping
, but the prospect of discussing my innermost thoughts and feelings with somebody I didn’t know left me cold.

  “I’m not sure I could talk to a stranger.”

  Black nodded. “I can understand that. Leander?”

  He directed his answer at me rather than my uncle. “We can talk to each other, okay, bee? Don’t bottle things up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Does that mean you don’t want an appointment either?” Black asked.

  Lee shook his head too. “Never did trust shrinks.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I’ll be all right. I’m just a little worried about safety. Not here, but when we have to leave.” His arm rested across my shoulders, and now it tightened. “The Banker has deep pockets, and he’s also got connections to dangerous people.”

  “You don’t need to worry about The Banker anymore.”

  My turn to stiffen.

  “You found him? What happened? Is he in jail?”

  Black barked out a laugh. Silly me. No, of course The Banker wasn’t in jail.

  “Never mind.”

  “Thank you,” Lee said. “Thank you for everything. You didn’t have to help us in the way you did, and I probably wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t stepped in.”

  “We always help family. Just pay it forward.”

  “I intend to.”

  I shoved myself off the sofa and flung my arms around Black. “Thank you from me too.”

  He hesitated a second, then hugged me back.

  “Stay here for as long as you want.”

  “Really? Both of us?”

  He nodded. “We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up.”

  Midnight had come and gone when we finally went to bed. Bradley settled Izzy into her own room along the hallway from mine, next to Dores, which left Lee to walk me upstairs. I suggested taking the elevator, but he insisted he wasn’t that much of an invalid, even though he was basically still purple. Emmy’s earlier words about stopping him from doing anything stupid suddenly became more prescient.

  “Do you think Black was serious about us staying for a while?” he asked. “I mean, this place is something else.”

  “I’m pretty sure he was. But are you happy here? What about your home? Your family?”

  “My apartment’s on a month-to-month lease, and I hardly spent any time there, anyway. Plus I don’t have a job now. Saving on rent for a few months would be good.” Lee leaned closer and kissed my hair. “But my number one priority is being close to you while you recover enough to go back to Medellín.”

  I’d barely thought about Colombia since I arrived at Riverley. Perhaps I should have felt guilty for that, but Medellín had never quite become home. Valento was home, and everyone from Valento was here.

  “Medellín. Right. What about your family?”

  “My dad left when I was two. We see each other a couple of times a year, but…” He shrugged. “He was never much of a father. Mom had a midlife crisis and moved to Cabo with a guy fifteen years younger. He’s a dick. I figure she’ll come back eventually, but right now, she’s too busy partying.”

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  “A sister, Daria. She took a study trip to Italy when she was twenty-one, and she’s still there.”

  “So I’m stuck with you then?”

  “Yeah, bee. You’re stuck with me.”

  I only meant to give him a quick peck on the cheek, not a full-on snog, but he tangled the fingers of his good hand in my hair and pulled me closer.

  “What about your lip?” I asked. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Not enough to stop me from kissing you.”

  My heart pounded as Lee took the first step towards erasing the bad memories of the last few weeks. He kissed like a magician—the world around us disappeared, and flames licked their way through my insides until Emmy walked past, laughing.

  “Get a room, guys.”

  “Shit.” Lee buried his face in my hair then winced when he remembered his sore cheek. “You taste so sweet.”

  “Can I stay with you tonight? I know we can’t do anything, but…”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

  “I like waking up next to you.” I gave him a sheepish smile. “I promise I won’t molest you in my sleep.”

  “Give me a couple of weeks to heal, and you can molest me as much as you want.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  Lee reached behind himself and pushed the door open, then took both of my hands in his.

  “Corazon da Silva, I’ll never be able to say no to you.”

  CHAPTER 47 - BLACK

  LOOSE ENDS. BLACK hated loose ends, and right now, there were still too many of them.

  One less since a businessman named Theodore Symonds had gotten his Viagra confused with a counterfeit Fentanyl pill and breathed his last in the ER, but even so, work was piling up at Blackwood and Black had only been to the gym once so far this week. It was time to unravel all those nasty little threads that were left so everyone could get on with their lives.

  He poured himself a coffee and sat at the kitchen counter with his tablet to make a list. He liked lists. Lists led to order.

  Hallie’s arrest warrant.

  Having spent a few days with the girl, Black had come to the conclusion that either she was worthy of an Oscar or she’d been framed for murder, and he knew which option he was going with. But who had framed her and why?

  Roscoe.

  He’d last popped up in Italy, but he couldn’t hide forever. The man had kicked this whole case off with his greed, and after Black had thanked him, he’d take great pleasure in watching the fucker’s slow death.

  The Banker.

  That damned oxygen thief was still breathing in the basement. How long should they keep him alive?

  Who hired Rafael to kill Eduardo?

  Rafael had made Emmy a promise, and Black would make sure he kept it. He was about to summon his nephew when the subject of item number one walked in with Corazon.

  “Hallie, we need to talk.”

  Her smile faded, but Black beckoned her over anyway. It was for her own good.

  “Is everything okay?” Corazon asked.

  “Hallie has a small problem we need to solve.” Black tried for a comforting expression. Did that work? He was used to intimidating people, not reassuring them. “Everything will be fine.”

  “Can I help?”

  “You can help Bradley. He’s decided the sun loungers by the pool need replacing.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry; everything’s under control here.”

  Corazon didn’t seem convinced, but she backed slowly out of the kitchen, leaving a nervous Hallie behind. Hallie looked healthier now—still too thin, but she’d lost the gauntness present when they first met in Florida.

  “I guess I figured if I didn’t think about this, it would all go away,” she said.

  “It will go away, but we have to make it. Passivity is rarely the answer. Now, tell me what we’ve got. You mentioned a videotape?”

  “Yes, and I still have the hair sample. It’s with my attorney too.”

  “Where’s your attorney?”

  “Kentucky.”

  “We’ll send someone from our local office to pick everything up. For now, I want you to give me a detailed account of everything you remember.”

  Which wasn’t a huge amount more than Hallie had told him in Florida. She’d gone out dancing with one of her colleagues, the other girl had met a guy, and Hallie had woken up in bed with a corpse. An online search confirmed the basics. The victim, a fifty-one-year-old property developer named Damien Dewer, had no history of infidelity according to his wife. At the time of his murder, he was supposed to be in a business meeting.

  Statistically, around forty-five percent of murders were committed by friends, family, or acquaintances, and only ten percent by total strangers. The victim’s inner circle was always a good place to begin an
investigation, starting with the spouse.

  Annabeth Dewer, Damien’s wife, looked to be one of those high-maintenance women who preferred spending money to earning it. What did she have to gain from her husband’s death? Were they having problems in their marriage? Life insurance? Then there were the Dewers’ three adult children—two sons and a daughter. Any squabbles there?

  Black spent the morning creating a link chart with Hallie. Back when he started Blackwood with Nate, he’d been the lead investigator on every case. He rarely got involved at this level of detail anymore, and in some ways, he missed it. Working with Hallie reminded him of his days training Dan. They both asked a thousand questions, both thought things through methodically and recorded everything carefully.

  Black was even more impressed when the courier arrived from Lexington in the early evening. Not only had Hallie taken a hair sample from herself, she’d also had two people witness her removing the strands and sign statements to say so, then sealed the whole lot in an envelope with her attorney’s dated signature on the flap. The video came with a statement from the owner of the bar saying he’d given it to her. Meticulous. Hallie was smart.

  “Can you get the hair sample tested?” she asked. “I don’t know yet how I’ll earn the money to pay back the cost, but I promise I will.”

  Black had a good idea, but he just nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements. Let’s have a look at this tape.”

  Thirty seconds in, and Black couldn’t decide whether to laugh or pick up the phone to the police chief in Lexington and give him an earful. No, the asshole deserved more than a lecture. His inaction on Hallie’s case had led to at least two more deaths.

  “What?” Hallie asked. “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because this is the easiest case I’ll ever solve.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Black pointed at the man standing with Hallie in the centre of the TV screen. “He did it.”

  “Well, I figured he was involved, but how do we prove it? Or find him?”

  “His name is Ricky Carter, and he’s dead. You didn’t have TV at Radcliffe’s?”

  “Only Netflix.”