by Jane Henry
“We also know you spent two hundred and sixty-seven dollars today, getting your mani-pedi and facial at the spa,” Walker interjected, glaring at Stella. “While Luis Rivera ate canned stew and talked to his mama through a screen. Innocent people are rotting behind bars while you nibble sushi on fine china.”
Stella’s eyes grew damp but still she didn’t speak.
Haven spoke up. “Wouldn’t the papers just love to know that little tidbit, Ms. Bianchi?”
Stella’s eyes widened at that, and for the first time, she looked truly afraid.
“You can’t go around saying things like that! Don’t you know what they’ll do to you? To all of us? God, what do you want from me?” she whispered, more fear than anger in her voice now.
“Names,” Haven said. “Our purpose here is to get justice for the innocent. And if you cooperate, no one ever needs to know you spoke to us.”
She looked around once more. “And you’re not going to hurt me?”
“Stella,” Xavier cut in, his voice softer than Haven and Walker’s. “Our purpose isn’t to hurt you, but to prevent more people from being hurt.”
She swallowed hard, and I could see her anger begin to melt.
“What names?” she whispered.
“Let’s begin with the name of the person executed at the back of Silver,” Walker said, his eyes narrowed on her, the pregnant silence as heavy as lead.
That question, of all questions, seemed to surprise her. “I don’t know his full name,” she said, twisting her hands in her lap, but Walker’s gaze on hers didn’t break. “I wasn’t involved in their business. I never have been. I just know what they called him when they were cleaning things up that night… LC.”
Walker flinched as if someone had struck him, but he kept his gaze trained on hers.
“Landon Carter,” he said, his voice husky, turning his tablet to face her, and I saw that he had pulled up his friend’s picture for confirmation. “Is this him?”
She covered her mouth with her hand and nodded. “You knew him, didn’t you? I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, as if the remorse she felt finally cracked her toughened exterior. “I’m so sorry.”
Walker threw the tablet down as he left the room, knocking over a glass of wine on a table. It fell and shattered, red wine staining the carpet like blood.
Stella’s attitude seemed to leach out of her with Walker’s departure. “Who are you people?” she asked in a subdued voice. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I need to know why I should trust you.”
“She already told you,” I told her, lifting my chin to indicate Haven without calling her by name. The less Ms. Bianchi knew about us, the better. “We want to see justice done.”
“You want to bring down my family.”
It wasn’t a question, and I didn’t answer it, instead tilting my head in challenge.
Stella sighed, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand. She looked around at all of us, at the stately penthouse, like she was calculating our resources and our resolve. Finally, she nodded, and surprised the shit out of me by saying, “Then tell me what you need to know.”
I looked at Xavier, who seemed just as surprised as I was, and more than a little skeptical. “Just like that?” he demanded softly. “You’d turn on them just like that?”
She laughed, a bitter little sound. “They turned on me a long time ago. Ask me your questions, then get me out of here.”
“Names,” Haven said, repeating our earlier demand. “Names of cops on your family’s payroll.”
Stella rolled her eyes. “Might be less time consuming to tell you who’s not. The truth is, I don’t know. There are many. Many. Some they’ve bribed, and others they’ve threatened, and I don’t know which are more dangerous.” She hesitated. “Detective Porter. Wyatt Porter,” she said. “I know his name because I’ve met him. He’s close with my brother. Beyond that?” She shook her head. “They don’t exactly have company Christmas parties, you know? And my brother keeps me out of his business dealings.” She smoothed her dazzling dress over her thighs and grimaced. “I’m decorative, you see.”
“Politicians?” Haven continued, her eyes narrowed. “Businessmen?”
“Plenty,” Stella confirmed. “Again, I don’t know names. I might be able to confirm faces. I know there are judges, bankers, members of the President’s cabinet. Even a Fortune 500 CEO or two.” She gave Xavier a wry look. “You were going to be such a lovely feather in Alberto’s cap. I almost feel sorry for him.”
Xavier shook his head. “As far as he’ll know after tonight, Ms. Bianchi, we’ve had a lovely dinner and I’m definitely interested in you. Let him believe you can reel me in.”
She raised an eyebrow and gave him a small smile. “Wouldn’t be a lie, would it?”
Xavier snorted. “Believe me when I tell you, I cannot be hooked, let alone reeled in.”
Stella shrugged, like it didn’t matter to her one way or another. “Anything else?” she demanded. Her bored voice rivaled Xavier’s. “Housekeepers? Cab drivers? Cellists for the Philharmonic? Pretty sure all those are on Alberto’s payroll too, in some way or another.”
A thought occurred to me, a whisper of memory from when I’d been attacked back in prison, a face I’d swear I’d seen in the hallway while I was being beaten. A face that hadn’t rushed forward to help me. “Corrections officers?” I demanded. “Does he have any COs at Bonneville on his payroll?”
Stella shook her head in disgust, and her brown hair fell around her face like a curtain. “God, yes. Of course. Someone to keep tabs on Luis, for one thing. Make sure no one gets too close, no one learns the truth.” She licked her lips, hesitating before continuing. “You can think what you want of me, I don’t give a shit, but the only reason I corroborated Carmen’s story about Luis was to save his life. If I hadn’t done what I did, he would have been dead that very night, just like his friend.” She lifted a hand to the doorway where Walker had disappeared. “Putting Luis in prison was never my choice. It was the only choice in a bad situation. And I’ve paid the price for that choice, too.”
From the doorway, Walker made a retching noise. He’d come back just in time to hear her final comment, and now he glared at her, the violence in his eyes nearly palpable.
Stella’s eyes shuttered, her face becoming a blank mask. “Whatever,” she said. “Think what you like. Everyone does.”
“The guard,” I said, holding a hand up to interrupt Walker when he’d opened his mouth, no doubt to say something insulting. I understood his anger but keeping Stella Bianchi cooperative was more important right now than letting him vent. “I want his name.”
She shook her head, her brow furrowed in thought. “I’m not sure.”
“Try,” Haven insisted. I knew she was sympathetic to Stella, but I loved that she gave no quarter when it came to demanding the information we needed. Haven was as much an honorary Master as Sabrina.
“Harper,” Stella said. “Hartley?” She sighed throwing her hands in the air and pushed herself to her feet, not to run away, but to pace the room in her sequins and heels, throwing Walker’s glare back at him. “Look, I seriously don’t know, okay? Like I said, there are no corporate events. No welcome dinners for every person Alberto coerces into helping him with something. I overhear things sometimes, I try to pay just enough attention to make sure my brother isn’t going after someone I care about, and not enough to make him see me as a threat, otherwise I’d be the one he was hunting.”
She paused, her mouth going slack for a moment, then pointed her finger at me. “Hunting. Hunter! The guard’s name is Hunter.”
Jesus. A shiver ran down my spine as I got to my feet.
Hunter. The guard I’d spoken to in prison? The one who’d seen the resemblance between Ethan and me? The one who knew my name had been paired for work detail with Luis Rivera’s?
All of the pieces started to fall into place, and as Haven glanced sharply at me, I could see her eyes narrow as th
ings came together behind her pretty green eyes, as well. The attempted assault on Max Pederson that must have involved a guard since it had happened after nightly lockdown. The beating that one of the other prisoners had executed on me, likely to keep me quiet.
Shit. Luis was in danger, right this fucking minute.
“I think our friend needs an emergency call from their attorney,” I told Haven. “Now.”
She nodded, leaving the room. We’d put a plan in place—a Hail Mary play—in case we needed to get Luis out before we could prove his innocence. Stella’s information told us it was time to set that plan in motion.
But Hunter had not heard the last of the Warner family or the Masters. By the time we were done with him, I’d make him regret the day he decided to mess with my brother.
Nine
The cold, fluorescent-lit, antiseptic little attorney meeting room was just down the hall from the one where I’d waited last week. The same air of desperation and despair scented the air of this place, and once again, I was impatient for my client to appear from behind the reinforced steel door. But as I sat calmly looking over my case notes as I waited for him, I couldn’t help but reflect that this visit to Bonneville was completely different from my last.
For one thing, the man I was meeting today was Max Pederson, who had finally been moved out of the general prison population thanks to the Masters pulling some strings. It had been a couple of weeks since I’d seen him in person, since he’d set me on the path that led me to Ethan and the Masters, and I couldn’t wait to tell him what we’d learned.
But by far the most important change since my last visit was Ethan himself. The man I loved wasn’t on the other side of that steel door anymore, but home with me, and I knew that he was mine in every way. When I’d finally made it out of bed this morning, showered, and dressed in my black pantsuit, Ethan had been lounging in the bed behind me—the bed we’d shared every night for the past week—watching me fix my hair back into a bun. Ethan had helped me choose the silver studs now fastened in my ears, and vetoed my contact lenses, reminding me that I looked hot and authoritative in my black glasses. And Ethan had wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “It’s almost over,” in my ear before handing me a to-go cup of coffee and sending me out the door to meet a uniformed driver, who’d driven me here.
He hadn’t wanted me to go, and at first insisted he’d go with me, but I’d told him this was my job. I wasn’t a helpless female and I wouldn’t be caged in. He’d let me go, reluctantly, and made me promise to be safe. Luis was safe, and Walker and Caelan were tracking the names of those on the Bianchi’s payroll. As soon as I left, I’d go straight back to my driver and the Masters.
To Ethan.
Somehow, with him there to tease me and push my limits, everyday chores became imbued with meaning and insurmountable obstacles became possible. Like earlier this week when, armed with information we’d gotten from Stella Bianchi herself, we’d found a way to get justice for two of the innocent men the Bianchis had framed.
After Stella’s revelations the other day, we’d had to veto our original plan to get Stella to recant her statement to the police in order to free Luis. It had seemed like the most straightforward option—the one that would have theoretically allowed Luis to resume his normal life and help take care of his mother. But knowing that people inside this very prison could have been actively planning to kill Luis, we hadn’t had the luxury of waiting for an appeal. And Xavier had reminded me that there was also a definite upside to keeping Stella in her family’s good graces until we could figure out a way to take Carmen and Alberto down for good.
In the end, I was glad Ethan and Luis had planned for an alternative means of getting Luis out. And I set that plan in motion two nights ago with a phone call to Luis in prison, delivering a coded message.
Yesterday, September 18th, Luis Omar Rivera-Cruz had been found unresponsive in the kitchen of the prison while on dish duty. Prison medics had been unable to revive him from what appeared to be a massive coronary and had rushed him into an ambulance and from there to St. Luke’s, where he had been pronounced dead. As his attorney of record and emergency contact, I’d been called to the hospital to identify his body, myself, and I’d fulfilled my duty with tears in my eyes, noting the light brown eyes and curly brown hair that matched the photo in his prison record. The doctors had verified this information using Luis Rivera’s prison dental records—records Walker had hacked, of course—and alerted Luis’ few surviving family members of his untimely demise. In accordance with his wishes, Luis’ body had been cremated immediately.
But because Walker Smith was a certified computer genius and Ethan was not only a master con artist but a fucking master of disguise, a wealthy man by the name of Javier Beacon was born at the exact moment of Luis Rivera’s death, and he strolled out of St. Luke’s not two hours later. Outwardly, Javier bore hardly any resemblance to the deceased man. His hair was nearly black and slicked straight. His eyes were a startling bright green behind a pair of thick hipster glasses, and thanks to the risers in his boots and the padding in his clothing, he appeared to be nearly three inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Luis had been.
Nurse Corinne Booker, an old friend of Caelan’s who’d overseen the swap of the bodies, was now the proud owner of a completely paid-for house and would be enjoying a long vacation on a private island. Meanwhile, Javier had been given a plane ticket to Boston, along with the name of Walker’s old friend Rylan, who’d help Javier get acclimated to his new identity and further cover his tracks. And Ethan had personally promised to take care of Luis’ mother by ensuring she received a million-dollar windfall sometime very soon. My man was essentially Robin Hood these days.
I couldn’t wait to tease him about that when I got home. I was pretty sure I knew exactly how he’d react, and I couldn’t deny that the knowledge had me squirming against the hard chair.
The steel door clanged open, and Max Pederson shuffled in. His watery blue eyes found mine immediately, like he was latching onto a life preserver.
“Haven! Thank God,” he said, stepping forward eagerly and taking the chair across from mine at the little metal table. “You won’t believe what’s happened!” His sandy hair was disheveled, and agitation was clear in every line of his body, like he was about to impart bad news. “Luis Rivera, the man I who said he had information about the people who might have framed me? He’s… dead. And without his information, I have no idea how we’ll ever be able to prove that I wasn’t the one to kill Emma.” He raised his cuffed wrists to pass a trembling hand over his eyes.
I blinked. It hadn’t occurred to me that the news of Luis’ ‘demise’ might make it back here so quickly, and I hadn’t been prepared for Max’s reaction. But Ethan had admonished me firmly about confiding in Max any more than absolutely necessary.
“It’s not because I don’t trust him,” Ethan had said. “It’s safer for him not to know. Luis is only safe if everyone who knew him believes he’s really dead. As sad as that will be for the people who cared about him, their grief sells the lie. Trust me.”
And I did. From now on, I always would.
“Max,” I said softly. “I know this must be a very hard time for you. But I want you to know, I spoke to Luis before he died.”
He looked up quickly at my words, his cheeks wet. “W-what? How?”
I licked my lips. You’d think, with a reformed grifter sharing my bed, that lies would come more easily to me now, but they didn’t. Ironically, Ethan expected my complete honesty, and I gave it to him. Always.
“He made me his attorney,” I said, giving him part of the truth. “Several days ago, he told me more about the people he believed had framed you, and we’re taking steps to take them down.”
“We?” He frowned. “You and Sabrina and her friends?”
I nodded. “Yes. They’re all good, trustworthy men.” Now, anyway, I added mentally, biting my lip to hide my smile.
Max’s eyes narrowed. “
If you know the B-.” He paused, looking around the room, as though afraid the walls had ears, and dropped his voice to a whisper, barely moving his lips as he spoke. “If you know that family is involved, you know that they’re incredibly dangerous. You and Sabrina, these men who are helping you, they need to know how serious…”
“They know,” I soothed him. “That’s why they called in some favors to get you transferred out of general.”
His mouth formed an “o” of surprise. “That was their doing?”
“It was,” I confirmed. “I put in the request, but they made sure it was handled as a priority.”
“I can’t thank them enough.” He shook his head. “My money. I can’t access any of it. I can’t pay them…”
“No, that’s not what this is about,” I told him, holding up a hand. “They don’t expect any payment at all. They just want to see justice done, including getting you out of here. And that’s why,” I said, pulling a sheet out of my folder, “Walker started looking more closely at your building’s security.”
In truth, it had been the information from Stella about Detective Wyatt Porter being on the Bianchis’ payroll that had tipped Walker off to start looking at the security more thoroughly. But Max didn’t need to know that, either.
Max leaned forward, looking at the piece of paper I was holding. It was a still photo from a security camera feed on the night of Emma Pederson’s death, time-stamped 10:03 PM. The security desk was empty as the night concierge was taking his fifteen-minute break, but a bouquet of summer flowers was sitting on one corner of the desk.
“That’s… a picture of the lobby of my building,” he said, looking up at me blankly. “I don’t understand.”
I pulled two more still shots from the folder, one time stamped 10:04 and the other 10:05, and laid all three side by side, so he could compare.
He shook his head. “What am I supposed to see? There’s an empty desk in all three pictures.”