by Julie Leto
A tightening in Marisela’s chest reached up and grabbed her in the back of her throat. “Weird, but I am, too.”
Silence lingered for a few seconds, with Yizenia wavering on her feet. “Look at me closely, Marisela. I’m what you might become if you allow hatred and vengeance to poison your soul.”
Marisela shook her head. “No, I think you’re what I’d become if someone murdered my family.”
Yizenia swallowed thickly, the action visible as she closed the distance between them. “In any case, you have no need to be here any longer.” She held out her injured arm. “Take this,” she instructed, indicating the thick, beaded leather band encircling her wrist, hiding her tattoo from the world.
“Your bracelet?”
“Those are black pearls sewn into the leather,” she said, her voice inflected with pride. “Very valuable.”
Marisela did as Yizenia asked, but wasn’t sure why. “That’s an expensive gift to give to someone who’s held a gun on you multiple times in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Consider it payment for releasing me.”
Her eyes suddenly dry and burning, Marisela wrapped the band around her wrist and snapped it into place. Again, Yizenia waved the gun at the woods behind them and waited. Deciding she had no further reason to stay, Marisela walked away. She’d get to the nearest house, borrow a phone and make a call. If Brynn and Ian wanted to save Leo Devlin’s life, then they could alert the police, though she doubted either of the Blake twins wanted to expose the woman who had avenged their mother, no matter what she did to the man who’d betrayed her.
Once Marisela had walked ten feet, she heard a grunt. She spun around. Yizenia was gone. Over the wall, no doubt. Marisela stopped. Listened. Except for the breeze rustling through the tree branches, she heard nothing.
You claim to be a protector, not a killer.
But Marisela couldn’t do much protecting from the other side of the fence, though, could she? And besides, she thought, glancing at the expensive bracelet, she had been paid a retainer.
Cursing to herself, Marisela slid into the Jaguar’s driver’s seat. Took her ten damned minutes, but she was able to reactivate the GPS locator on the car. Figuring she’d wasted enough time ensuring that sooner or later, she’d get backup, she pulled her LadySmith and jumped onto the hood of the car so she could make it over the wall.
If Yizenia could figure out how to break in to this fortress, so could she. And though she couldn’t justify helping the assassin achieve her objective, the least she could do was watch her back.
Nineteen
JUDGING BY THE trail Marisela had followed across the lawn and into the same stunning mansion where the charity masquerade had been held, Yizenia might know her way around this place, but she must not have realized how badly she’d been hurt. Marisela spotted a smear of blood on a wall near the side entrance, and after wiping it clean, discovered the secret panel nearby that led her into the hidden passageways that wound through the house.
Marisela moved slowly, carefully, through the interior corridors, ignoring the cobwebs and dust skittering across her face and clogging her nose. She stopped after winding through what felt like miles of passageway, listening for sounds that were less like rodents and more like a killer on the prowl. She didn’t dare call out, even in a whisper. Yizenia had been single-minded in her decision to take Devlin out on her own terms—so much so that Marisela feared the woman was making a huge mistake.
If she’d wanted to send Leo Devlin to the great drugstore in the sky, she should have hunted him as she’d hunted the others. From a distance. Instead, she’d barreled into the man’s home, determined to remove him face-to-face. While Marisela could appreciate the purity of Yizenia’s intentions, her plan of attack was reckless.
After stumbling her way up a staircase, Marisela finally heard voices on the other side of the wall. She hesitated. She couldn’t distract Yizenia without putting her life at risk.
“You received your payment,” a male, presumably Leo Devlin, said curtly. “Your services are no longer needed.”
“I’ve received payment, sí,” Yizenia responded. “In my bank account and on my body. Did you really think you could simply kill me and remove the threat to your safe, secure existence?”
Devlin laughed, and under the cover of the deep, throaty sound, Marisela activated the mechanism that released the lock on the panel. She held on to the corner, allowing the secret entrance to only slip open a quarter inch. Through the sliver in the door, she saw the white-haired Leo Devlin sitting behind his desk, Yizenia directly across from him with her gun aimed at the center of his forehead.
“That was the plan,” he replied.
“Your plans are incredibly elaborate, verdad? Had I not been the one manipulated by your lies, I might have admired the cleverness of it all.”
Devlin’s face reflected no fear. Abject confidence lit the man’s pale eyes, despite the sweat trickling down the side of his neck. Marisela moved so she could see the door. She stretched down the passageway to listen into the hallway on the other side. She heard no one riding to his rescue, despite his smug expression.
“I wasn’t always a rich man, Ms. Santiago. I had to play dirty to get where I am. Craig Bennett stood in the way of my continuing the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed,” Devlin explained. “If his bill to allow foreign medications in the American marketplace becomes law, I’ll be ruined. I considered reviving the scandal alone to tarnish his reputation, but the press wasn’t interested. Old news. I needed something more…permanent…to shut him up.”
“So you hired me,” Yizenia said. “My reputation alone would point investigators back to the old scandal and away from his political enemies. Away from you.”
“Ah, yes. Brilliant, wasn’t it? When I heard about this avenging angel of España, I concocted my story about being a devoted admirer of Rebecca Manning and that I’d simmered for years with the need for justice. With my connections at Windchaser Farm, I was able to get the information I needed to convince you to help me from Tracy Manning. The rest was no more than greasing the right palms. The decision to have you eliminated only came about when you’d been in the custody of those meddlers from Titan for more time than I thought wise. You do, after all, possess the means to have me arrested. If it is any consolation, I regretted ordering your elimination.”
“You must, since whoever you hired missed.”
“Clearly, not all assassins perform on the same level, though at least with Bennett, you left him vulnerable. I’ve already hired someone to finish the job you botched. But I am sorry for the turn our relationship has taken. I have a deep appreciation for those courageous enough to exact revenge.”
“I doubt you’ll feel the same way when my bullet is in your brain.”
Devlin’s eyes flashed, but before Marisela could warn Yizenia, a security guard burst through the door behind her. Yizenia turned and fired. The guard dropped. Knees, then torso, then face. Yizenia stood for a moment, stunned.
Marisela pushed out of the secret passage. For a split second, her gaze met Yizenia’s. Marisela saw despair cross through Yizenia’s dark irises before another shot fired.
Yizenia jerked. Blood stained her chest. Marisela stepped forward just as the assassin fell into her arms. She pulled her close and, over her shoulder, saw the gaping bullet hole in Yizenia’s back.
“Dios mio,” Marisela said, her heart pounding as she watched the life slip out of Yizenia’s eyes.
“Sí, sí,” she agreed. And then, she died.
Marisela looked up and saw Leo Devlin standing, pistol aimed, pale blue eyes alight with satisfaction. She scooted back, laying Yizenia gently on the floor. She retrieved Yizenia’s weapon and held it tight in her left hand.
Devlin dropped his gun on the desk and smiled. “It was self-defense, Ms. Morales. You saw it for yourself. I’m sure as I’m a former client, you’d be delighted to testify on my behalf.”
“You can fuck that shit, D
evlin. I know what you did to Craig Bennett.”
“Her word against mine, don’t you see? I’m a wealthy man with access to the best lawyers in the world. The situation will be twisted to my advantage and the only person who could have effectively contradicted me is now dead. Except you, of course, but you’ll have to tell the truth. That she came here to kill me. That I shot her only after she breached my security and murdered my guard.”
There was a laugh in his voice that slithered up Marisela’s spine like a slimy scaled reptile. “You’re not using me for your defense,” Marisela insisted.
She raised the gun, which only caused him to shrug casually. “I’ll do as I like, just as I always have. You’re a professional, Ms. Morales. Put down your weapon and admit defeat. I doubt if your bosses at Titan would approve of you shooting an unarmed man.”
For Evan, for Raymond, for Tracy, hell, for Yizenia, Marisela raised Yizenia’s gun and pulled the trigger. Devlin crumpled to the floor.
“Wrong again, you son of a bitch.”
Shouts and alarms rocked the mansion.
Marisela dropped to her knees, wiped her prints from the grip and then gently placed the gun between Yizenia’s cold fingers. She fired again. “There, mi hermana,” she whispered. “El monstruo is dead at your hand. Descansa en paz.”
Marisela barely had time to slip into the secret passage before swarms of guards spilled into the room. Sirens wailed and walkie-talkies squealed with chatter. She closed her eyes tight, pressed herself into the darkest corner she could find, and willed herself not to make a sound.
You claim to be a protector, not a killer.
Once again, Marisela had lied. To Yizenia, but most of all, to herself.
* * *
From her nest on the couch, Marisela watched her best friend, Lia Santorini, pad across her apartment to answer the door. A movie droned in front of her, one of Lia’s favorite old flicks with Cher and Nick Cage about the Italian moon or something. She hadn’t been watching. Not really. Mostly, she’d been pigging out on Lia’s homemade jujulainne cookies, dipping them in Chianti or café con leche, licking her proverbial wounds.
Yizenia hadn’t been so fortunate.
But then, neither had Leo Devlin.
Immediately after returning to headquarters, Brynn had sent Marisela home. Not home to the hotel, but to Tampa. Max had whisked her off on Titan’s private jet and she’d immediately holed up with her best friend. Brynn had promised she would personally clean up the mess in Boston, and frankly, Marisela had been too shell-shocked to argue. In her arrogance, she’d insisted to Yizenia that she wasn’t a killer, but not twenty minutes later, she’d shot the lying, manipulative, unarmed bastard Devlin without hesitation. What did that make her now?
“Well, look who it is!” Lia exclaimed.
She wasn’t entirely surprised to see Lia return from the foyer with Ian trailing behind her. Even wallowing in her own self-indulging pity party, as Lia called it, she recognized a predatory spark suddenly present in her best friend’s dark eyes.
Great. Mr. Charming meet Ms. Perpetually Charm-able.
“What are you doing here?” Marisela asked, barely sitting up from beneath the comforter.
“Marisela,” Lia admonished. “Mr. Blake came to check on you. Don’t be so rude.”
She loved Lia, she really did. But damn, she was the most gullible woman on the planet when it came to suave men like Blake.
To appease her friend, Marisela stretched out her leg and gave the dessert plate a little push with her toe. “Want a cookie?”
“You haven’t called in,” he replied. “Nor have you returned the messages we left on your cell phone.”
Lia might be gullible when it came to men, but in all other scenarios, she was damned smart. She excused herself from the room, even though chances were high she’d be eavesdropping from the hall.
“I planned to call in today,” she lied.
“And tell us what?”
She shook her head. “Hadn’t figured that out yet. Where’s Frankie?”
Ian bristled. “He had some business to attend to. He said he’d join me shortly.”
“And Brynn?”
Ian frowned. In the dim, flickering light of the television, he looked almost as miserable as she felt, if that were possible.
“She’s on her way to Spain. She has taken it upon herself to ensure Yizenia receives a proper burial.”
Marisela nodded, glanced down at her wrist. She was still wearing Yizenia’s bracelet, though she wasn’t sure why. How could she honor a woman who killed for a living? And yet, how could she not when the woman had provided justice for children like ten-year-old Ian and Brynn, when their mother had been brutally kidnapped and murdered?
Marisela realized that for at least a brief time, she’d considered herself better than Yizenia. Not in skill, but in moral fiber. Now she knew that her own moral fiber could be torn apart as easily as rice paper.
“How’s Tracy?”
“Back in therapy,” Ian replied, “though not with anyone associated with Windchaser Farm, which is being investigated for ethics violations. She wanted me to give you these,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and extracting a truly horrendous looking pair of gardening gloves with little strawberries on the fabric.
Marisela accepted them with a genuine laugh—the first she’d experienced in a week. “Okay, even off drugs, that chick is weird. I like her. Hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?”
She tossed the gloves onto the couch. When she turned, she caught Ian eyeing her warily before he assessed Lia’s apartment, which featured an inexpensive but incredibly cool decor. He strolled over to a set of classic movie posters she’d had framed, three in a row. Marisela preferred her movies in color, though she had to admit the old gangster flicks were a hoot.
“And Craig Bennett?”
“On the mend.” Ian nodded at the posters approvingly. “The doctors expect a full recovery, and now that the story of Leo Devlin’s manipulations is out, written, incidentally, by Parker Manning, he’s never experienced such a high approval rating. I have a feeling he could ask Congress to change the minimum wage to a hundred dollars an hour and they’d pass a law.”
“On behalf of former Wal-Mart clerks everywhere, I’ll give him my vote,” Marisela quipped. “What about the assassin Devlin said he hired?”
“Not as slippery as Yizenia, that’s for sure. He was picked up casing the Bennetts’ home and sang like a proverbial canary. He’d gotten his money up front, and with Devlin dead, we believe Bennett to be safe.”
“And Bradley?”
“Mr. Hightower has slipped back into his anonymous life. All is right with the world of the Boston elite again. Now, we just have to work on you.”
“I’m fine. Just needed a little R & R.”
He clucked his tongue. “You’ve been out of contact.”
“I needed time,” she explained. “You didn’t have to come all the way to check on me. You could have sent someone else.”
“And you could have raked me over the coals for sleeping with Yizenia and believing she was you,” he replied.
“Excuse me?”
He gave her the kind of withering look that only a man of unimpeachable masculinity could pull off. “You’re not going to make me say it again, are you?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, her ears thrumming with the surprise. He’d hinted at this the other day, but she hadn’t taken him seriously. While she’d always known Blake had had the hots for her, and she’d made no secret of the fact that at least in a physical sense, she thought he was mucho caliente herself, acting on their forbidden attraction was different. Especially when he’d apparently acted on it with someone else. “Torturing you has become one of my favorite pastimes.”
“You’re very good at it.”
“Why tell me this?”
Ian slipped his hands into his pockets and casually strolled closer. Marisela glanced down at herself, wearing three-day-
old sweats and a T-shirt with pizza-sauce stains. She wasn’t even sure when she’d washed her face last, though she had brushed her teeth after Lia shoved a Crest-infested toothbrush in her mouth as a way of waking her up. Still, she suddenly felt incredibly grimy. She hugged the comforter tighter and nearly had a stroke when Ian crouched down so they were at eye level.
“Honesty isn’t something we’ve ever had between us, except when it’s been necessary to complete our jobs. With Yizenia dead and with you so deeply affected, I wanted you to know, in case you wondered, why I slept with her.”
No, she hadn’t wondered. Okay, she’d wondered a little. But for him to admit something so intimate—she shook her head, trying to clear the suddenly dense fog gathering there.
“So you slept with her because you wanted me.”
Ian licked his lips and nodded. For the first time in a while, Marisela noticed how nicely shaped his mouth was. How perfect for his face.
“Do you regret sleeping with her?”
His mouth quirked into a half smile. “I know this woman. She’s Latina, headstrong, foulmouthed. A real pain in the ass. You’d like her,” he teased. “But the thing I admire about her most is that she lives her life without regrets. She does what she needs to do at any given time and then moves on.”
His confession inspired her to scoot over on the couch and pull the comforter out of Ian’s way. On his short journey to sit beside her, he snagged one of the sesame-seed-encrusted biscotti that Lia had made the day before.
Marisela suddenly felt very hot and uncomfortable. She didn’t like Ian talking about her in such glowing terms. Made her skin crawl. Not because he was being insincere, but because admiration had never been something she and Ian had shared. Hell, she’d rarely shared that emotion with anyone.
“That’s a pretty shallow way to live,” Marisela quipped. “Never weighing consequences against purely emotional reactions?”
Ian took a bit of the crumbly cookie, chewed, swallowed, and hummed his appreciation. “If it works for you, who am I to judge?”
Marisela leaned back in the soft cushions of Lia’s couch and forced a tiny smile. All around, her life had taken a strange turn. The boss she’d practically hated on sight months ago had just admitted he admired her—even though she’d likely jeopardized his company’s stellar reputation by killing a respected Boston philanthropist, though the evidence she’d left gave Yizenia credit for the kill. Credit she would have wanted.