Empire

by Lili St. Germain

  ‘Who is it?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s room service,’ a familiar male voice on the other end said.

  ‘It’s room service,’ I parroted back to Dornan. Oh, shit. I knew that voice. Velvet-smooth and cunning. Somebody who was looking for Murphy.

  ‘Act normally,’ said FBI Agent Lindsay Price. ‘You’re going to meet me downstairs in one hour, do you understand? Say yes so Dornan hears.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, well aware that Dornan was still watching intently.

  ‘You’re going to come unarmed. Say “scrambled eggs”.’

  This was ridiculous. I didn’t want to meet Lindsay downstairs. He was probably here to fucking arrest me. I couldn’t leave Los Angeles with John and the kids if I was being arrested. I couldn’t get back to my son if I was being arrested.

  ‘No, that’s wrong,’ I said. ‘That’s not what I said.’

  I rolled my eyes at Dornan and said something into the phone in Spanish. ‘This guy’s English is terrible,’ I whispered, my hand over the receiver. ‘Go finish your shower.’

  ‘Don’t forget coffee,’ Dornan called, closing the bathroom door. I heard the shower start up again and returned my attention to the phone. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I hissed. ‘Are you trying to get me killed?’

  ‘I was about three seconds from busting into your room this morning. How’s your neck?’

  I felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me. Again.

  ‘You’re listening to us?’ I whispered.

  ‘Mostly watching,’ Lindsay replied.

  Oh, for the love of all that is holy. Cameras!? A scarlet blush crept up my body and settled in my cheeks as I thought about what I’d been doing the night before. Putting on a porn show for an audience of one.

  I hadn’t realised there was an audience of more than one. I felt like I’d been punched in the face. I mean, I had basically been punched in the face by Dornan – but this felt even worse than that.

  ‘Your boyfriend’s pretty violent. Seems like even he thinks you’ve got something to do with Agent Murphy disappearing into thin air.’

  Boyfriend. He hadn’t said husband. So obviously they hadn’t been watching everything. He hadn’t picked up on the fact that Ms Rodriguez was now a reluctant Mrs, complete with a black and red wedding band tattoo that had started to scab over. How disgustingly delightful.

  ‘Watching how?’ I exclaimed, looking around the room.

  ‘The FBI is blessed with a generous technology budget. Trust me. We got plenty of angles.’ He seemed to hesitate for a moment. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m not okay,’ I seethed, watching the bathroom door intently. ‘Isn’t that against the law? Filming someone without their permission?’

  ‘It’s called a warrant,’ Lindsay said.

  A warrant? Fuck me. I was ready to hang up, but something about his tone, and the mention of a motherfucking warrant, kept the phone glued to my ear.

  ‘He almost killed you, you know that, right?’

  I wanted to throw the phone out of the window. ‘I guess I’m just lucky the FBI were watching out for me,’ I replied, my words dripping with sarcasm. ‘Thank you.’

  Lindsay sighed. ‘We were in the hallway. Another few seconds and we would have been busting your door down.’

  I didn’t respond. I could barely hear above the screaming in my head.

  ‘I’m on your side,’ he added. I snorted. ‘Mariana, I know how violent Dornan is. I understand the danger you’re in. I can help you. I might be the only one who can help you at this point. Let me help you.’

  The words I’d uttered to John came back to haunt me: I don’t need a man to save me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I did.

  ‘Here’s what’s going to happen,’ Lindsay said, shifting gears. ‘I’m going to send two cups of coffee up with your food. One will be drugged for your dear boyfriend. He needs to take a nap so we can talk. The drugs will last at least an hour, but I only need five minutes.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to talk?’ I asked. ‘What if I’d rather you just went away?’

  I heard him shuffling papers. ‘You don’t have to talk,’ he said. ‘But I’d strongly suggest that you at least give me five minutes of your time, Ms Rodriguez. Do you really think you’ll be able to make it back to your son and protect him without the FBI’s help?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, cutting him off before he could make any more mention of my son. ‘But,’ I added, switching the receiver from my left ear to my right, ‘Dornan’s a big guy – he needs a horse tranquilliser to knock him down. A Percocet isn’t going to cut it.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he replied. ‘The black coffee’s for him. Don’t drink it. We want him asleep, not you dead.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I snapped, my ears buzzing, the line already dead.

  Somehow the FBI had tracked us to Vegas. Shit. Shit. SHIT!

  ***

  I thought I’d throw up waiting for the knock on the door and for ‘room service’ to appear. When a guy in his mid-thirties appeared at the door, wearing an ill-fitting hotel uniform and wheeling a tray bursting with breakfast foods, I glared at him so intently I’m surprised he didn’t catch on fire from my death rays. Sure enough, two cups of coffee sat in the middle of the tray, steam billowing from them. That right there was the biggest giveaway. I’d never had room service coffee delivered at any temperature but lukewarm. They were obviously camped out in a room nearby, watching us and preparing poisoned coffee to send to our room.

  Fuckers.

  I debated telling Dornan about Lindsay’s call and the spiked coffee, but I decided against it, sipping at my latte as I watched Dornan down his black coffee in about three gulps.

  The coffee worked quickly. I’d already anticipated Dornan’s suspicion at suddenly feeling woozy and drugged, so I figured I’d lessen it a little if possible. While he drank his coffee I gave him the quickest blowjob in the history of blowjobs, hating myself the entire time, and now armed with the knowledge that Lindsay could see everything I was doing. Great. As I swallowed, Dornan’s hand on my head, I made a mental note to thank Lindsay for saving my life when I was being choked out.

  Seriously. They couldn’t have knocked and pretended to be cleaners or something?

  Instead, they’d watched as I fought for my life. More embarrassingly, they’d watched while I had, quote, ‘fucked myself’, and given Dornan a peep show to rival all others. I’d made myself come in front of him, and probably half of Lindsay’s unit.

  I started to panic as I contemplated where else they might’ve had cameras. In my apartment, the place where I’d killed Murphy? That didn’t make sense, though. If they’d had cameras hidden in my apartment, I’d already be sitting in a cell, serving my life sentence without parole.

  That was the punishment for killing a federal officer of the law, last time I checked.

  Add money laundering, drug running and (unknowingly) balancing the books for an entire human trafficking operation for the better part of ten years, and it was easy to watch the consecutive life sentences stack on top of one another like Tetris bricks.

  Dornan was snoring soon after he finished his coffee and I’d finished him. He didn’t even make it to the bed, sprawled out on the couch in the sitting area. I prodded him a couple of times, then, relatively comfortable with the fact that he was deep asleep, I got dressed, brushed my teeth, grabbed my purse and headed downstairs.

  A black Escalade was parked at the front entrance to the Wynn, the door already open for me. I picked the guy holding the door straight away – black suit, short hair, one of those little earpieces in his ear with a cord that ran down under his suit jacket. He held out a hand to help me step up into the SUV, but I ignored it, preferring to use the handle inside the doorframe to pull myself up and onto the black leather seat that flanked the rear of the interior. I winced as the door closed and the central locking clicked with a sound of permanence.

  FBI Agent Lindsay Price sat beside me in the d
im cabin, the dark tint on the windows saving us from the worst of the unrelenting Nevada sun. He was still the same as I remembered – green eyes and dark hair cut close to his skull, military style – but he looked a little rougher around the edges than the first time we’d met. He looked like he’d missed a day of the impeccable shaving routine he obviously adhered to. His chin bore a five o’clock shadow and his eyes were lined with fatigue, despite it being only nine in the morning.

  ‘Your bag, please?’ Lindsay asked.

  ‘Well hello to you, too.’ I clutched my bag tightly, glaring at him.

  Lindsay raised his eyebrows. ‘Look,’ he sighed. ‘We can do this the hard way. I can take out my gun,’ he patted his hip holster, ‘and I can threaten you, maybe throw some cuffs on you. But I don’t want to. I’m not going to.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘Just give me the bag,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Please.’

  I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the fact that I was so tired. Worn out, frayed. It seemed I’d momentarily lost the ability to resist. Without breaking eye contact, I placed the bag on the seat between us and he scooped it up, rummaging around until he found my gun and pulled it out.

  ‘That’s mine,’ I said, reaching for it.

  Lindsay opened the chamber, presumably to check for bullets. ‘A woman carrying an unloaded gun, and there are no bullets in her bag. Did your boyfriend take them?’

  I didn’t bother correcting the term boyfriend to husband. He’d find out soon enough, no doubt.

  ‘What, were you filming us on the car trip, too?’ I asked.

  ‘Educated guess,’ Lindsay shrugged.

  ‘How’d you know I’d bring a gun?’ I asked.

  He smiled. Not in an arrogant, cocky way. Just a smile. ‘Because I told you not to.’

  ‘You think you know everything about me?’ I asked.

  ‘Twelve years in the FBI profiling unit, there’s a good chance I know more about you than you know about yourself.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. I know you’re planning something. I know the only thing stopping you from running is one John Portland.’

  I sat back, stunned. I don’t know why I was stunned. I mean, if they’d been watching me, then they’d probably know about John.

  ‘I know you’re still hoping you can get out of this without anyone getting hurt,’ Lindsay added, his voice softening.

  ‘And let me guess,’ I said evenly. ‘You’re here to tell me I can’t. Right?’

  ‘I’m here to implore you to do the right thing.’ He patted the gun on his lap – my fucking gun, the one I’d used to kill Murphy and Allie.

  Panic began to rise in my throat. ‘Why do you need my gun?’ I asked.

  ‘Insurance.’ He paused for effect. Insurance for what? ‘That’s all. Go see your little boyfriend. Stay out of trouble.’

  With great irritation, I flashed him the skull tattoo on my ring finger. ‘You mean my husband.’

  Lindsay snatched up my hand and studied the tattoo. ‘What is this? You guys got matching promise rings?’

  I rolled my eyes, holding up my right hand, where my actual wedding band sat. ‘I can’t wear it until the tattoo heals. Apparently gold just doesn’t seal the deal like ink these days.’

  Lindsay’s mouth practically hit the floor of the SUV. ‘You’re legally married?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Dornan finally decided that he wanted to marry me. I found out when I got to the altar. Aren’t I lucky?’

  His expression was grave. ‘You don’t understand what this means for you and me.’

  ‘Oh come on, Agent Price,’ I said, pursing my lips mockingly. ‘You can’t be jealous, surely.’

  His green eyes were ablaze. ‘You do know why he did this, don’t you?’

  I shrugged. ‘Entrapment. Control. Paranoia. Or maybe he just really, really loves me.’

  Lindsay wet his lips with his tongue, at the same time shaking his head. ‘He married you so you wouldn’t have to testify against him. The FBI is building a case against his father’s cartel. A case that very much hinges on your testimony against these men, Ms Rodriguez. Sorry, Mrs Ross.’

  I felt my stomach sinking. ‘Who says I was going to testify?’

  ‘Your kid,’ Lindsay said pointedly.

  He had me, and we both knew it. I’d do anything to protect Luis. I already had, indirectly, when I’d killed Murphy and Allie.

  Speaking of.

  ‘I need to deliver Agent Murphy’s subpoena,’ Lindsay said quietly. ‘Any idea where he might be?’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘No.’ Not unless you count the fact that little pieces of him were probably left over in that crematorium I’d visited again the other day.

  Nobody spoke for a long, uncomfortable moment. I watched as cars pulled up to the front entrance of the Wynn and people got out. Regular people, excited to gamble and take in a show and eat way too much at the seafood buffet. People who were oblivious to the seedy underbelly of the world, their masks still firmly over their eyes as reality painted a very different picture.

  ‘I haven’t had a lot of sleep lately,’ Lindsay said, changing tack. ‘Do you know why?’

  I feigned boredom. ‘No, but I bet you’re going to tell me anyway.’

  ‘I’ve been investigating a murder.’ Great. ‘A young woman.’ Awesome. ‘A fellow federal officer, actually.’

  Fuck.

  My heart skipped inside my chest. The dominos. They kept falling.

  No, the fucking sky was falling.

  ‘She was a DEA agent,’ Lindsay said, his eyes drilling into me so intensely I itched. ‘Somebody shot her.’

  No shit. I wanted to look away, but to look away would be admitting guilt.

  ‘And?’ I challenged. I tried to recall whether looking up or looking down signalled a lie. In the end, I couldn’t remember at all, so I kept my gaze glued to Lindsay’s eyes.

  ‘I think you killed her,’ Lindsay said softly.

  There it was. The real reason he wanted to see me so desperately. My head swam – drowned – in what might happen next. I saw walls and prison bars, and a cell door slamming shut in my face.

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Lindsay didn’t answer.

  ‘What do you need from me?’ I asked slowly, a crushing feeling of defeat pressing down on me.

  ‘I need to know what they did to you,’ Lindsay said. ‘And what they made you do for them.’

  ‘How? When?’

  ‘Soon. Very soon.’

  I swallowed thickly. ‘How am I supposed to trust you?’ I asked. ‘What if you’re just like everybody else?’ And suddenly I wanted to cry. Because he didn’t seem like everybody else. Lindsay Price seemed like a real stand-up guy. Maybe he wasn’t. He could have been an axe murderer, for all I knew. Could have been working for Emilio.

  ‘I’m not like the men you’re used to,’ Lindsay said. He put his hand on my arm in a comforting gesture, and surprisingly, I didn’t shrug it off. It was warm.

  ‘What are you like, then?’ I whispered. My eyes burned with unshed tears as a lump grew in my throat.

  ‘I believe in justice,’ he said, handing me the gun back. ‘But I also believe in survival. I believe that sometimes, the law doesn’t understand what a person can endure before they break.’

  I stared at the gun in my hands in disbelief. ‘I thought–’

  ‘A gesture of goodwill,’ he interrupted. ‘That gun is my only piece of evidence linking you to Alexandra Baxter’s murder. I know you killed her, Mariana. I don’t need to take your gun to know that. I only need to take your gun to prove that.’

  ‘If Emilio finds out I’ve spoken to you, he’ll kill me,’ I said, my hands shaking as they cupped the gun.

  Lindsay nodded. ‘Don’t tell anyone. Don’t write it down, don’t even think about our conversation until the next time we meet. Understood?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I know what they did to your family,’
he added. ‘For what it’s worth . . . I’m sorry.’

  In the edges of my mind, I saw them screaming as they burned. I didn’t want to see that. I looked out of my window. ‘How long does that sedative last?’ I asked him, changing the subject as I stared at the gold-tinted stack of glass that made up the Wynn.

  Lindsay tapped a button in his armrest and a screen unfolded from the ceiling. He aimed a small remote and it flashed to life, a black and white image of a hotel room becoming visible. He pointed to the middle of the screen. ‘Long enough.’

  I peered closer, picking Dornan’s still frame on the couch in the centre of the suite. I glanced at Lindsay as something unsettling occurred to me. ‘What happens next?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘That depends,’ Lindsay replied. ‘The situation isn’t as clear-cut as it was. You’re now not compelled to testify. You’ll have to choose. We can’t force you to give evidence against your husband.’ He said the word ‘husband’ like he was talking about having to wipe dog shit off his shoe. I got the feeling he really didn’t like Dornan.

  Neither did I, anymore, so we had that in common.

  ‘No shit,’ I replied. ‘Could’ve gotten here a day earlier, saved me the pain.’ I flashed my tattooed finger at him.

  ‘I think you like the pain,’ Lindsay murmured, his tone almost sad. ‘I think you don’t remember how to survive without pain. You’re always either running at it, or away from it, but what you can’t see is that you’re going to drown in it. Either that, or your husband will kill you. At this rate, I’d put my money on him.’

  Ouch.

  Neither of us said anything for a moment. I glanced at the screen in front of us again. Dornan hadn’t moved. Maybe he was dead. That would solve some of my problems.

  ‘I’m tired of the pain,’ I answered finally. ‘I don’t want it anymore.’

  I was only too aware that Dornan would stir if I was gone much longer.

  ‘You testify against Emilio, against Dornan, and the rest of his club, and you get immunity. You get your son back.’

  Fuck him for using my son as blackmail material. ‘I’m not saying one word for you unless you can guarantee John’s safety. We both get immunity.’