Bleeding Heart (Scions of Sin Book 1)

by Taylor Holloway

  “Madison please forgive me! I had no choice.” She pleaded as she held my hands. All I could do was nod my head and stare. I wasn’t ready to process my feelings toward Mariana yet.

  I slid into the booth next to Alexander. He immediately grasped for my hand under the table and set our joined hands on his thigh. It felt good to touch him, and his warmth was more reassuring than it probably ought to be. I leaned into him, not caring what anyone thought of our closeness. I wished we could just leave all this behind and take a nap together for a few hours. My adrenaline response to him rushing off to interrogate Mariana was still pinging through me.

  “Madison, they had kidnapped Victor and my dad. I didn’t want to tell them anything,” Mariana begged me. She played the video of them on her phone for me and it made me want to throw up. Poor Mariana. Poor Mariana’s family. My anger and fear evaporated, but my misgivings remained. How could we ever trust her now?

  The two FBI agents pulled up a pair of chairs from a nearby table and examined the video several times in great detail before taking Mariana’s entire purse and phone as evidence. They waved a small wand-like a metal detector thing over Mariana and her handbag, presumably looking for listening devices. She frowned during this process but otherwise didn’t put up any sort of a fight.

  “Ms. Rodriguez, my name is Agent McKinney and this is Agent Wallace. We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We’re investigating the assassination attempt from two days ago against Ms. Clark and Mr. Durant. As a foreign national who is not accused of a crime or under arrest, we must inform you that you are currently under no obligation to speak with us and have a right to consult your consulate.”

  “But if I don’t speak to you, you’ll put me under arrest, isn’t that right? You’ve got enough evidence to support it right there on my phone. I wasn’t born yesterday,” Mariana snapped irritably at Miles, “so don’t bullshit me, kid.”

  There was the real Mariana. I’d wondered where she’d been hiding. I hid a smile under my hand. Alexander looked vaguely impressed, or maybe he just enjoyed seeing the FBI squirm.

  “Ms. Rodriguez,” Miles tried again, wearing an expression that was slightly warier of Mariana and less welcoming this time, “we honestly just want to get to the bottom of this. We need the facts. Please tell us what you know. Just start at the beginning.”

  “Fine,” Mariana replied sullenly as Miles poised his pencil above his little notebook, “I’ll tell you what I know. Write this down, because I’m not going to repeat myself a thousand times. On Friday morning I got a text from my brother who said he was in DC. In order to meet him, I delayed my flight to Pennsylvania. He wasn’t there but I saw a strange man staring at me as I drove through the pick-up area. Shortly afterward I received a text with a video attached. My brother and father tied up. Then another text tells me I have to pick someone involved in the transaction and respond to the text with instructions to gain access to their vehicle. I felt like I had no choice. Afterward, all I could think of was getting back to my family and keeping them safe. I booked a flight to Rio for this morning to meet them. They’re expecting me in a few hours. I have to go to the airport soon.”

  She lapsed into silence at last. I stared at her absolutely dumbfounded. When I picked her up at the airport on Saturday she was already planning on selling Alexander out? Selling me out? She’d seemed so normal and relaxed when we’d talked on the ride to her hotel. Mariana was a much better actress than I realized. I suppose people are capable of all sorts of things when properly motivated. I would probably be a good actress too if my family’s life depended on it.

  The FBI started a long round of follow-up questioning, but I let their voices wash over me without paying close attention. Time ticked by as details were explained and re-explained. It sounded to me like Mariana had been extremely lucky. We all had. Her family was safe now, and Mariana hadn’t been harmed. Somehow, Alexander and I had not only survived the car bombing, we were barely even hurt. It was an incredible stroke of luck—so incredible that I almost didn’t believe it could be true.

  During a pause in the FBI questioning, Alexander pulled Chris away and they whispered something in a tense, private conversation. Mariana and I watched them out of the corners of our eyes while we made awkward small talk with one another. When the two men returned, Alexander sat back down next to me and looked at Mariana with a chilling look on his face. I was instantly glad that I was not the recipient of that look.

  “There’s one other thing I didn’t tell you Mariana,” Alexander told her, “one of the four people out playing golf right this second with Madison’s father, three members of my immediate family, and a US senator is in league with the assholes who kidnapped your dad and brother.”

  Mariana’s eyes widened into huge, brown circles rimmed in white.

  “Oh my god…” she replied softly, burying her face in her hands before looking up at us with desperation, “then the deal is dead on arrival already. You might as well send everyone home. There’s no way the negotiations will succeed if the Chacóns have the Propetrolas executives under their thumb. They might as well not have bothered with me, or the bomb, or any of it. This is all they need.”

  The conversation stalled for a moment after that until Miles resumed his endless questions to Mariana. We were getting nowhere. We had no leads on who the traitor was. Mariana seemingly had no information beyond what she’d already shared. If only there were a way to use the negotiations to draw the traitor out…

  “I know what to do!” I almost yelled, interrupting Miles and Mariana as they’d resumed the slow process of going over the details of her interaction with the valet-bomber in microscopic detail. “I know how to find out which one is in league with the Chacóns,” I continued in a quieter voice.

  I felt the table’s attention zero in on me in an instant. In fact, the whole restaurant went silent and surprised at my outburst. Alexander tightly gripped my hand again under the table, and I heard him suck in his breath in surprise. I took a deep breath of my own and waited until the noise level returned to normal before continuing.

  “We know that whoever it is will want to see the deal fail during negotiations. They could easily manage to engineer that failure without implicating themselves, either by manipulating another party member into taking the lead or by introducing something that looks benign but is actually a deal killer. The problem is that there are too many ways for us to predict what their move will be, or if they’ll resort to violence in the meantime. We’ve got them out with the Senator right now, so they probably can’t engineer anything too suspicious while the FBI and Alexander’s security people are there too… but what we need to do is put them at ease while simultaneously drawing them out. Does everyone agree that’s where we are right now?”

  I paused to let the group catch up. They continued to look at me expectantly, so I just plunged ahead. I guessed they were already caught up.

  “We have to act quickly,” I said, “the chance of the traitor either sabotaging the deal or attacking either the other Colombian negotiators or our people increases the longer the negations go. So let’s introduce a version of the deal that seems to capitulate to the Chacóns. We will divert half the investment money into government bribes, essentially just gutting the humanitarian and social aspects of the development in favor of buying off the people we need to in order to keep the old plant open and make the Chacóns happy. The rest can go into regular real estate development, so that it appears we are still taking care of Alexander’s interests.”

  Alexander interrupted, “I see where you’re going with this. All the other members of the delegation will reject that version of the deal because it completely undermines what we’re trying to do on the humanitarian end. This only serves the bottom line, and not in an ethical way. The traitor will be the only one willing to support it because it benefits the Chacóns. Once we know who they are, we can get the others to turn against him or her.” There was a small, approving smile on his fac
e when he stopped talking. I smiled back.

  “Exactly,” I continued as my excitement about the plan grew, “since we can take Mariana into protective custody now and cut off their ability to use her, and since her family is safely out of the country, they won’t know that we are doing anything other than genuinely trying to find a way to work around the Chacón’s demands and find a compromise. The traitor has no reason not to go along with it. This is an even better outcome for them than if we just called off the deal. They won’t be able to resist it.”

  “Once we identify the traitor, how long would it take you to verify that the person is working with the Chacóns? What do you need in order to arrest them?” Alexander asked the FBI agents.

  “Once we have probable cause, we could tap their communications if we went through the FISA court. We’re working on that now actually but it takes a few days. I miss the good old days of the Patriot Act when we could wiretap whoever we wanted, but you know…civil liberties and all that. Honestly, once we think we know who it is we should just arrest them. We don’t need anything other than probable cause for an arrest. The proof will come during the interrogation. We just need to identify them and get them alone. Chances are good that whoever it is may be being blackmailed just like Mariana was. Still, we need to have a good idea who it is before moving forward. Arresting all four would create an international incident. These are all very high-profile people working on a high-profile deal.”

  “Using a doctored-up version of the deal that looks like capitulation would be a smart way to pull the traitor out,” Alexander replied, “but would their support really be enough evidence to make an arrest? Once we walk out of this restaurant, we should probably act the part as best we can, and that means not talking to you about any component of this again until the arrest. If you aren’t sure you can arrest them, we can’t take the risk to bait them.”

  Miles and Chris exchanged a long look between them. Something was being communicated that wasn’t for the rest of us. Eventually, Miles nodded and Chris spoke.

  “It’s sufficient for our purposes on this case. I promise you that we can make it work. Given that we’ve already had an assassination attempt against two American citizens, one not so great arrest wouldn’t be the end of the world. We can hold anyone we want for twenty-four hours anyway.”

  “What about me?” Mariana asked, looking panicked, “Are you going to let me go? My plane leaves in two hours. I want to meet my family in Rio. I don’t think this will work, and even if I did, I can’t help.”

  “Remember what I just said about holding anyone on suspicion alone for twenty-four hours?” Chris said to Mariana, and her face paled to a sickly white. “We’ll start verifying what you told us. Unfortunately, we can’t trust you until we can independently prove every word. Since we can’t trust you, you can’t leave.”

  25

  Alexander

  I never want to go to another IHOP in my entire life. Once was so much more than enough. After McKinney and Wallace left with Mariana, going to God knows whatever undisclosed FBI location foreign nationals get taken to for babysitting, Madison and I stayed for a late lunch since neither of us got to eat earlier.

  I ordered pancakes, thinking that was a safe enough bet since it was in the name of the restaurant, but what was delivered to me bore precious little resemblance to any pancakes I’ve ever enjoyed. The things on my plate were round like pancakes, and they were golden-brown like pancakes, and they sort of smelled like pancakes, but they had the texture and taste of something that had never been food. Silly putty maybe? Or that foam insulation that gets sprayed into attics? Even the coffee was criminally bad.

  “This is absolutely revolting,” I said to Madison, who giggled and stabbed at her own omelet with very little enthusiasm.

  “Yeah. I know. I didn’t think you’d like this place very much,” she replied with a smile, “honestly seeing you in an IHOP at all is sort of bizarre. It’s definitely not your natural environment.”

  I frowned. Was that a compliment or an insult? I decided not to ask and assume the former. The silence stretched on between us.

  “Are we really going to do this?” Madison asked a moment later. “I’m not sure I have it in me.”

  I looked at Madison across the booth and thought she was much too beautiful to be in any restaurant that can’t even make a decent omelet or pancakes correctly. Reaching out, I brushed her hair back from her face and she pressed her cheek into my palm affectionately, almost like a cat. Her skin was warm and soft in my hand, and I leaned forward to kiss her. She kissed me back but pulled away a moment later, still looking unsure.

  “Of course, you have it in you,” I reassured her, putting another kiss on her lips before continuing, “this was your idea, and it’s going to work. It’s brilliant.”

  “Actually, it was your idea,” Madison replied, a sly little smile finally tugging at the corners of her mouth, “remember? From your blackmail plot?”

  I laughed at that and she joined me after a second. Saturday felt like forever ago. I wished I was even half as clever as Madison thought I was.

  “I don’t trust Mariana,” Madison admitted seriously when we both stopped laughing, “I don’t know why, but I don’t trust her anymore.”

  I nodded. “You shouldn’t trust her,” I replied firmly, “there’s a good chance that she’s still being blackmailed by the Chacóns. They probably still have her family. I bet they were never released like she said. Her story doesn’t add up.”

  “And all that about meeting them in Rio? It just doesn’t sound right,” Madison added, “there’s no way she’s telling us everything. I hate that I can’t trust her.”

  “The FBI has her in custody,” I said, “so there’s nothing we can do right now. Maybe once she feels safe, Mariana will change her tune. Hopefully she will decide to tell them the truth, whatever it is.”

  “You don’t know Mariana,” Madison said with a shake of her head, “she’s so stubborn. If she didn’t crack talking to us, I doubt the FBI will have much of a chance.”

  I refrained from voicing my doubt that the softballs we threw at Mariana today at IHOP were going to compare to whatever the FBI had planned for her. Something about the way McKinney and Wallace walked her to the car had made her departure feel quite a bit like an arrest. Having been arrested once in my own life, I can verify that it is an incredibly unpleasant, humiliating, and nerve-wracking experience.

  “We have to go to dinner with them tonight,” Madison said eventually, shaking her head and changing the subject, “and I really don’t want to go.”

  I wasn’t looking forward to the dinner with the Colombian delegation members and my assorted family members either. The only one I didn’t mind besides Madison was the Senator and Madison’s Father. Sentator Ellis was basically another one of our family pets, and as long as he didn’t bring his one evil daughter (Angelica) or harpy wife, he was totally inoffensive.

  I’d never had close contact with Madison’s father, but I supposed that he seemed alright as well. I’m sure he would dislike the fact that I was sleeping with his daughter, if he knew, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that. Assuming we didn’t all die in the next few days, I’d have plenty of time to figure that situation out.

  “It’ll be fine,” I reassured Madison who was still wearing a slightly worried expression, “we’ll have plenty of security, and whoever the traitor is, they have no real incentive to make trouble tonight. Plus, if we get the revised version over to the Colombian group this afternoon like you wanted to, the bad guy will have plenty of time to look at it before dinner.”

  “It could be a bad girl, too. Don’t be a sexist,” Madison teased. I smirked, and she sighed heavily, giving up on her omelet and pushing the plate away from herself, saying, “I just hate pretending like these people are our friends when one of them might want to hurt us, or at least be compelled by someone else that wants to hurt us. I don’t like knowing how close we’re going to be to the Chacó
n brothers by proxy. It’s like evil will be in the room with us. I hate thinking that people are out to get me.”

  “You know, most people live their entire lives that way,” I said without thinking about who I was talking to, “I pretty much assume that someone wishes me ill until proven otherwise. Being a pessimist means no one can ever let you down. If you don’t mind the glass being half empty, when it turns out to be half full, it’s a nice surprise.”

  Madison’s stillness clued me into her surprise. “Do you really think like that?” she asked me gently.

  I nodded. Of course, I did. Most people I knew did. In fact, pretty much every adult I knew thought like that except for Madison.

  “That makes me sad,” she said, and I instantly regretted telling her, “going through every day waiting for someone to screw me over would exhaust me.”

  “I’m not looking for your pity,” I snapped, using a sharper tone than I’d intended.

  “I don’t pity you, Alexander,” she snapped back at me, “I think you’re completely wrong. There’s a difference. You choose to believe the world is going to screw you over. That’s on you. Have you considered that your perspective might be influencing your interpretation?”

  “What are you talking about? Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle can’t be applied to events in my life. Whether or not there’s a car bomb planted in my vehicle is not subject to interpretation. I believe that people most people are scumbags because they are objectively, obviously scumbags. All evidence in history and my own life points to the overwhelming conclusion that the majority of people are shitty.”

  “Wait, do you think I’m shitty?” She asked, frowning deeply and looking hurt. I really needed to get a handle on my mouth. This wasn’t going well. Obviously, I think that Madison is the finest example of a human being I have ever encountered. Madison was about as far from being shitty as anyone could be. Somehow, Madison was making me truthful. Her big, wide eyes were confusing me. I felt myself stumbling for the right words