The Red Ledger 9

by Meredith Wild

  He rubs his hands on his knees anxiously. “What do you really want, Tristan? I can’t undo what’s done, and you know it. You need me for something. You wouldn’t have come this far for this.”

  I lift the syringe. “For this? I definitely did.”

  He looks to the door again, then back to me. I lean forward, and he jolts backward like I struck him.

  I laugh. “Are you nervous?”

  “Listen, I’ll call it off. Is that what you want? Will that make it right in your mind somehow?”

  I make him wait a few seconds before I answer. “Do you want to tell me where the leaks at the border are?”

  “If that’s what you want. If I tell you, are you still going to kill me?”

  I pause thoughtfully. I’ve never wanted to kill someone more than I want to kill Simon. Taking it off the table is disappointing, but he’s ready to talk. Plus, I can always change my mind.

  “Fine.” I pull out my phone and call Morgan. I put the call on speaker as it rings endlessly, finally ending with Morgan’s voicemail. I nod expectantly to Simon. “Talk. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  His lower lip trembles as he leans in. He rattles off the names of the ports we already suspected Knight was targeting with his bribes. Simon closes his eyes, and his brow wrinkles as he relays the times and details of the shipments with a degree of specificity that impresses me. He looks at me when he finishes.

  “Is that all?” I ask.

  When he nods, I end the call and put the phone away. Isabel is expecting a message from me. The wait is probably killing her, but she’ll have to wait a little longer.

  “Can I go now?”

  I lift my gaze to Simon. “No.”

  He starts to visibly shake. “We had a deal.”

  “I said I wouldn’t kill you. It pains me to honor that promise, but I will.”

  He stares at the syringe I’m still holding. “You had real trauma. That’s the way it works—”

  “I plan on giving you real trauma, Simon. And I know how it works. I can personally attest to its efficacy. I mean, you may get flashbacks from time to time. Those can be disturbing. But you’ll pretty much have a clean slate. This is about twice what Townsend gave me, so I think it’ll do the job.”

  “What good will it do? You think you’re on some moral high ground because you figured out what we’re doing, but you’re nothing more than a criminal yourself.” He’s shouting now, gripping the wooden arms of his chair like a kid hanging on to the bar of a roller coaster as if it would slow it down somehow. “The things I know are worth millions. Billions. You’re going to flush it just like that? I could tell you things that no one else knows.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know any more. I hate that you’ve already taken up this much space in my head all this time. I’m ready to start thinking about something else.”

  “Then just let me go. You’ll never have to think about me again. I’ll stay out of your way. Jay too, if that’s what you want. I’ll walk away from the whole damn thing.”

  “It’s not that simple. The castle is going to crumble anyway. We found your accounts. Your buddy Medina is already getting grilled by the feds. Pope will be next. Vince is dead. Gillian and Davis too. If you really don’t want me to kill you, that’s fine. But you’re too clever for me to leave you to your own devices and trust that more people aren’t going to die while you try to get away with everything you can. Because, let’s face it, that’s who you are.”

  He opens his mouth to speak but says nothing. It must be a lot to take in. The imminent collapse of an enterprise that’s been years in the making. Then the prospect of one’s own demise. He can’t even deny that he’d try to wiggle out of whatever troubles are coming his way. Of course he would. He’ll do anything to survive, just the way he is now.

  He pushes up from his chair, a sharp motion like a firecracker launching from the ground. When he goes for the door, I follow him. He’s desperate, but I’m faster. I yank him away, and he stumbles backward.

  “I won’t let you do this,” he cries.

  “You will.”

  With that, I take two long strides toward him and give him a shove toward the wall. He stumbles again before bringing his hands to my chest in a feeble attempt to push me back when I’m on him again. He’s so weak. He smells like fear. I despise him.

  “Tristan, stop. You don’t have to do this.”

  I grasp his face in my hand, forcing his jaw shut. I’m sick of his begging and empty threats. I’m glad we never met until this moment, because already I can’t wait to be rid of him.

  “Goodbye, Simon.”

  In one swift movement, I slam his head against the wall. It’s hard enough to knock him out but not enough to give him a brain hemorrhage. Sadly, I can calculate the difference.

  I drag his limp body toward the door, aligning his new injury with the floor. I don’t hesitate or overthink it. I pick up the syringe that’s rolled to the floor from our chase and uncap it. I take his hand and find a bulging blue vein. As soon as I puncture it with the needle, I plunge the poison I know too well into his bloodstream.

  As I envision the drug doing its silent work inside his body, I do my best to empty myself of emotion, which used to feel like the most natural thing in the world after a kill. Except I’m capable of a lot more now, thanks to Isabel. I’m not sure Simon will be so lucky. He may not feel things for a very long time.

  When it’s done, I tuck the empty syringe away inside my suit coat. Simon doesn’t move. He’s no longer a threat. Even after he regains consciousness, he won’t be. As much as I’d like to stick around to make certain of it and witness the aftermath, it’s time for me to go.

  ISABEL

  Now

  My heart races when I see Tristan’s one-word text. I glance around the room, suddenly frantic to find someone to do what I need. A large group of middle schoolers with matching orange T-shirts are huddled together near the middle of the room. One of them lingers behind, staring at his cell phone screen, far enough from the group that I decide he’s the one. There’s no time to look for a better candidate. I walk over and give a little wave.

  “Hi,” I say with a forced smile. “Can you do me a favor?”

  He looks up at me blankly. “Uh, I guess.”

  “That’s your tour guide, right?” I point to the man in the red jacket who’s almost impossible to see through the throng of students.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Could you go give this to him for me? It’s really important.”

  I reach into my back pocket and pull out a piece of paper with my handwriting on it. I don’t want him to read it yet, but kids are curious so he probably will. Hopefully he waits until I’m already out of sight.

  He takes the paper, frowning as he does. Before he can respond, I turn and walk out of the rotunda, praying this works. Tristan’s message didn’t say anything about Keegan, but if he hasn’t shown up yet, that means we only have minutes. Maybe seconds. I hurry toward the nearest bathroom and shutter myself in a stall. I rip off my long blond wig and peel off the second layer of clothes I wore. Stepping out again, I stuff everything into the trash and take a quick glance at myself in the mirror. If they start looking for the blonde with the bomb threat, they shouldn’t be looking for me.

  All of a sudden, I hear static from the speakers set into the ceiling.

  “Attention, please. Attention, please. For everyone’s safety, it has become necessary to evacuate the building. Please leave the building immediately at the nearest exit.”

  The announcer repeats the message, and voices outside the bathroom grow louder. I open the door as a mass of people are moving toward the visitor center exit. I join them, hiding myself in the center of the crowd. Security guards and guides are shouting from every location, reminding people to stay calm but to keep moving.

  Panic fills the air as patrons murmur and complain and worry aloud as we shuffle along. I share their panic, just not for the same reasons. I see no
sign of Tristan in the mob. He had a longer trek from the underground offices, so I remind myself to be patient. He’ll show up soon.

  A minute later, I’m in the open air just outside the visitor entrance with dozens of others who quickly disperse across the greens away from the supposed threat in the building. I hesitate and look around again, feeling more desperate by the second. Where is he?

  I don’t want to attract attention hanging around, so I walk toward Makanga’s car, which I can spot parked down the street. I’m nearly there when I take out my phone and call Tristan. It rings and rings. I’m feeling sick. I should turn back, but that’s not what we agreed on. I hang up and am about to dial again when two strong arms wrap around me from behind. I scream as I’m lifted off my feet into the air.

  Tristan’s laugh cuts through the instant panic that’s flying through me. He sets me down so I can turn around and face him.

  I slap his chest, angry and relieved and overwhelmed. “Damn you, Tristan. What the hell? Why didn’t you pick up your phone?”

  His smile reaches his eyes, as calm as the cool spring sky behind him. “Because I was running to catch up with you. You couldn’t wait a few seconds?”

  A ragged sigh of relief leaves me. “Not when I’m worried something terrible might have happened to you. Seconds matter. You know that better than anyone.”

  He closes the small space between us, cupping my face in his palms. The tips of our noses meet. His gentle touch and the air we share are alive with a frenetic kind of energy, a hundred lightning strikes of emotion that bond me tighter to him.

  “I love you,” he rasps. “I love you so fucking much.”

  When our mouths collide, I forget the rest. The past. The pain. I let it all go because I feel like under this kiss, Tristan is letting it go too.

  “Lovebirds. Guys. Come on. We gotta hit the road.”

  I break the kiss when Makanga bangs his hand on the roof of the car with a thud.

  I gaze up at Tristan. “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere you want,” he says, wearing a smile that takes my breath away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tristan

  Six months later

  With a little effort, I tug open the sticky sliding door that Isabel has been on me to fix. A splash of hot coffee slides down my hand and the side of the mug I’m holding.

  “Shit.”

  Isabel tears her attention from the early morning tide rolling in. I take the chair next to her and hand the coffee over carefully.

  “It’s hot. Take my word for it.”

  She grins. “I think I’m going to call someone about the door. It’s driving me nuts.”

  “I can do it. Just give me a few weeks. I’m working my way down the list.”

  And it’s a long list. Of all the places we could go, Isabel’s heart was set on Perdido Key. She said it was the first place where she could imagine us putting down roots. Whatever vision she had for us that circumstances interrupted, she was determined to come back and see it through, so of course I agreed. We drove around town and walked the beach checking out different spots, but in the end, she was determined to overpay the owners of the beach house where we celebrated my birthday months ago and call it home.

  “You don’t have to do everything yourself,” she says. “If you won’t let me help you, we can at least hire someone for a few things.”

  “You insisted on buying this rundown house, and I’m determined to fix the damn thing up myself. So you’re just going to have to be patient,” I say, my tone teasing but resolute.

  “We can afford some help.”

  I shrug. “I don’t care. It keeps me busy.”

  A few months after we moved in, Isabel took a job helping out at a local school. I didn’t love the time away from her, but I needed something to fill up the hours. Being idle wasn’t an option for someone like me. More than anything, I needed an occupation that didn’t involve employing my survival skills.

  I don’t know much about home repair yet, but dedicating myself to the myriad projects that are needed here gives me a chance to do something constructive. In truth, it feels good turning something ugly and neglected into something nice again. Plus, every time I conquer something new, Isabel’s eyes light up in a way that almost knocks the wind out of me. Making her happy is addictive, and selfishly I want all the credit for putting that look on her face. Not some sweaty contractor who will do almost anything on the list for fifty dollars an hour.

  Isabel is entranced by the water again. The sky is a hazy lavender, and the waves are calm. We spend all our mornings this way. I don’t crave routine now that we’re not running for our lives, but I like this one because we share it and an unspoken gratitude seems to exist inside of it. We watch the birds skim above the water and the clouds roll along. Life keeps on moving, and we get to be a part of it.

  I reach over and take Isabel’s hand in mine. She turns her head, and the way her expression softens, she must recognize the reverence in mine.

  “What do you want to do today?” I ask.

  “We don’t have to pick my parents up from the airport until after dinner. I have to run a few errands if you want to come with.”

  I register a little knot of anxiety at the mention of her parents, but I don’t show it. Every day, I feel like I’m retraining my brain to accept normal, uncomfortable things. Isabel’s patient with me about it, especially when it comes to being around other people. She’s starting to make friends. I worry I’m a long way from getting there, but I’m trying. Errands, though, I can do.

  “Count me in.”

  The next morning, I find Morgan in the kitchen screwing new handles onto the cabinetry. We have to talk. I’m tempted to wait until he and Lucia are ready to go back home, but I’m also too anxious to put it off anymore.

  “Morning,” I say. “Do you need some help?”

  He glances up at me briefly before returning to the task. “I’m good. Just saw these on the counter and figured I’d take care of it quick.”

  “Thanks. By the time I get to everything that needs to be done here, I’ll have to start all over again.”

  He chuckles quietly. Morgan isn’t much warmer to me than he was before. We aren’t at odds, but we’re both guarded. I suspect that’s how he’s always been, which is fine by me. It’s a language I can speak, even if it requires very few words.

  “Where’s Isabel?” I ask.

  “She and Lucia went out furniture shopping. We wanted to get you something for the new place. Knowing Lucia, it’ll be an all-day affair.”

  Having the house to ourselves all day might not be ideal after he hears what I have to say, but I’ve already decided it’s going to be now.

  I lean against the counter and brace my hands against it. “I want to marry Isabel.”

  He tightens up his screw and checks out his work as if he didn’t hear me. I know he did. Finally he sets down the screwdriver and looks at me.

  “All right.”

  “I wanted to run that by you before asking her. Out of respect,” I add, trying to ignore the fact that he’d been instrumental in dividing us all those years ago.

  “Have you two talked about marriage at all?”

  “Not a lot. She mentions little things here and there. We’re obviously committed to each other. It’s just a formality, but I think it’s something we both want.”

  He nods but doesn’t seem convinced. The knot in my gut doubles. Not because I need his permission but because I don’t want friction with him over this. I’m asking out of respect, but I’ll marry her no matter what his thoughts are on it.

  “This is nice what you’re building together here, but it’s still new. Things are a lot different when you’re not dealing with life-and-death situations all the time. Once the adrenaline wears off, people change.”

  I frown, my invisible defenses shooting up rapidly. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Did Isabel ever tell you how Lucia and I met?”

&nbs
p; I shake my head.

  “She was still living in Honduras. The CIA had a pretty big presence there at the time, and I was in the field. Suffice to say, it was a mess that we were both eager to get out of. When it was time for me to go, we agreed that I would take her with me. Get married, get her citizenship, the whole bit. But falling in love with someone in that kind of environment is a lot different than figuring out how to play house in the suburbs for the rest of our lives. Things change.” He rubs his forehead. “And some things don’t.”

  “Are you saying you aren’t in love with each other anymore?”

  “I’m saying that you can play handyman here all day long, but you’re never going to be able to walk away from who you were, Tristan. Lucia put on a good show, but I knew she and Gabriel were doing things behind my back that they shouldn’t have been. I just didn’t know why.”

  “You lost a child, and the people behind Chalys were responsible. Do you really think she would have taken up a mission for justice if that hadn’t happened?”

  “Losing Mariana was the worst thing that had ever happened to either of us. It set off a chain of events we could never have predicted. I won’t deny that. But Lucia’s always been restless. Fierce and determined. Loyal too. All those things drew me in, and yes, I am very much in love with her even after all these years. I’m just telling you, it hasn’t been an easy road to walk together.”

  I take a moment to absorb all he’s said. His cautionary tale is unexpected, but the lesson isn’t hard to relate to. The process of trying to jam our new lives into some kind of typical mold these past several months hasn’t always been smooth. We’re figuring it out day by day. I have no idea what challenges the future holds, but I’m determined to face them.

  “I want forever with Isabel enough to walk that road no matter what it’s paved in. If we can survive everything we have, I think we can stomach a little domesticity. I know we’ll never be like other people, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be happy.”