Her eyes widen. “The penthouse? How can he afford all these places?”
“He owns one of the largest textile companies in Brazil. He owns everything from the cotton plantations in Mato Grosso do Sul to the garment-making operations in Petrópolis. It’s a billion-dollar industry, and he’s got a nice piece of the pie.”
“So how’d he get mixed up with you?”
I laugh. An argument could be made the other way around, but for the most part, I was the sinner and he was the saint in the friendship. If nothing else, his optimism about Isabel’s return to my life was evidence of that.
“We got to talking one night over burgers and a few beers. He later admitted the meeting wasn’t by chance. He noticed me a couple nights before. I guess he could smell the former military on me and figured I might be someone who could help him.”
“And you did.”
“He offered me a job. Said he’d pay me ten thousand dollars just to try. If I failed, I’d be lucky to escape with my life. A few had already tried and failed. Some didn’t make it out. If I succeeded, he said he’d pay me a lot more. I figured the ten grand would set me up for a while, maybe help me put Jay off a little longer. But I also didn’t want to make a target of myself by expecting this huge payout if I succeeded, so I told him he could owe me a favor instead.”
“What was the job?”
“Karina.”
She searches my eyes. “Karina?”
Isabel knew her as Mateus’s lover and the woman who kept their house in order. She wouldn’t have recognized the Karina I found in the slums years ago.
“Mateus lost his parents young, so he moved to Rio to find work. He became best friends with Karina’s much older brother. They did everything together until Mateus got out of the favela and made his own way. Obviously he did well for himself. His friend took a different path and got mixed up in the middle of a nasty gang war that ended up killing him. Mateus was so wrapped up in building his empire, he never thought about Karina or what might have happened to her until they crossed paths again. She was still a young girl in his mind.”
I glance at the screen. Jay still hasn’t written back, so I continue.
“Part of Mateus’s company runs out of Rocinha. He was on his way there to check some things out with his team when he saw her. She didn’t recognize him, probably because her boyfriend was beating the shit out of her, but when Mateus went to intervene, his people held him back. The guy she was with was a lieutenant with Comando Vermelho, and it would have caused problems. Mateus couldn’t let it go. Not until he got her out of there.”
“She couldn’t just leave?”
“He tried to reach out to her through other people. Told her he’d set her up someplace safe, but once her boyfriend found out what Mateus was trying to do, he made it impossible for her to leave. He made sure she was protected at all times. And it’s not like you can just walk into the favela and knock on the door anyway. So Mateus started hiring people to try to sneak her out. It’s like a maze in there, so he had to hire locals who knew the layout. I was the first one who didn’t. I’d never gone to Rocinha before that night.”
I hadn’t forgotten the dark journey through the labyrinth of alleyways that trapped the stifling summer heat. Or the blinding flashes of gunfire as I ascended the two-story concrete apartment in Rocinha in search of a woman I’d never met. Or the look in her eyes when I asked her who she was, armed only with Mateus’s physical description of her. She wouldn’t budge until I told her Mateus had sent me.
“You must be her hero,” Isabel says softly.
I look into her eyes, searching for some recognition of that feeling of being someone’s hero. I come up short, because even though saving Karina solidified my relationship with Mateus, ultimately I considered it another job. The first of many.
“It was the only time I took a job saving someone’s life instead of ending it.” I push my fingers through my hair and fist at the roots, causing an uncomfortable sting.
That night in Rocinha set the rest of my life in motion.
“I killed five people that night to get to her. I got her out of there without a scratch on her, went back home, and slept like a rock. I woke up the next morning with a message from Jay about a hit in São Paulo she wanted me to take. Twenty grand. I told her to send me the details.” I exhale, briefly reliving that hit too. “So, no, I’m not a hero. But I did manage to do at least two things right.” I look up, hating the sadness painted across Isabel’s features. “Her and you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Isabel
I sit there in stunned silence, searching for the right words. I don’t think Tristan feels remorse—at least not like other people do. But he recognizes when something isn’t right. Like he said last night, reacting the way he reacts isn’t normal, but it’s who he is. The choices he’s made are hard to think about and even harder to accept. Like death…like regret…if you dive too deep into the feelings, you’ll drown in them.
So I don’t. We can’t turn back the clock. It’s a matter of acceptance and forward motion now. That, and I decided a long time ago to just love him.
I reach up and touch his cheek. He captures it and turns to kiss my palm sweetly.
“I wish I could be more for you,” he whispers.
My heart hurts when he says it because it reminds me of another time. Whenever he used to apologize for the inequity between our lives, I would dig my heels in with the same kind of defensive determination that steadies me now. No matter what he ever said, he was always enough.
“You’re everything to me. Nothing’s changed.”
He looks down and toys with our laced fingers. He doesn’t believe me. He never used to. “Everything’s changed.”
“This is us, Tristan. This is who we are. We’ve been through hell. We’re a little broken now, and…and that’s okay.” I swallow over the knot in my throat, thinking of the journey ahead of us and who we’ll become on it. “Just because this isn’t the life we expected doesn’t mean this isn’t the path we’re meant to be on. Maybe we were chosen for this because we’re strong enough for it.”
He looks up with the same silvery-blue eyes that took me under the second I saw them. He smiles a little, but it’s tense and lacks the hope I’m clinging to.
The laptop chimes when a new message from Jay comes in, snagging our attention.
JAY: Javier Medina. Have your client find
a mutual connection and set up a meeting.
The hit should be personal. Nothing too high
profile or there may be conflicts. If they accept, Soloman will reach out.
RED: Who’s Medina?
JAY: He’s the man to know if you want
anything coming in or going out of the Port
of Miami. He works under the director and
makes things happen under the radar. Don’t underestimate him.
RED: Thanks.
Tristan closes the laptop and drags his thumb across his lip a few times. “I need to call Mateus. See where they overlap.”
“You’re sure he’ll do this?”
“Positive.”
“You realize that if they accept Mateus’s request, the clock is ticking on someone’s life. Someone he’ll have to name.”
He doesn’t make eye contact when he rises and begins pacing. “Yeah, I know.”
“Who could he choose? I mean, I’m sure he has enemies, but he’s not someone who would do something like that in the first place. Right?”
Tristan paces more but doesn’t answer me. The thought of picking a name out of the air to place on the Company’s hit list makes me uneasy. The only people I’d wish that fate on are already in the Company, which does us no good. Then again, I’ve lived a sheltered life. Mateus hasn’t. He may have kind eyes and the heart of a savior, but he can’t have linked himself with Tristan ignorant of what he does or what he’s capable of. Which means Mateus may not be far away in terms of moral code.
Tristan’s brow is fur
rowed. “I need to think. I’m going to take a walk. I’ll be back in a few.” He finally glances up like he’s just realized I’m in the same room. “Don’t go anywhere without me, okay?”
“I’ll be right here.”
When he goes outside, I watch him walk down the beach until he’s a tiny speck on the sand. I go back to his computer and reread the chat with Jay. I wonder if Mateus might already know Medina or how he’ll go about getting a meeting. Tristan’s account of Mateus’s history is news but not surprising. He’s wealthy and suave, of course, but there’s something gritty and authentic about him too.
I pull up a browser to search for Javier Medina. I navigate to his photo on the port’s website. He’s young, mid-thirties with a pleasant smile. Under it all, he’s the man who can lead us to Soloman. As long as Mateus can pull it off.
I click around a while longer and finally move on and open my email. I don’t know why I do. Perhaps out of habit or boredom. To the rest of the world, I’m a dead woman, so there’s no reason for anyone to message me unless it’s someone in the very small circle of those who know I’m alive. Someone like Kolt Mirchoff.
His name stands out from the surrounding junk-mail senders. The subject line: Please read.
I blink twice. Notice the gradual uptick of my heart. Withdraw my hand from the keypad as I decide whether or not to read the message. What could he possibly have to say? Somehow I already know he’ll try to change my mind about what he’s done and how I should feel about it. I hover over the trackpad and finally click the message, revealing its full content.
Isabel,
I know you probably hate me by now. There’s a lot you don’t know. There’s so much I want to tell you so you can understand what really happened, but I’ll probably never get that chance. I can only hope you read this, and once you do, you can decide for yourself.
I didn’t come to Rio to hurt you. My life was a mess, and when the opportunity came up to teach at the school, I took it. My uncle told me to get to know you and ask about your family. That was it. He didn’t tell me why, and I didn’t take him that seriously because all I cared about was getting away from my life for a while and he was the one making it happen.
He didn’t tell me to sleep with you. He didn’t tell me to fall in love with you. But I did. That was real, and I promise you, if I could take it all back and know you’d be safe right now, I would. I was ignorant and self-centered, which is probably exactly what you’d expect from a guy like me. It’s probably why you always held something back when it came to us. I didn’t know what I had until you were gone. Now I’m more fucked up than when I left school. I don’t think I can go back. I need to make this right, but I can’t unless you let me.
They don’t think I know what’s going on, but I do now. I’m listening when they don’t think anyone is. I’ll help you. I don’t care what I have to do.
Please, Isabel, find me so we can talk.
I love you,
Kolt
I shove up from the table and walk to the windows that face the beach. Tristan is nowhere to be seen, and for once I’m grateful. The mere mention of Kolt makes him bristle and question how I feel about him. This is so much worse. It’s a plea. One that sounds genuine and heartbreaking, and even though my heart belongs to Tristan, the place where I held my affection for Kolt is taking a serious hit.
But what if this is nothing more than lies? What if he knew his family wanted me dead and he forced himself into my life, using their sick game as an excuse to get me into bed? If that were true, then who knows what else he’s capable of? Penning a letter to draw me out would be the least of it.
Somehow I can’t bring myself to believe that, though. I can still remember the look on his face when I saw him at my parents’ house and the way he held me like he might never get a chance to again. That and every other time with him just seemed like Kolt being Kolt. Not some diabolical mastermind. His family and his money got him into Harvard, not his intellect, I’m sure of it. I could run rings around him with my Portuguese and nearly any other topic. He didn’t want to hurt me… He didn’t want to, but he did.
Damn it.
I go back to the table and reread the email, feeling no better when I do. What if he really wants to help? I check the date on the email. It was sent after that night with Vince in the hotel room when he promised to call off the hit.
I look over my shoulder again. No Tristan.
I hit the reply button and type with trembling hands.
Make me believe you.
TRISTAN
I walk briskly down the shore, turning back once the groups of tourists become denser as I near the condo-lined strip of the beach. I prefer our quiet place. When the search for Soloman takes us away, I’ll be sorry to leave.
Isabel could use more time, but the truth is, I could too. The simplicity of the life I had before—kill, survive, recover—is long past. I have Isabel to consider now. I have us to consider. The unit we’ve become, the future I’m fighting for, and the memories and emotions I didn’t have before all come into play, making our next steps more complicated.
I take my phone out and dial Mateus. It rings twice before he picks up.
“Alô.”
“It’s Tristan.”
“Tristan… I was wondering when I would hear from you again. How is Isabel?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Isabel is too.”
He chuckles softly. “I’m glad to hear it. What’s going on?”
I walk for a few seconds. Somehow asking for what I need carries an odd kind of weight. One that feels heavier for all the time I’ve held it.
“I need that favor now.”
The request is met with silence, then, “Whatever you want, Tristan.”
“After this, we’re square. But I need this, and I need you to see it through no matter what happens.”
“Of course. Do you have the details?”
“I need you to get a meeting with Javier Medina. He works for the Port of Miami. I get the impression he makes special arrangements for incoming and outgoing that would be too risky for the director to handle himself.”
“It’s hardly a midnight voyage into the favela. I think I can manage it.”
He doesn’t know what he’s getting into yet, so he can hardly agree, but I’ll let him.
“Where are you?”
“Traveling abroad with Karina. We took an extended vacation after our little evacuation from Petrópolis. But I can be in Miami in twenty-four hours.”
“Leave Karina. I don’t want her getting mixed up in this.”
Another pause. “Call me at this number tomorrow, and we’ll meet. I usually stay at a suite at the Fontainebleau. I’ll have my assistant reach out to Medina to set something up in the meantime.”
“Thanks.”
“What name will you be traveling under?”
I spin the wheel on my aliases and pick one. “Ethan Gallo.”
“Very good. I’ll see you in Miami.”
I hang up as the beach house comes back into view. The sun is bearing down, singeing my shoulders and chest. The heat is welcome. So is the burn forming. Something about it reminds me I’m alive. Human.
A part of me hoped this would be a good place to experiment with how much SP-131 my system could handle, but the rest of my memories will have to wait. I doubt they’d serve me in any plan to take Soloman down anyway. Isabel was right. The faster we move, the better our chances of taking the advantage. And we need every advantage we can get.
When I reach the path to the house, Isabel is sitting on the deck, her legs curled up to her chest. She looks pensive, almost troubled.
“Did you talk to Mateus?”
I hesitate. “I talked to him. He’s going to work on getting a meeting with Medina as soon as possible.”
“What does that mean for us?”
I walk in front of her and lean forward so my hands rest on the arms of her chair. “That means we’re blowing this sleepy little town and I’m t
aking you to Miami.”
Her expression is unreadable, as if she’s figuring out how she feels about that. Even though she was pushing the pace before, I knew she was hoping to stay longer.
“We can always come back,” I offer gently.
She shakes her head and looks past me. “No point going backward.” The way she says it is both matter-of-fact and resigned.
“How about I take you dancing when we get there?”
“I doubt we’ll have time for that. And anyway, you don’t dance.”
“No, but I love watching you dance. So let’s plan on that.”
She sighs, but I can tell I’ve added at least a little shimmer to the move.
“Fine.”
“We’ll leave early tomorrow. I have a few things I want to do here before we go anyway.”
“Like what?”
“Come on.” I reach for her hand and tug her upright.
As soon as she’s on her feet, I lead her back onto the beach. She digs her heels into the sand with a squeal when she realizes I’m heading right into the water.
“Tristan, no!”
“What? Look, all those people down there are going in.” I point to the busy end of the beach where a few brave tourists are floating in the shallow water.
“They’re probably from the North Pole, where the water is never warm. This is way too cold.”
I release her hand and wade in past my knees. I suck in a breath and turn with a forced smile. “Come on. Come in with me.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head. “You’re crazy. That water is frigid.”
I laugh and sink in a little lower, schooling my features to appear unaffected. But she’s right. It’s fucking cold.
The Red Ledger: 6 Page 3