Present Day
After I got back from meeting with Devon, Ryan and I spent the evening stuffing ourselves on take- out food, binging Netflix, and trying to forget about how horrible the day was. The calls and texts from Ryan’s friends throughout the day became so incessant that he ended up powering off his phone, which is something he rarely does. Neither of us got much sleep, so this Monday morning it seems especially hard to get up and moving.
Even though Ryan is taking the next several days off, he’s still got a full day since he offered to help with the planning of James’s funeral. While I probably could have taken the day off as well, I don’t want to be available to visit the Bernards again, nor do I want to be forced to devise a way to disappear around lunch to meet back up with Devon.
I’m in the kitchen filling up a travel mug of coffee for each of us when Ryan starts down the stairs. “I’m heading to the Bernards’ first with a few of the guys,” he says. “Mrs. Bernard wants us to help
her contact his work and let them know what happened. Then we’re headed to the funeral home.”
“Yeah, I don’t envy you today.” I hand him his coffee and start packing my bag for the day. “Shoot, I left my phone on the charger upstairs.”
By the time I’m heading back down, Ryan is waiting by the door with his bag slung over his shoulder, his coffee mug in one hand and his keys in the other. “I shouldn’t be too late tonight.”
I grab my stuff from the chair. “Me either. Call me when you’re headed home and I’ll duck out early,” I say, then follow him to the garage.
Just before I reach the door of my 4Runner, Ryan pulls me in close and kisses me gently. “I’m dreading today,” he says quietly. “Is it terrible that I don’t want to go over there?”
I run a hand down the side of his face, then wrap my arm around his neck, holding him close to me.
He buries his face into the side of my neck.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper in his ear. I can feel my phone buzzing in my purse, but I don’t let go of Ryan until he’s ready.
I’m not sure how long we stand there holding each other, but he finally pulls away, giving me one last kiss before he lets me go and moves to his car.
I’m getting in my car as he climbs into his. As the garage door opens, he nods for me to back out first. I start inching out of the garage since it’s a tight squeeze, watching my passenger side mirror to make sure I’m not going to scrape the door of his car.
As soon as I’m clear, I pull out my phone to give it a quick glance since I rarely get notifications of any kind. It’s a text from an unknown number and my heart starts racing. I’m sure Ryan is wondering why I’ve stopped halfway down the driveway.
I open the text.
Unknown number: 911
Shit. That’s my warning from Devon to get the hell out of here. I look up to find Ryan is stepping out of his car, his attention drawn to the street behind me.
I check my rearview mirror, afraid of what I will see there.
Three police cars have pulled up behind me, blocking us both in.
It only takes a few seconds to realize there’s no getting past them. It also occurs to me that had I not lingered with Ryan in the garage, I would have seen Devon’s text as soon as I received it. Those few minutes may have cost me a clean getaway.
Ryan is out of his car and moving to my door, attempting to open it, but the car is locked since I’m still in reverse. I do a quick mental inventory as to what is in this car that could possibly get me in trouble, but know that there’s nothing.
He knocks on the window. “Evie, open up.” His eyes track the approaching officers.
With slow and deliberate movements, I put the car in park and cut the engine. The second Ryan hears the lock disengage, he opens my door and pulls me out.
His face is wiped free of expression. Even though I didn’t see him while he was talking to that rogue employee, I imagine this is what his face looked like then.
Does he think they are here for him because they have discovered his activities in East Texas? I do appreciate the sentiment when he steps between me and the cops, but the text from Devon tells me they are here for me and he can’t save me from what’s about to happen.
“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ll handle this.” He does think they are here for him.
The same officer, Deputy Bullock, from the Bernards’ house is leading the way up the driveway, his eyes probably twinkling behind the mirrored shades.
“Miss Porter,” he says as his hands rest on the low-slung gun belt around his waist. “I’m going to need you to come to the station with me to answer a few questions.”
Ryan’s hands are on his hips, blocking me completely from the police. “What is this about?”
Deputy Bullock looks around Ryan to me. “There is a material witness warrant for you from Atlanta PD, in connection with the death of Amy Holder.”
I see two of the other officers moving in closer, and I don’t want this to get any uglier than it has to. The Rogerses, Ryan’s next-door neighbors, have returned from their walk and are watching this unfold, as are several other people across the street. A few cars have stopped down the block. This quiet, tree-lined street has never seen such excitement.
I put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, which causes him to turn toward me. I don’t speak but I nod, letting him know it’s okay for them to take me with them. He stares at me a second or two, trying to read me so he can understand what’s happening. The officers are gentle with me as they lead me to the closest patrol car. Thankfully, no one makes a move toward my car, so I’m hopeful it will still be here when I get out.
Amy Holder was the mark for my last job, the one I didn’t complete to Mr. Smith’s satisfaction. But my alias for this job, Evelyn Porter, should have been a clean identity and should not be connected in any way to Amy Holder or her death. The fact that they are bringing me in for questioning about her death lets me know I’ve been compromised, and this somehow plays into the next step of whatever Mr. Smith has in store for me.
 |
It takes more focus than you can imagine to sit absolutely still. I have not tapped my foot or fidgeted in my seat or looked anywhere other than the light-gray wall that is right in front of me. My breathing remains easy, inhaling through my nose and exhaling between my barely parted lips. My eyes blink in an easy rhythm, not too fast, not too slow.
I know they’re watching me through the mirrored wall to my left, but I refuse to give them so much as a twitch of my pinkie finger, because I can’t forget what Devon said the first time I met him in real life: You can tell a lot about a person by the way they act when they are left waiting too long.
There was a big production of bringing me into the interrogation room and sitting me down at this table. Uniformed officers and plainclothes detectives streamed in and out, each wanting to have their part in this. I was offered something to drink, I was asked if I needed to use the restroom. I was asked question after question, all of which I answered with the absolute bare-minimum response. The last question asked was by me. I asked for a lawyer.
I requested Rachel Murray, although I’m sure Ryan has already called her himself.
Sometime later, Rachel arrives and sits down across from me. I’m quiet while she openly studies me. I wasn’t sure what to expect from her—delight in my detainment, or fear of sitting across the table from someone who may or may not be involved with a murder, or confusion as to why I requested her—but I don’t get any of those. Her face is as blank as mine, and I’m happy with the route I’ve decided to take.
She’s going to make me speak first, which I respect.
“Will you represent me?” I ask. I absolutely refuse to say anything to her that won’t be protected by attorney-client privilege.
“Yes,” she answers, then pulls a document out of the bag sitting by her feet. “I figured you wouldn’t talk to me without this.”
It’s a standard agreement stating we are moving into a professional relationship in which Rachel is now my attorney of record. I sign at the bottom, then watch as she scratches her name below mine.
“I’m assuming you’re good for the bill I will send you?” she asks. I nod. “Of course.”
She stuffs the document back in her bag and then moves to the door. Opening it slightly, she says, “I am the attorney of record for Miss Porter, so cut the mics and video feed to the room.”
The door shuts, then she moves to the window to lower a set of blinds.
Now I have to trust this system and hope no one is about to hear what I’m about to tell her. This little bit of privacy has me shifting in my seat, trying to restore blood flow to the areas that need it.
Her left eye squints as she watches me. “Ryan called me the second they pulled out of his driveway with you in the back seat. When you requested me, I was already here. I was surprised, to say the least.”
Finally, I ask, “Do you know what they have on me? Why they think I am a material witness?” “Officer Bullock ran your name and Brookwood, Alabama, after he left the Bernards’. The warrant
popped. He made the call and talked to the officer on Amy Holder’s case first thing this morning. They have reason to believe you were at the scene when she died and either have knowledge of what happened in the moments before her death or may have assisted or been a factor in her death. They requested you be brought in, so the local guys headed to Ryan’s to pick you up.”
Evie Porter and Brookwood, Alabama, should not have any connection to Amy Holder in any way. “What proof do they have that I was there?”
“I’m told there is a photo of you at the scene. The local police are saying Atlanta PD hasn’t shared it with them so they couldn’t show it to me. Not sure if that’s the truth or not. Regardless, I have requested a copy of it and have been told it is forthcoming.”
I nod, taking it all in. “How do they know the person in the image is Evie Porter, specifically?” Rachel’s head tilts to the side. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.” And I’m sure she’s wondering why
I’m referring to myself in third person.
“Is there a complete record on Evie Porter? Anything other than her presence where Amy Holder died?” I ask in a frustrated voice. I’m not ready to tell her everything yet, but I need to know everything she does. I’m not at the point where I can reclaim the Lucca Marino identity, and I need to protect it a little longer until I know exactly what’s going on. For now, Lucca Marino is dead and gone and I am stuck being Evie Porter.
Rachel leans forward and rests her arms on the table. “Want to tell me what’s going on? I can’t help you if you keep me in the dark.”
“I knew Amy Holder.” She shows no surprise in this admission. “But when I knew her, my name wasn’t Evie Porter.”
Her head cocks to the side. “What was it?” “Regina Hale.”
“Regina Hale,” she repeats.
I nod and she stares at me. “Are you Regina Hale?” she asks. I shake my head no.
“Is Regina Hale a real person you impersonated?” she finally asks. “No.”
“Are you being vague on purpose?” she asks. “Because if it’s more important to keep your secrets than confide in me, I’ll show myself out.”
God, she’s a tough bitch, but a tough bitch is what I need.
“Regina Hale was the name I used when I lived outside of Atlanta. My understanding is that Amy’s death was ruled an accident.”
Rachel leans back in her chair, her arms crossed in front of her as she openly studies me. “Is your real name Evie Porter?” she asks.
I hesitate long enough that she knows the answer, but she still waits for my response. “No.”
“What’s your real name?” she asks.
“Not Evie Porter,” I answer. I’m not ready to give her everything. Not yet.
We watch each other, both of us trying to determine who will break first. Finally, Rachel reaches down and pulls some papers out of her briefcase. “This is from my own personal search. I can find out if the police have anything more than this.”
Even though I knew she would do her own search on me, I’m not prepared for the first item she lays down in front of me. It’s a photocopy of a student ID from the University of Alabama with the name Evelyn Porter and my picture dated seven years ago.
“What is this?” I ask. I recognize the picture. It’s from the first job I did. The Kingston job under the name Izzy Williams, but here it is on a school ID for Evelyn Porter.
Rachel doesn’t say anything but hands me another piece of paper. It’s a photocopy of a driver’s license dated six years ago. Again, the picture is of me but the name on the license is Evelyn Porter. This image is one I used for the Andrew Marshall job under the name Mia Bianchi.
Another page lands on the table. Evelyn Porter’s passport dated four years ago. Another picture of me that was intended for a job in Florida under the name Wendy Wallace.
Three more pieces of paper. An electricity bill, a speeding ticket, and a statement from a doctor’s office. Three more pieces of proof that I’m Evelyn Porter.
I’ve spent eight years hiding my real identity, while Mr. Smith has spent eight years creating a new active one for me.
Devon and I are so thorough when we research a new town and a new mark, but not doing a deep dive into the name assigned to me was a blind spot.
Rachel waits for some sort of reaction from me. When she realizes she’s not going to get one, she leans back in her chair and blows out a loud breath. “You still want to tell me you aren’t Evelyn Porter?”
I’m back to being still. Calm. Composed. My brain may be firing in a million different directions, but I refuse to let anyone know that.
“If you’re not Evelyn Porter and you refuse to tell me who you really are, how am I supposed to help you?” she asks.
“I need out of here. I need a few days to get this straightened out.”
She’s already shaking her head. “I can try but don’t get your hopes up. They’ve been looking for you for a while and they don’t want to chance you disappearing on them. All they’ve got is the formal request to interview you as a potential material witness, not a suspect in her death, so there’s that, but I don’t see them letting you just waltz right out of here today. I can probably have you out in a day or so, but it will be contingent on you going immediately to Atlanta for questioning.”
Time is what I need more than anything else right now. I wait a few seconds, weighing my options, then pull her notebook and pen toward me. I scribble a name and push it back. I don’t want to say it aloud in case there are still ears listening in. “Call this man. Say your client was on Hilton Head in June 2017. Tell him to get me out of here. Today.”
Rachel leans forward, her face a shade paler than it was before. “You want me to call him and mention Hilton Head, June 2017, then what . . . ask him to pull some strings to get you released?”
It’s not a question, so I don’t bother giving her an answer.
She gives me a quick nod then leaves the room. I’m surprised she didn’t badger me about the cryptic message, but I’m learning I didn’t give Rachel enough credit.
I never wanted to be sitting here, facing what I’m facing, but I was prepared for it nonetheless. It’s time to call in my favor.
The door cracks open slowly, but it’s too early for Rachel to be back. I relax into my chair, ready to play the game with the detectives. And then Ryan’s head peeks through the open space like he’s not sure he’s in the right room.
When he thought the police were there for him, he was worried about protecting me. Now he looks at me with apprehension.
“Rachel talked the cops into letting me see you for a minute. I think they’re all too scared to tell her no. She did say to expect the cameras and mics to be back on, though.”
They probably want him in here with me, hoping I’ll say something to him they can use against me.
He hesitates just a moment, then he’s by my side and pulling me into his arms. I’m surprised by my own flood of emotion. It’s a relief to see him. He holds me close, squeezing me tight, as he mumbles quietly, “What the hell, Evie.”
I should step away. Break contact with him. But I can’t let him go.
I don’t want to let him go. I blame my lowered defenses on the long day . . . the long past several days.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “Better now that you’re here.”
He pulls back so he can look at me. “Rachel says she’s working on getting you out of here.”
“Good. That’s good.” He looks tired. The past twenty-four hours haven’t been kind to him. First, he loses his childhood friend, then his girlfriend is hauled off in a police cruiser.
He laces his fingers in mine. “What’s going on, Evie? That cop said you’re wanted for questioning as a material witness in a death of some woman in Atlanta. They think you were there when it happened.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was told too. I was as surprised as you were that they wanted to talk to me. I had no idea there was a warrant out for me,” I say, making sure I don’t say anything that I wouldn’t say in front of the cops, since they’re probably listening.
“Does that mean they think something is suspicious about her death? I mean, why else would they need a warrant to talk to you?”
I take a deep breath and blow it out. “I have no idea why they think I know anything.” He’s nodding while I talk as if he’s weighing the truth of my words.
Before he can say anything else, Rachel opens the door and slips into the room. Her eyes bounce back and forth between us, the judgment there very clear. I’m lying to her friend.
“Evie,” she says with heavy emphasis on my name, “I made the call. It seems to have been successful.
We’ll know for sure soon.”
I nod because I knew it would be.
She looks at Ryan. “Can you give us a few minutes? I need to go over some things with Evie.”
He looks between the two of us, I’m sure wondering what we could possibly talk about that he can’t hear.
When I don’t say it’s okay for him to stay, he says, “Of course. I’ll be just outside.” And then he’s gone.
She waves her hand, gesturing at the room. “Mics and cameras are back off.” I nod, waiting for whatever she wants to say that no one else can hear.
“Are you going to tell him who you really are?” she asks.
“I hired you to handle the legal aspects of my life, not the personal ones.” She’s not deterred. “He’s my friend.”
I don’t respond, and we stare at each other a few seconds before she says, “I’ll be back as soon as the release comes through. If it comes through.”
“It will,” I say.
She throws me a look as she leaves the room.
I sit back in the chair and clear my mind so I can start planning.
Lucca Marino—Six Years Ago
I take my time driving from Hilton Head back to Raleigh, North Carolina, with the last twelve hours heavy on my mind. I shouldn’t care what Andrew Marshall thinks about me now, but I do.
I’m off the grid. Matt has called my phone a million times and texted threat after threat, but I am not fazed.
I park in front of AAA Bail Bonds midmorning on Monday, almost forty-eight hours after I left Andrew at that resort in South Carolina, even though I was instructed never to set foot back here.
Matt is not expecting me.
The last time I was here I was terrified. I had just fled the Kingstons’ house after leaving a bleeding Jenny Kingston dying on the floor and a sleeping Miles on the couch.
Today is different.
Today I walk into his office like I own it.
There are a few random people scattered around the waiting room and the same girl at the front desk. She gives me a halfhearted smile when I walk toward her, but her expression changes quickly when I bypass her desk and head down the hall.
“Wait! You need to check in first!” she yells, hot on my heels.
I twist open the door to Matt’s office, and she stops herself just before colliding with my back.
“Where the fuck have you been!” Matt yells the second he sees me, then he looks at the receptionist behind me. “Get the fuck back out front!” She makes a U-turn just as I shut his office door.
I sit in the same chair across from his desk that I did two years ago.
He looks like he hasn’t slept since Friday. Since the last time we spoke. Since the last time he could see the video feed he had set up. Right before I cut it.
“My girl looked for Andrew all fucking weekend! Even went and knocked on his door! And where did you disappear to? You pulled a fucking Houdini on this job!” His face is red and bits of spit are flying from his mouth.
I take my time answering him. “Your plan was stupid. I improved it.”
He grits his teeth and his eyes scan me at a frantic pace. “What does that mean?” he finally asks.
“Get Mr. Smith on the phone,” I say. And now he looks like he wants to murder me.
Matt comes around to the front of his desk and stands over me. He leans down, putting his hands on the arms of my chair to box me in. “You answer to me,” he says.
“No, I don’t. Not anymore.” I raise my arm and look at my watch. “You have five minutes or I walk. And you don’t want me to walk.”
I’m playing a very dangerous game, but I have to go with my gut. It never lets me down.
We stare at each other for a long, tense moment.
Something happened to me when I took over that job and made it my own. And I’m not going back to how it was before.
“Four minutes.”
He shoves off my chair so hard that I’m in danger of toppling backward. I kick my feet out to regain my balance. He picks up his phone. Turning his back to me, he talks quietly to Mr. Smith.
A few seconds later, he’s spinning around with the phone on speaker. “Talk,” Matt says.
Silence on the other end, but I don’t let that stop me. “Andrew Marshall is a bust. He was never going to cheat on his wife. He’s too squeaky clean. And if you forced something, the shame of it would have made him drop out of the race completely. It doesn’t do you any good to have dirt on someone who isn’t powerful. Ten minutes with this guy and you’d have known that.”
Matt’s eyes bore into me while I let Mr. Smith’s silence fill the room. “But I got you something better. Senator Nelson. He’s held his seat in
Georgia for eighteen years. He’s on all the good committees. He loves God, his wife, his country. He also loves to have his ass spanked while wearing a ball gag. He’s all yours. Just tell me where to send the flash drive.”
It’s clear I’m cutting Matt out by not giving it to him to pass along. What I don’t add is Andrew Marshall is mine now. He will be governor soon, and he realizes just how close he came to being owned while also understanding who saved him from that.
I watch Matt and Matt watches the phone. There is a film of sweat popping out on his forehead.
That conversation with Andrew was hard. When he woke up the next morning still on the balcony, he had questions. And I answered them all.
Vigilant. That’s what he has to be going forward. No blind trust even if that person proves to be trustworthy. That’s a hard lesson to learn. He thanked me, then offered to help me in any way he could to leave this life. To live a life filled with honor, not with crime. Because that’s who Andrew Marshall is.
me.
I hugged him and thanked him and promptly left him.
I also know if I ever need him—really need him—he will be there for
When it doesn’t seem like Mr. Smith will be speaking to me today, I
continue. “You may not like I changed the job, and the results may not be the ones you were hoping for, but Matt’s plan would have failed. And Senator Nelson is better than a failed plan and wasted resources. If you would like to continue to engage my services, I deal directly with you. Not Matt. I’m good at what I do. Better than him. And you know it.”
Silence.
Matt is furious. A deep, red flush is creeping up his neck, and his jaw is clenched tight.
Finally, Mr. Smith speaks. “Matt, give Lucca your phone then go wait in the hall. Lucca, once he’s gone, shut the door and take me off speaker.”
Matt’s eyes look like they will bulge right out of his head. He leaves the office, slamming the door behind him.
I pick up the phone and hit the button to make the call private. “I’m here,” I say.
“I was told there was quite an event in Andrew Marshall’s suite on Friday night.”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes. I invited some big hitters up for a cocktail party once I realized what Matt had planned. I knew if I couldn’t get the dirt on Andrew, I better get it on someone else equally or more important.”
Silence.
And then finally, more questions. “Where was Andrew Marshall during this party? If you have what you say you have, was he a witness to the senator’s behavior?”
“I knocked Andrew out and put him on the lounger on the balcony. Senator Nelson took one of the girls back to his room, and that’s where the event between them took place.”
Silence again. The wait between his questions and my answers is unnerving, which I’m sure is the point.
“Matt’s instructions were delivered to you at four thirty in the afternoon, and you sent out invites for the cocktail gathering in Marshall’s room at five forty-five. How were you able to find the tech and personnel to pull this off in such a short amount of time? Or were you already planning to go rogue before you were given your instructions?”
Assuming he was going to just take what I was giving him was naive.
“As you’ve said before, I am resourceful and think on my feet. This is just another example of that. I did not go into the weekend believing I would have to alter the plan, but it would have been unprofessional not to have been prepared for any eventuality. It was clear when I got the instructions that Matt had taken the lead on this job. It was sloppy and amateurish.”
“And I’m to believe you walked away from the weekend with absolutely nothing on Marshall? That you in fact have not uncovered a single thing in all the time you’ve been with him that can be used as leverage against him?”
“That is the truth. He’s as squeaky as they come.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe me. After a minute, I check the phone to see if we’re still connected.
“While Senator Nelson will be helpful, he wasn’t who we sent you after, but I can acknowledge and appreciate salvaging a job,” he says. “Moving forward, you’ll answer directly to me. We’ll see how that works for us. For now. You are quite the surprise. Let’s just see if it is a good one or bad one.”
I ignore the ominousness of that last part. “My pay will reflect my new position, correct?”
I don’t expect the chuckle. “You don’t mind pushing me, do you?” “Would you respect me if I didn’t?”
He ignores my question. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are. There is a situation in Florida you could help with. A sleepy little college town with lots of money. I need you to go there.”
“No problem,” I say, without hesitation. Even though I don’t know what the job is, I know this is my one shot to prove I deserve leveling up.
“Go to the Holiday Inn Express near the airport. Check in under your current alias and wait for further instructions.”
And then the line does go dead.
“I’m finished talking to him,” I yell at the closed door, and Matt is pushing it open seconds later, jerking his phone from my hand.
“You’re going to regret this,” he says.
I shrug, then take the tiny paper swan out of my pocket, dropping it on the corner of his desk.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Something to remember me by,” I say as I head to the door.
At the same moment I’m walking out of this building, there are small white boxes being delivered to multiple locations. In each box is an origami swan similar to what I just gave Matt. When the swan is pulled open, there’s a picture showing the recipient in a very compromising position, with the words “Hilton Head 2017” written underneath it in red Sharpie. And that’s it.
I just made my team a little bit bigger, even if the members aren’t there by choice. A favor was called in that night I was almost arrested in Raleigh, and that was all it took to get me out of trouble.
There will be a time when I need these men and they will come running. I now have a handful of well-respected, God-fearing politicians in my back pocket. A senator, a couple of congressmen, several mayors and state legislators. And poor Judge McIntyre from Louisiana, who tagged along to the cocktail party with a friend.
