Present Day

Judge McIntyre came through like a champ. Just like I knew he would. I’m riding with Ryan back to the house as Rachel follows behind us in her car. She agreed to be held accountable for my actions, so it looks like I’m stuck with her.

In order to walk out of there today, I had to agree to meet with the detectives in Atlanta on Friday morning to answer questions on the circumstances surrounding the death of Amy Holder. If I refused to agree to do that, I would be held at the Lake Forbing Police Department until the escort sent by the Atlanta Police Department arrived and dragged me back there. If I’m not there for that meeting on Friday morning, there will be another warrant issued for my arrest for failure to show.

Yesterday, Mr. Smith’s plan was unclear, but that is not the case anymore. While I thought I could always go back to being Lucca Marino, after today it will be next to impossible to lose the Evie Porter identity. As a condition of being released, I was photographed and fingerprinted, so now not only am I in the system for the first time ever, I’m in the system as Evelyn Porter.

I was so careful to keep Lucca Marino clean and off the grid—a blank slate that I could shape when I was ready—that I’ve got nothing to prove I’m actually her. But Evie Porter has a full background and history, including pictures, the freshly uploaded fingerprints, and the material witness warrant for questioning in the death of Amy Holder.

Eight years ago, Mr. Smith saved me from potential arrest, and now he’s set me up for one.

Today is Monday and already half gone so I have only three full days to handle this.

It’s quiet in the car.

Of all the questions twisting and turning in my head right now, the one that plagues me the most is: Why would Mr. Smith up the stakes on this job? I may be stuck in this town and in this identity for now, but my work here is done. Was this ever a real job or just a ruse to keep me in one place?

“You can ask me anything,” I finally say when the silence becomes too much.

“How did she die?” he asks. “The woman they want to question you about.”

“She died in a fire.”

He cringes slightly, eyes still firmly on the road. “How did you know her?”

“Through work,” I answer. Which is true. She was my last job.

We’re a few minutes from his house and he hasn’t asked me anything else, so I push him. “You’re not going to ask me if I was there? If I know anything about what happened to her? If I played a part in it?”

“No. And it’s not because I don’t want the answers.” He turns and looks at me a second or so before his focus is back on the road. “It’s because you’re not ready to tell me the truth and I’d rather you not lie to me.”

“You’re not scared you’re shacking up with a criminal?” I ask, no hint of amusement in my voice. “Not afraid I’ll set fire to that big beautiful house of yours?”

Push, push, push.

His humorless laugh fills the interior of the car. “My entire street witnessed my girlfriend being taken away by the cops. I’ve spent the whole day at the police station doing whatever I could to secure her release. And now she’s picking a fight with me as I drive us home because I refuse to play games with her.” He glances my way again. “Am I happy this is happening? No. Am I here supporting you through it? Yes. Am I scared of you? No. I’m patient enough to wait until you’re ready to talk to me about this. But I’m not having hypothetical conversations with you about it.”

His words hit me in a way I didn’t expect.

Ryan reaches over and slides his hand into mine, softening the vibe in the car. “We’ll go to Atlanta and tell them you don’t know anything, answer their questions, and then we can get back to normal.” He says it so decisively that I almost believe that is an option for me.

I have no idea what normal would even look like.

We pull into the garage, but Ryan keeps the engine running. “I need to stop by my office to pick up a few things since I wasn’t able to get by there earlier,” he says, staring through the front windshield.

I get out of the car before I say something I will regret. That little speech was making me want to tell him all the things I shouldn’t and now he’s running from me. I’m almost in the house when I hear Rachel shut her car door, her heels clicking on the concrete behind me.

“Evie, we need to go over some things,” she says as she follows me in the back door.

I nod but don’t turn back to face her. “I need a shower first. And a little time. Give me an hour.” I’m heading up the stairs before she has a chance to say anything else.

I stop cold in front of our closed bedroom door. We never shut this door when the room is empty. I think back to this morning when we were getting ready for the day, each of us moving at a snail’s pace, groggy from the weekend. I went down first, then Ryan joined me not long after, but then I ran back up here to get my phone from where it was charging beside the bed.

The door was open when I left the room.

I twist the knob slowly, then give it a push.

The bed is made, which is another thing we rarely do and certainly wouldn’t have done it this morning given the state we were in. I scan the room, then suck in a breath when I see what’s waiting for me on the nightstand on my side of the bed.

An origami swan.

It’s set back against the lamp and small enough not to raise the interest of anyone but me.

I stare at it longer than I should, giving it power it doesn’t deserve.

Finally, I reach for it and pull it open. There’s another piece of paper inside the body of the swan. There are two pictures printed on one side. This is what the cops in Atlanta have on me, compliments of Mr. Smith, I’m sure. And he delivered it to me in the same way I let Judge McIntyre know what I have on him.

In the top image, I am standing outside a hotel in downtown Atlanta and Amy Holder is only a few feet away, her face angry and her hands raised as she flips me her middle finger. In the second image, I’m following Amy inside the hotel. The same hotel where only a few minutes later every cell phone camera on the street out front caught the black plumes of smoke that poured out her balcony window. It is clear there was a problem between us, and it’s also clear I went into the hotel after her.

I remember this moment perfectly. Her heated words. The stares from anyone close enough to hear what she was screaming at me. And then later, the sounds of the fire truck sirens blasting through the air, the people screaming, the acrid smell of smoke.

The perfect piece of evidence, placing me at the scene in a confrontational moment with the dead woman. Knowing Mr. Smith, there are other shots from other angles that are just as damning and that can be passed along to the Atlanta PD whenever he’s ready. This is just a teaser to whet their appetite.

The back side of the paper lets me know what he wants from me.

It’s a picture of me taken on the same day, but the location is different.

I’m leaving a bank a few blocks away from the hotel Amy was staying in.

At the bottom of the paper is a phone number. Retrieving my cell from my bag, I call him immediately.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. You managed to get out of there quicker than I gave you credit for,” Mr. Smith says when I answer, the robotic pitch a bit higher than usual.

“You’ve always underestimated me.” It takes everything in me to inject a touch of playfulness into my voice.

“You will turn over what you retrieved from Amy Holder in Atlanta or you will discover this isn’t going to end pleasantly for you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and take a silent deep breath. “I explained what happened there. I didn’t get it. It’s gone. Burned up in the fire.”

“Then what is in the safe deposit box?”

I look back at the picture of me on the front steps of the bank. “Please tell me you didn’t set me up with the cops because of this picture.”

“And you are now underestimating me,” he sneers. “I have the video surveillance from the security cameras inside the Wells Fargo branch on Peachtree Street. You rented the box before the Fire Department had fully doused the flames engulfing Amy Holder’s body. You never keep anything important on you, and this would have been the quickest and closest place to safely stash what you retrieved. The only reason we’re even having this conversation is because I don’t know the box number, nor do I have the signature card details.”

“It’s not what you think,” I say. “It has nothing to do with Amy or her death.”

The mechanical growl due to the voice changer makes me cringe. “Now is not the time to play dumb with me. You will go back to Atlanta, but I want you there on Wednesday. There is a room reserved for you at the Candler Hotel in downtown Atlanta. You will be met in the lobby on Thursday morning at ten a.m. by one of my representatives, and he will

accompany you to the bank and inside the vault. He will remove the contents of the safe deposit box himself. If what you say is true, and the contents have nothing to do with the Amy Holder job, then we will put this matter to bed once and for all and continue forward as we have. And you will find the detectives in Atlanta will quickly lose interest in you.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you’ll call off the dogs if I show you the contents of the safe deposit box? And what about this job? I’m just walking away from it? For someone who hates failure, why is it okay for this job?”

“With the shit you’re in with me, that’s what you want to know? The only thing that matters is getting back what Amy Holder took. All of it.” He’s quiet a moment and then adds, “At one time you were my best asset and now look how far you’ve fallen.”

“I’m still your best asset and we both know it.”

The loud bark of laughter startles me. “You walked right in and talked to the cops. There’s a file with your name on it now. Did you even put up a fight when they asked for your fingerprints? There’s video of you from that interrogation room. Your composure must be commended.”

His words are like bullets, each one hitting the target.

“How many Judge McIntyres do you have hidden in your pocket?”

I let out a laugh that I hope doesn’t sound forced. “Enough that I can keep dodging the curveballs you’re throwing at me.”

“Unfortunately, Lucca, you made your choice, so now I’m making mine,” he growls.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been setting me up since the beginning. All these years. I’ve been one of your best, yet you’ve just been waiting around for the moment to turn on me.”

He makes a tsking sound. “Of course I have. Do you think I wouldn’t have a contingency plan in place if one of mine gets out of hand? Don’t get sentimental now. This is business.”

“Did the woman pretending to be me know what was going to happen to her when she took the job? Did you tell her it was a death sentence?”

“That woman was an unfortunate casualty. She had potential. But I’m always prepared to make the hard decisions. The Holder job is more important.”

And there it is. Confirmation that their deaths weren’t an accident. “Did she even finish the job you sent her on? Or did she let you down in some way?”

“She was sent to unnerve you. And she did. She was sent to make a name for herself as Lucca Marino. And she did. She was sent to dinner that night to make sure you were the last person to see her alive so the police would have no choice but to question your evening together. I thought I’d have to step in to make sure they became aware of the warrant out for you, but you made that easy on me too. Her snooping through your stuff was to get under your skin because I knew how much you’d hate that. The spreadsheet you left for her to find gave me a little laugh, though. Nicely played.”

The urge to scream at him and throw this phone until it breaks into a million pieces rolls through me, but I can’t show him how gutted I feel.

“What guarantees do I have that I won’t end up like her? She came in here to do a job and what thanks does she get? A nose dive off a bridge.”

“I can guarantee you will meet the same fate if you fail to deliver what I send you for a second time.” His tone softens when he adds, “I know you’ll do whatever is necessary to get that fairy-tale ending you’ve always wanted. Big house and garden you and Mama planned all those years ago while she was wasting away in that single wide. You can still have all that. I can make Evie Porter a distant memory and bring Lucca Marino back from the dead if you give me what I want.”

Does he honestly think I would believe that’s a possible outcome?

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you—Atlanta was a bust. Whatever you wanted from Amy Holder, she took with her to the grave. That safe deposit box does not hold what you think it does.”

He waits a beat, then says, “This number will be disconnected the second this call ends. You know how it works. If you don’t meet my associate in the hotel lobby at the designated time, I’ll be forced to give the Atlanta PD everything I have. Those pictures are just a preview of the main show. You can still run, but you’re not a ghost anymore.” He adds one last thing before ending the call. “And the cops won’t be the only ones hunting you down.”

And then the line goes dead. I don’t try to call back, because he doesn’t make empty threats.

I take the paper he left me to the bathroom, drop it in the sink, then pull out the lighter I keep for the candles next to the tub. It only takes a few minutes for it to turn to ash. I wash away all traces of it before the smoke sets off any alarms.

Turning the shower on as hot as I can stand, I undress and step under the spray, desperately needing to wash the last several hours away.

There are a lot of questions that need answers.

There are a lot of emotions I’ll need to sift through. The anger that the man I’ve worked for all these years has turned against me in a way I could never imagine. The disappointment that washed over me upon hearing he built an identity for me from the beginning for the sole purpose of tearing me down. The bitterness that filled me when I discovered he was planning for my demise from the very first job. It all hits harder than I thought it would. Harder than I was prepared for.

But the part that’s hitting me the hardest is the death of the woman. She came in and did her job. It’s my fault she’s dead. That James is dead. If I wasn’t playing this game with Mr. Smith, she’d still be alive.

I scrub every inch of my body. Shampoo my hair. Wash my face.

Anything to feel clean.

Her death sits heavy on my shoulders, it fills my lungs, it clouds my vision.

The bathroom door squeaks open, making me jump, even though I expect Ryan to come in to check on me once he gets back from his office.

Steam has fogged the glass, so I can’t make out his details until he opens the door. A line appears in the middle of his forehead as he stares at me. His expression is one I can’t read. Just when I think he’ll walk away, he quietly undresses and joins me. He takes the washcloth from me before turning me toward the shower wall. One hand lands on my hip, holding me in place, while the other runs the cloth in long, sweeping passes along my back and shoulders.

I turn back around and bury my face in his chest while the water rains down around us. And I cry. Once I start, I can’t stop. Big, broken sobs that wreck me.

Ryan whispers in my ear. Nonsense. Sweet words. Promises. His soft voice finding the chinks in my armor.

Ten minutes to fall apart. Ten minutes to soak in the comfort he offers regardless of whether I deserve it. I will take these ten minutes then pull myself back together.

The water starts to cool so Ryan shuts it off, then somehow grabs my towel without letting me go. I stand still as he dries me off.

“Want to crawl in the bed? Or want to eat first?” he asks as I pull on a pair of leggings and an oversize tee.

“Is Rachel still here?” I ask.

He nods as he towels off. “Yes, she feels personally responsible for you.

She plans to stay within arm’s reach until we get to Atlanta.”

I take in a deep breath. Then one more. “You don’t need to go with me to Atlanta.”

Ryan shrugs. “Of course I do. But we’re not talking about that tonight.

We’ll make our plans tomorrow.”

My mind is already working through different scenarios now that I know what I’m up against. I’ll go to Atlanta after I make a few other stops first.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks.

I don’t like that he can read me so well. It shows how much I’ve let my guard down where he’s concerned.

“Just thinking about what they’ll ask me. And what they’ll do if I can’t answer their questions.”

Ryan pulls me in close. “I’ll be there with you the entire time. So will Rachel. We’re on your side. If there’s one thing you believe, believe that.”

I grasp his hands in mine and pull them to my mouth, kissing each knuckle. “I’m hungry. But I need a minute to gather myself.”

He smiles and squeezes my hands. “I’ll go pick up some food. Come down when you’re ready.”

Ryan leaves the room and I sink down on our bed.

I’ve had my pity party, and now it’s time to get to work.