Present Day

I remain calm and don’t let any emotion show, which is easy since this is not the first time I’ve seen this video.

Okay, this is it.

Both of the detectives are looking at me expectantly. “That’s Lucca Marino,” I say after a few quiet seconds. The two detectives look at each other, then back to me. Detective Crofton asks, “Lucca Marino?”

“Yes, the woman in that video is Lucca Marino.”

I spent years and years protecting the identity of Lucca Marino. Making sure I could go back there and be that girl. I’ve already bought the land to build the dream house Mama and I planned. Already have the landscaping plans for the garden Mama would have loved. But when that name was threatened, I realized it was just that. A name. I spent years protecting the idea of Lucca Marino, but I’m no longer that naive little girl. While it was hard to finally make the decision to let her go, the truth is she’s been gone a long time. I don’t need to be Lucca Marino to keep the memory of Mama alive. Or to do the things Mama would have wanted me to do.

All eyes are on me, including Rachel.

“Let me get this straight. You’re saying that’s not you,” Detective West says.

My eyebrows raise and my mouth drops open. And then I tilt my head and give them a quizzical look. “The woman in that hotel room is Lucca Marino. I don’t know how else I can say it.” They could hook me up to a lie detector and I’d pass with flying colors.

Rachel breaks in. “My client is referring to a woman who recently spent time in Lake Forbing, Louisiana. She was in a car accident a week ago and did not survive.”

I nod and add, “Lucca lived here when Amy died. She knew Amy.”

“Do you know her connection to Amy Holder?” Detective West asks. She has pulled out her laptop and is presumably doing a search on Lucca Marino.

“Again,” Rachel says. “We’re not here to answer questions about Miss Holder’s associates.”

I hold a hand up and say, “It’s okay, Rachel. I can answer this.” I’ve got to frame this just right. “Amy was mixed up with some bad people. Lucca was a part of that. That’s all I can tell you.” Again, it’s all in the tone.

They hand me a few more pictures, images I already knew they had, including the one of me dragging Amy from her car to her house.

I look them over and shrug. “The person in all these images is Lucca Marino.”

Detective West is engrossed in the information she has pulled up on the screen. Detective Crofton leans in closer and mumbles, “The resemblance is striking.”

Guessing they found her picture, I lean to the side and glance at her screen. Yep, it’s the one from James’s mother’s Facebook post about that stupid soup. She’s got her hair pulled back, no makeup, jeans, and a plain tee. We could be twins. Mr. Smith may be regretting finding such a perfect match.

By now Detective West should also be pulling up records that Devon created, which will show Lucca Marino rented an apartment in downtown Atlanta in the time frame around Amy’s death. For good measure, there will also be a couple of parking tickets for a vehicle registered in that name down the street from where Amy lived, proving she had been in that area.

When Devon and I parted ways in Nashville, I drove to North Carolina, but Devon went back to Louisiana. When these detectives call the Lake Forbing police and ask about Lucca Marino and her time there, they will be told about the file folder full of pics and information on Amy Holder discovered in a forgotten bag in James’s room. The bag Devon planted there. He also called the police, as one of the helpful church volunteers, alerting them there was one more personal effect of Lucca Marino to add to the others they’d collected to ensure they had it in their possession.

“Why would Lucca Marino follow you to Louisiana?” Detective West asks.

I shrug. “That’s not something I can answer.”

I’m not here to solve their crime, I’m only here to ensure they look in the direction I want them to.

My boss worked really hard to find someone who looked just like me so she could assume my identity and make it hers. He splashed her all over social media and made sure she was the talk of the town. He locked it up tight, covering all the bases. And then he killed her off.

Killing her off also made it impossible for them to question her, so there’s no one to go against what I’m saying to the detectives today.

Mr. Smith thought he was just making it difficult for me to one day go back to my real identity, but yesterday I put the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. Thanks to the uniform from Goodwill and my last stop in Eden, the woman’s dental records now match a set in a dentist’s office in Eden, North Carolina, under the name Lucca Marino, making the ID of her body complete.

If I’m losing Lucca Marino forever, it’s going to be worth it.

The two detectives are lost to the computer screen while Rachel eyes me from across the table. I stare right back at her.

“Detectives,” she finally says, “we’ve come all this way, and yet there’s absolutely nothing connecting my client to the death of Amy Holder. Now unless there’s something else . . .”

“We will check into this new information. But to make sure we cover everything we need from you, can you tell us where you were the night of August twenty-seventh?” They’re not ready to pull the plug on this yet.

I relax in my chair. Calm. Controlled.

“I looked back at my calendar after I learned from the police in Lake Forbing there was a warrant out for me, so I could see where I was when Amy died. I went to a friend’s house that night for dinner. He and his wife just had a baby and they invited me over to see him.”

The only lie in my response was the date of the dinner. That dinner took place the week before.

Detective West has her pen poised over her notebook. “Can you give us the name and number of who you dined with that evening?”

“Yes, of course. His name is Tyron Nichols.”

Detective Crofton’s head pops up. “Tyron Nichols who plays for the Falcons?”

I smile. “Yes, he’s an old friend.” Another truth.

Holding up my phone, I say, “I told him I had an appointment with you this morning. He said to call if you need to verify anything with him. Would you like me to get him on the line? I know he’d rather me not give out his private number if it can be helped.”

Detective Crofton jumps at the chance to talk to one of the best-known players on the Atlanta Falcons.

I decide to FaceTime him because seeing is believing.

Tyron appears on the screen. He’s sitting in his chair in his home office. On the wall behind him are framed prints, articles, and jerseys depicting his time playing football in high school in Central Florida, then later at Ole Miss under Coach Mitch Cameron, and then his rise to the NFL. He’s come a long way from that naive eighteen-year-old kid whose biggest dream was a full-ride scholarship to play college football in the hopes of one day being able to give his family a better life.

“Hey, girl,” he says in his big booming voice.

“Hey, Tyron. Do you have a sec to talk to these detectives?” I roll my eyes for good measure.

“Sure, put ’em on.”

I hand my phone to Detective Crofton, who looks absolutely giddy. “Yes, hello, Mr. Nichols. I’m Detective Crofton with the Atlanta PD. We need to verify Miss Porter’s whereabouts the night of August twenty- seventh. She says she was at your home that evening.”

I sit back in my chair and find Rachel staring at me again. I give her a small smile.

“Of course,” Tyron says. “She was here that night. It was the week of our home game against the Saints. During the season, Tuesday nights are the only nights I’m home for dinner, so that was the best time for her to come over and see our son.”

Detective Crofton is satisfied but Detective West is less starstruck and has another question. “What time did Miss Porter arrive and depart from your home that night?”

“I picked her up after I left the practice facility, which would have been around five. She stayed pretty late since we haven’t seen each other in a while. Her and my wife got into a bottle of wine sometime around nine or ten, I guess?” He lets out a loud laugh. “And then, of course, they had to break out the karaoke machine. Lord, those two think they can sing.”

Locked up tight.

Detective Crofton says, “Thank you. We’ve got everything we need. We appreciate your cooperation.”

“Sure, anytime,” Tyron says.

Detective Crofton hands the phone back to me and I look at Tyron on the screen. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

He laughs. “No problem. You’re coming by for dinner since you’re in town, right? You won’t believe how big Jayden has gotten.”

“Of course! I’ll call you when I leave here and we’ll make a plan.” I end the call and turn my attention to the detectives.

They are looking at me, then they look at each other, sharing a silent communication.

Detective West closes her notebook. “I think that covers everything we have for today. If we have any further questions for Miss Porter, we’ll be in touch.”

It only takes a few seconds for them to pack their belongings and leave the meeting room.

Rachel and I are still sitting across from each other.

“You didn’t know who Lucca Marino was when she first showed up with James at the Derby party,” she says.

I shake my head. “If you remember correctly, I mentioned he showed up with a woman. I didn’t comment on whether or not I knew her.”

This is why I tell the truth as often as I can.

Rachel gets up from her chair and smooths down her skirt. “Well, this seems like it’s all wrapped up in a neat little bow.”

I shrug. “I’m just relieved it’s over.” It’s not over. Not for me. While I’ve dealt with one of the threats against me, it’s the other one that poses the greatest danger.

She grabs her briefcase and heads toward the door but doesn’t open it. “Yes, me too. I’d hate to think you had anything to do with that woman’s death.”

Looking right at her, I say, “If there’s one thing you can believe to be true, Lucca Marino was the woman in the room with her that day.”

We watch each other for a few seconds, then she slips out of the room without another word.

While Rachel gets to walk away from here without a thought, I’m facing a different situation. My departure won’t be as smooth as my arrival.

I pull the new clean phone from my bag and call Devon once I’m out in the hall.

“I’m clear with the police,” I say, as soon as it connects. “Good,” he says. “Now let’s handle the other problem.”

“Ryan was here when I arrived. I need him gone. Can you help with that?”

I can hear the familiar clicking sound that means he’s hammering away on his keyboard. “What’s he wearing today?”

The image of him forms in my head. “Jeans. Blue Oxford button- down.”

“Okay, I’ll call the hotel security and report him for suspicious behavior. It won’t stick for long but should probably give you enough time to get out of the building. Switch to the Bluetooth earpiece. I want to be on the line with you.”

I dig the small flesh-colored ear bud that Devon designed out of my bag and sync it to the phone. I pull my hair out of the ponytail and slide the earpiece inside my right ear. It matches my skin tone and having it hidden behind the curtain of my hair should make it hard to spot.

I shove the phone in my back pocket and head out into the hall. The fact that Devon has insisted I keep this line open when I’m walking into the lion’s den hits me hard. He’s making himself vulnerable right now for me.

“In case I can’t say it later, thank you for everything. Thank you for being my friend.”

He clears his throat. “We’re not doing that shit right now. Head in the game. Just start walking if you need to. It’s never too late to bail.”

I push the metal bar at the end of the hall that leads to the stairwell. The concrete room is damp and dark and my voice echoes off the walls. “I’m headed down.”

When I get to the lobby level, I push open the door slowly and peek out just in time to see two uniformed hotel security guards approach Ryan. They move closer to him, saying words I can’t hear while he glances around the big area. They motion to him to follow them, but he argues, still paying more attention to the elevators than the men in front of him.

They grab him, one on each side, and he momentarily seems to put up a fight before relaxing in their hold. As they escort him away, he throws one last look behind him.

As soon as he’s gone, I slip out of the stairwell and whisper, “Moving to the exit.”

“I’m tapped into the street cams so I’ll see you as soon as you clear the doors.”

The closest exit is a door that lets out on the side street. I’m steps away when I hear, “Hey, Lucca.”

I spin around and freeze when I see who it is.

“Fancy seeing you here, George.”

“Get him on the street,” Devon says in my ear. “I don’t have eyes on you in there.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised since you stood me up yesterday,” he says.

I nod toward the door to let him know we’re taking this outside. He nods back as if he’s good with it.

“Gotcha. Start walking north to the intersection,” Devon tells me.

Even though I can’t see the cameras, I feel some relief that someone else in the world is watching out for me, even if there isn’t too much he can do for me right now.

“You’re plan B if the detectives strike out, right?” It takes everything in me to keep my voice strong and steady.

George laughs. “I was supposed to be plan A. If you just gave him what he wanted, you wouldn’t have had to bother with those cops.”

I shrug and look at him as he walks beside me. “Until next time I piss him off. He’d just pull the card out again. I mean, there’s no statute of limitations on murder.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you lit that match,” he says quietly.

“Ryan has left the hotel.” Devon again.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then one more. “My regrets are long, and I’ll have to live with the things I’ve done.” And then I meet his gaze. “You don’t have to do this.”

We stop a few feet from the crosswalk and he stares at me, his eyes roaming my face. “I don’t want to do this. But I have to get what’s in that safe deposit box. We both know that’s the only option right now. My hands are tied, Lucca. You haven’t left me any other choice.”

“And then what?” I whisper.

His hands go to his hips and he steps away from me, his eyes sweeping the streets. He turns back to me. “Maybe I’ll be distracted while I check what’s in the box. Maybe I won’t see that you disappeared.”

He wants me to think he’ll let me go. And he might right now, but it wouldn’t be long before I see him over my shoulder.

The light flashes that we’re clear to cross the street and we walk the next two blocks in silence, until we’re standing in front of the bank.

“If you were gonna walk, now is the time,” Devon says in my ear. “Once you go inside, there’s no turning back.”

George starts up the steps to the entrance of the bank while I’m frozen. “You coming?” he asks.

I shake it off and follow him instead. Walking away was never an option.

‌Alias: Regina Hale—Six Months Ago‌

The smell of sulfur stings my nose as the match flame comes to life. I hold it steady for a second or so to make sure it’s going to stay lit, then throw it on the bed. Flames stretch and grow as it feeds off the synthetic fibers of the comforter and really take hold once it latches on to the bright red coat.

Throwing the last of Amy’s belongings into the black duffel bag, I take one last look around the room to make sure I got everything, then toss the bag back into the housekeeping cart. Flames shoot up, and thick black smoke fills the room. That’s my cue to go.

I pull the hotel room door open and push the cart into the hall, straight to the service elevator that is waiting. Once I’m back on the ground floor, Devon is there waiting for me. I pull out the bag, then hand off the cart to him. We don’t speak when we part ways, him going through the parking garage to exit on the other side of the block while I move through the kitchens to the door that lets out onto a narrow alley on the side of the hotel.

I unlock my car and sink into the driver’s seat. My hands shake as I pull out my phone and tap in the number I have for emergencies.

Mr. Smith answers on the first ring.

“What the fuck happened?” He’s already heard about the fire.

I let out a shaky breath I’m hoping he can hear. “When I entered her room, she was already in the bed. She was extremely intoxicated and had a lit cigarette dangling from her mouth. I approached her with a syringe of Rohypnol but she became violent the second I was near the bed. The cigarette fell out of her mouth and landed on the bedspread. There was an empty bottle of wine next to her, but the contents must have soaked into the bedding, because the entire bed was engulfed in flames within seconds. I reached for her but she . . . was already on fire. Her clothes . . .” My voice cracks and I shudder out a moan. “It was horrific. And so fast. She was just . . . engulfed in flames.” I sound frantic. Scared. My voice is trembling.

He’s quiet on the other end. “Was there anything of use in her room?” he finally asks.

“I don’t know. I was going to look after I had her subdued but had to leave the moment the fire alarm sounded,” I answer quickly. “I wasn’t able to recover anything.”

“You didn’t take anything with you?”

“No. Nothing.” I’d stuffed the black bag under my jacket, so there’s no reason anyone should have seen me with it.

I wait for a response or another question, but there’s only silence. Finally, he says, “I understand she hurled a threat at you on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. One that involved me.”

“She was completely intoxicated. Acting crazy,” I tell him, but don’t deny what she said.

“It would be very convenient for you to come into possession of something that could be used against me and tell me you didn’t.” There’s a chill in his voice I’ve never heard before.

With a shaky voice, I answer, “I don’t know what she had on you. I didn’t find anything at her home, in her car, or in that hotel room. If she had it in there with her, it is nothing but ashes at this point.”

Silence. Silence that lasts forever.

What feels like an eternity later, he says, “We’ll be in touch.” Then he ends the call.

I lay my head on the steering wheel and take a deep breath. My heart pounds. My hand fumbles as I attempt to turn the key in the ignition. It takes a few minutes, but I finally get the car into drive, and I’m pulling away as more and more fire trucks arrive.

Two blocks away, I find a parking spot in front of a Wells Fargo bank and head inside.