Present Day
Once we’ve entered the bank, we move to the desk where I will sign in to get inside the vault. “Hi, how can I help you?” the woman asks.
I give her a smile I don’t feel. “Hi, I need to get into my box.” “Of course! Box number and name?”
“Regina Hale. Box number 3291.” I pull out the ID I used in my last identity and the small key I’ve kept stashed away for months. She opens the ledger to the page for my box and I sign underneath the last
—and only—time I’ve accessed this box. The day it was opened.
“You’ve got company outside. He just arrived. Standing near the steps,” I hear Devon whisper through the earpiece.
I let out a slow, deep breath while George and I follow the bank attendant through the vault and into a private room, where the walls are lined with little brass doors and a large table sits in the middle. She slides her key into one slot while I slide my key into the other one. We turn it at the same time.
Once the door pops open, she says, “Feel free to put your drawer on the table and take all the time you need.” Then she leaves, shutting the door behind her. It’s silent except for the clock on the wall. Tick, tick, tick. The room feels like it’s closing in on me.
George reaches inside the box and pulls the drawer out, the contents still hidden beneath the closed lid. He sets it on the table.
He stares at me. Five seconds. Then ten. We both know there is no going back to the way things were after this. I can see a touch of sadness and maybe even a little regret in his gaze, but I refuse to let any of my emotions show. Finally, he returns his attention to the box in front of him. Slowly, he pulls the lid off.
The only thing inside is a small, white origami swan.
A look of confusion flashes across his face for one second, then two.
The confusion shifts to anger. An anger so consuming that it feels like it sucks the air out of the room.
His eyes narrow and his brows snap together. His jaw clenches.
Tick, tick, tick.
“I guess I don’t need to call you George anymore,” I say, if only to drown out the clock.
He picks up the swan by one of the little wings and twirls it around. Then he takes his time, slowly opening it up, verifying that the paper is blank. There’s no question that there is no information on either him or Victor Connolly in this box.
I was prepared for a lot of different reactions, but the unrelenting attention on the empty box wasn’t one of them. “I used to think you picked Mr. Smith because you were a big Matrix fan or lacked imagination, but you are literally Mr. Smith. Mr. Christopher Smith. Pretty ingenious, actually. Your name is already one of the most generic names out there.” I’m rambling.
A laugh escapes him but there’s no humor behind it.
He finally faces me, the unfolded paper still in his hand. One step, then two. Each step he takes toward me, I take a step back.
The paper slips from his hand and floats to the floor. Another step forward.
Another step I take back. “When did you figure it out?”
“Figure out that my boss and my delivery guy were the same person? Figure out your real name?
Yesterday afternoon,” I answer.
He nods to the open safe deposit box. “But this has been waiting for me for much longer.” I nod.
“While I’m impressed you were able to discover what so many others have tried and failed to in the past, you knowing my name doesn’t change a single thing.” There is an edge to his voice that tells me it’s taking everything in him to remain in control. “Where is the information Amy Holder stole from me? You left that hotel just as her room went up in flames, and this was your first stop. Don’t lie to me again and
say you didn’t keep it for yourself.” He glances to the hundred or so other boxes lining the walls, and I can see what he’s thinking, that I’ve got more than one box and it could still be close by.
“Oh, I got what Amy took, I just didn’t leave it here,” I say, gesturing to the other side of the room. “But I knew you would think I did. That was one of the many lessons you taught me: It’s hard to get caught if you aren’t in possession of what you stole when they catch you.”
We’re only inches apart now that my back is against the wall. The metal handles of the boxes behind me are digging into my skin. I use the pain to help focus. I may be at his mercy in this room, but there is a crowd on the other side of this door. It won’t be easy for him to walk out of here without me, since the woman who let us in is waiting to lock the box back up.
“You failed a job for your own benefit.”
“You’re assuming I failed. That job was successful, you just didn’t understand what the end goal was.” I’m throwing his words back in his face, and from the look he is giving me, I know I’d be dead if we were anywhere other than where we are.
He crosses his arms. “It seems we are more alike than you would want to admit. Instead of completing the job you were hired to do, you took advantage of the situation.”
The words hit their mark, but I can’t let him get in my head. “I’ve learned . . . so much from you over the years. But probably the most important thing I learned was—Do whatever I must to save myself and the job. Those are words I worked very hard to live up to.”
“You’ve come a long way since that trailer park in North Carolina. I had high hopes for you, but what a disappointment you turned out to be,” he sneers at me.
“I was your best asset and we both know it. You know nothing about disappointments.”
He’s leaning over me, forcing me to tilt my head back to see his face. “How long have you been planning to betray me?”
“Four years,” I answer, without bothering to correct him. “Only half as long as you have been planning to betray me.”
I can tell he’s thinking back, trying to determine what happened four years ago that would make me turn on him.
Finally he says, “The Tate job.” I nod. “The Tate job.”
He leans back and spreads his arms out. “Are you going to get to the point of all this? I’m assuming there is a reason for this little stunt.”
“Amy told you she had information on Victor Connolly and the crimes his family has committed, but what she really had was information that shows you’d been double-crossing them for years. Not a good idea to screw over one of the biggest crime families on the East Coast. She had it all: wire transfers, documents, and communications that show you’ve been skimming money, selling their secrets, and using information to your benefit instead of theirs. You’ve made them think you are protecting them when in reality you’re their biggest threat. But it was useless to have blackmail on you when I didn’t know your real name, Christopher.”
All humor has been wiped from his face. “Cut the bullshit. What do you want, Lucca?”
“Absolutely nothing. And it’s Miss Porter now. I’ve expended all the energy that I care to on you. This is just a friendly warning, since we go back so far. You have some old friends waiting for you outside. We really shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer.” I stare at him two seconds, then three, before I add, “Did you think I wouldn’t have a contingency plan in place?”
One eyebrow raises as he stares at me. He’s always been good at wielding silence like a weapon, and this moment is no different.
“Today doesn’t end the way you think it does,” he says, his face just inches from mine. “You better look over your shoulder every chance you get, because I promise you one day I will be there.”
“You’ve already taken the one thing I’ve cared about. Lucca Marino is gone, dead and buried. There’s nothing left for you to hold over me.”
He moves away from me and it takes everything in me not to collapse on the floor. He throws the door open and it slams against the wall.
Just before he leaves the vault, I say, “Don’t get sentimental now. It’s just business.”
He’s on his phone the second he hits the bank lobby. The woman who let us in the room approaches me but I wave her off. “We don’t need the box any longer. The key is still in it.”
“No problem, Mrs. Hale, I just need you to sign the closing documents . . .”
I ignore her and follow him out of the bank and see the exact moment he spots Victor Connolly and several members of the Connolly family waiting on the steps outside. He hesitates a few seconds then ends his call, sliding his phone in his back pocket. He seems to stand a bit taller before walking out to face the man he has stolen millions from. He doesn’t look back at me once.
He’s ushered into the back of the SUV, while Victor Connolly nods at me before getting into the front passenger seat. We had all the information Amy had collected sent to his hotel room last night with the promise of delivering the man who betrayed him today. I do believe Mr. Smith has probably gotten himself out of a lot of bad spots in the past, but I don’t believe he’s walking away from this one.
“Damn, L, I wish I would have hooked you up with video, too, because I would have loved to see his face when he opened that box,” Devon says in my ear.
“I feel like I’m going to vomit.” Now that it’s over, the adrenaline that has been fueling me is leaving quickly. “It’s hard to reconcile the guy I knew as George with Mr. Smith.”
“A total mind fuck. Grab a cab. Your flight leaves in an hour and a half.”
 |
Just landed, I text before throwing my phone on the passenger seat.
It’s a thirty-minute drive to my destination, and I am exhausted. I’m not sure I can make it the last few miles before falling asleep. Thankfully, the driveway comes into sight before too long. I turn in, then make my way down the winding gravel road.
The front light is on, which I appreciate since it’s completely dark outside. I drag myself from the car, hauling myself up the porch steps. Leaning on the bell, I don’t let up until the door jerks open.
“That’s a little much, don’t you think?” Devon says as he pulls the door open.
“It’s been the longest three days of my life.” I fall onto the couch and kick my shoes off. “I’m sleeping for three days straight.”
“There’s a bedroom down the hall,” he says, but throws a blanket over me, then cuts out the lamp on the side table because he knows I’m not moving.
“I guess everything went well?”
It takes a lot of effort, but I lift my head. She’s in simple pajamas and her hair is sticking up in every direction, and the petty part of me is glad I woke her up after the week I’ve had.
“Looks like I won’t be going down for your murder after all.”
Amy Holder lets out a laugh as my eyes fall shut and I’m dead to the world.
Lucca Marino—Four Years Ago
The Tate job in Fort Worth, Texas, was the first job where I knew for sure I was not the only person doing jobs for Mr. Smith. Since Devon had been watching the security feed for days before I showed up, he was able to get images of the other people sent there for the same purpose. When I asked Devon to track down everyone who tried to retrieve the painting from the Tate home, he did what he could.
And it’s why I’m standing on a sandy street in a small Florida town, staring at the cutest pink beach house. I can’t see the ocean from here but I can hear it.
The front path is just a collection of oddly shaped stones in a loose line leading to the porch. If she’s anything like me, she already knows I’m out here.
When I’m a few feet from the door, it opens. “Hi,” I say, with a big smile on my face. “Can I help you?”
“Amy Holder? Can we talk a minute?”
She’s on guard, as she should be. Same as I would be in her place. Your safe haven is one you protect at all costs and rarely suffer strangers showing up unannounced.
“You can say what you want from there.”
I nod and think about the best way to proceed. “I need to talk to you about the Tate job in Fort Worth.”
Raised eyebrows are the only reaction I get from her. “We have the same employer,” I add.
Her arms cross in front of her chest. “You should leave.” Damn. I can see it in her eyes. She’s about to take off.
I hold up my hand as if I’m going to stop her from fleeing. “I would feel the same way you do right now if someone showed up at my place like this. We really need to talk, but I’m going to put the when and where in your hands.” Digging in my bag, I pull out a pen and a receipt from the gas station where I just filled up, then scribble my info on the back. Looking right at her so my sincerity is clear, I say, “My number. And my real name. The one only a few people have. It’s important that we speak. I’ll be in Panama City Beach until I hear from you.”
I walk back to the street, put the paper in her mailbox, and leave without her saying another word. I’m taking a huge risk by doing this, but I don’t have another choice.
It’s five days before she makes contact.
She gives me only fifteen minutes’ notice to meet her at a farmer’s market near the beach. It’s crowded and loud and exactly the place I would have suggested if I were her.
“The only Lucca Marino matching your age and ethnicity was the one mentioned in an obituary for Angelina Marino of Eden, North Carolina.”
I nod. “And that’s all anyone will find until I decide otherwise.”
We walk through the stalls, dodging little kids, until we get to a small area full of picnic tables. There’s an empty one in the back corner, and she sits down on one side while I sit down on the other.
“So, talk.”
I jump right in. “I have a friend who helps me on jobs. He piggybacked on the security system prior to me going in on the Tate job. You were there right after me. You lifted the forgery I left behind.”
She’s quiet for a moment then finally says, “I got my ass chewed out that I handed over a fake and didn’t know it.”
“That was probably the ugliest painting I’ve ever seen. I can see why you wouldn’t think anyone would re-create it,” I say to break the tension.
She laughs. It’s quiet and short lived but I’ll take it.
Then my smile fades when I think about what I’ll have to tell her. “Did you know we weren’t the only ones there trying to recover it?”
She nods. “Yeah, I was told it was some sort of bullshit test. Winner got a bonus.”
“I think it was more than a test,” I say quietly. “My friend was able to identify everyone else, and I went looking for them, just like I did you.”
“And?”
I clear my throat. “And it’s just us. We’re the only ones left.” Amy sits up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”
“Mr. Smith was cleaning house, and this was his way of determining who he was keeping and who he wasn’t. And it’s not like he can just fire us after the things we’ve seen and done.”
I list the names of the others and causes of death while she stares at me, unblinking.
“I think you were spared since you actually figured out the puzzle by going to the laundry room even though you walked away with the fake.”
When I asked Devon to locate everyone he had on video, it was for selfish reasons. This is such a solitary way of life, constantly moving and lying about who you really are. I didn’t see the others only as competition. I saw them as potential friends. Others who would understand the challenges of living and working like this. A group where we could be our true selves and possibly even help one another, even if just as sounding boards when tasked with a difficult job. Devon was a bit more hesitant to track down the others, but I won him over. Neither of us were prepared to learn that everyone but Amy was a victim of some grave accident or sudden fatal illness shortly after that job.
Amy still hasn’t said anything.
“It’s only a matter of time before we’re on the wrong side of one of his tests. If it wasn’t for my friend, I wouldn’t have known to go to the laundry room. He literally saved my life.”
She looks away from me and stares out into the crowd. “I’m not waiting around for him to take me out,” I say.
Finally, I get a reaction. She frowns as she considers my words and what they mean. “So you’re what, quitting? I tried that . . . there’s no quitting.” Her voice cracks, and it’s clear there is so much she’s not saying.
“Mr. Smith has got to go,” I say.
She’s shaking her head. And looking like she’s about to get up. I’ve spooked her.
All I can do is push forward. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. But I can’t do it alone. If you’re in, we are going to have to take our time. Gather everything we can on him. Something to use against him. As dirty as he is, you know there is someone he’s screwed over. We get the details then we turn him over to them. Let them take him out.”
Amy stares off to the side, her jaw clenched tight.
I keep talking. “And we’ve got to find out who he really is. It doesn’t do any good to tell someone he’s double-crossed them unless we are also handing over his identity.”
She’s shaking her head. I’ve thrown a lot at her and she’s not processing it as fast as I’m saying it.
“We’ll protect ourselves at all costs,” I add. “When it comes time to turn the table on him, we need to control everything down to the last little
detail.”
She stands up and takes the first step to walk away, and I ask, “Do you have any family that he can use to get to you? Someone you’d do anything to protect?”
She contemplates whether or not she wants to answer me for a long time.
“Yeah, there’s someone.” It’s all she says and I don’t push for details. “Then we’ll have to make sure they are protected.”
She finally turns to look at me. “What about you?” “No. I don’t have anyone.”
I watch her as she debates what she wants to say.
“Have you ever told him no on a job? Ever refused to do something he asked you to do?”
I shake my head. “No. I haven’t.”
She looks off, giving me a frustrated laugh. “You have no idea what he will do if he finds out what you’re planning.”
I’m a little worried she didn’t say what we’re planning, but she hasn’t walked away. Yet.
“He’ll try to wreck us but if we get in front of it, it could be like one of those controlled explosions,” I finally say. “Like when the only way to get rid of a bomb is to detonate it. We’ll control as much as we can, so when things explode, like we know they will, the fallout won’t be as bad.”
She laughs again as if I’m naive. And maybe I am. “So you’re really doing this,” Amy says a bit later. “I don’t think we have any other option,” I answer.
