“You’re not mad?” Carmen asked nervously.
Lana looked up at her and smirked. “No, I’m not mad, but I’d appreciate it if you’d respect me and my decisions from now on.”
Lana reached into one of the boxes to retrieve wine glasses, and Carmen stood and joined her.
“Well, look, I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.”
Lana didn’t say anything; she carefully peeled the tape off the second box and pulled out two wine glasses.
Carmen continued, “Admit it. You’ve been through a lot lately, and I just thought that a trip helping others might help you.”
Lana poured the crimson liquid into their glasses and handed the wine to their friend. She took a long swig, keeping her eyes on Lana the entire time, since she still hadn’t said a word to her.
“I appreciate you thinking of me and looking out for me. But next time, talk to me.” Lana finally replied.
“I understand, and it won’t happen again.”
“Good,” Lana smiled and clinked her wine glass to Carmen’s.
They finished the bottle and eight episodes of TV when Carmen decided she was too drunk to drive and crashed on the couch.
BOURBON STREET WAS a living,breathing creature, packed to the gills and roaring with a chaotic mix of life. The air, thick with the smell of stale beer, sugar, and the faint, sweet rot of steaming manholes, vibrated with a dozen different songs clashing from open doorways. As she shoved her way down the busy street, a cold, sweet mojito clutched in her hand, Kim smiled. The bustling lights, the thrumming music, theanonymous press of bodies, it was a symphony. Definitely a welcome change from Podunk, Hamby, Georgia.
Not only had she outsmarted her probation officer, but she’d also managed to leave the state on a whim, using Bryson’sothercredit card—the one tucked in a secret spot in his wallet—to book a nice hotel for her trip. Her PO had checked in on her just yesterday, his voice a dull monotone over the phone.
“All well, Ms. Kim?”Moron.
They’d even done a remote diagnostic on her ankle monitor. For a heart-stopping second, her breath had caught, a cold spike of panic. But, just like the brilliant, pasty-faced weirdo she’d paid cash to in Shelby had promised, the monitor spoofed her location beautifully.“Everything looks good on this end. You’d better stay put.”Such idiots.
Kim took a long, slow sip of the cool, alcoholic drink, the big mint leaf tickling her nose as she savored the victory. She had plenty of time to get back home before anyone realized where she was, though she wasn't entirely sure when her nextphysicalcheck-in would be. She had to act fast. Kim sauntered off the main drag, the roar fading, and turned toward the wrought-iron elegance of the Lafitte Guest House, a beautiful, old-world hotel in the French Quarter, and spotted her target instantly.
Rachel.
The older woman looked remarkably well for someone presumably dead to everyone in Hamby. She was sitting at a small patio table, her hands clenched around a water glass. Her usually relaxed demeanor gave way to anxiety; her forehead wrinkled as she wrung her hands in anticipation. And for good reason. Kim slowed her approach, savoring this. This washerplan. Her real plan, set in motion long before Maureen ever turned her back on her at the drop of a dime.
She figured one day she might need some insurance and was glad she had the foresight. It had all been so simple, really. Stepone: have her "brilliant weirdo" with the tech skills track down Rachel’s location and contact details in New Orleans. It was almost too easy. People who run are so predictable.
All he had to do was follow the money. The arrival of the new resident in the state brought with it receipts of the purchase of the beautiful home in Louisiana right around the time of her “death”, a private investigator to snap photos and confirm her identity, and boom, there she was. Living under the new name"Patricia Brown."How original.
Step two: the phone call. That had been the masterstroke. Kim had presented herself as "Detective Harris," part of an investigative team looking into the Capshaw estate. She’d explained, in a cold, official tone, the severe legal ramifications of accepting a multi-million-dollar bribe from Maureen Capshaw and faking one's own death. Theonlyreason "Patricia" hadn't hung up the phone and bolted was the hook Kim set: the promise that when Maureen was finally prosecuted, "Detective Sloan” could convince a judge to lessen any charges againsther. It sealed the deal.
And the best part? The luckiest part of all? When Rachel had left her life in Hamby behind, she’d cut all ties. She had no reason to keep tabs on anyone, no idea what had taken place, and therefore, no idea who Kimreallywas.Lucky for me,Kim thought, since her entire plan hinged on her ignorance. One simple Google search of "Kim" and "Capshaw" would cause it all to fall apart.
But being as brilliant as she was, she had taken care of that, too, having Mike route any suspicious searches from Rachel’s home and mobile IP addresses elsewhere. Maureen once told her thatdeception was all in the details.Kim had done her homework.
She approached the patio table, her heels clicking softly on the flagstones. Rachel looked up, her anxious eyes scanning,searching for the "detective" she was supposed to meet. When her gaze landed on Kim—a stranger, a young, smiling woman in designer clothes—it was as if she began to age in real-time, the color and life draining from her face right before Kim's very eyes.Geez,Kim thought as she stared down at her. She was definitely not happy to see her.
“Hello Rachel,” Kim said as she extended her hand and pulled out the chair in front of her to sit down.
“Jessica?” Rachel asked, but she already knew the answer to the question.
Kim gave her a wry look, the way detectives in TV shows typically did when they had someone in their crosshairs.
“Detective, yes. Nice to finally meet you.”
Rachel did her best to give a small smile, but it failed miserably. She was visibly uncomfortable with the exchange and fidgeted in her chair, glancing over her shoulder every so often.
“There’s no need to be alarmed, Rachel. You did the same thing anyone in your position would have done, however illegal it was.”
