“That’s the word anyway. They will want to talk to you. At least a couple dozen people had a chance to see you get in Frank’s car with him and Leone when we left the assembly.”
I bite my lip pensively.
“It’s all right. Trick’s on it.”
“On it how?”
“He’s getting in front of it, by starting the rumors we want out there.”
My brows shoot up. “Who has he talked to—?”
“Don’t know and don’t care. For this kind of thing, we leave it to him.”
“Couldn’t it backfire?”
His thumb rubs over the crease in my forehead. “What did I say about worrying about things? Right, don’t. We’ve got this.”
I try to relax, but can’t accomplish it right off. I’m used to being the one who has to do hard things to protect people. I haven’t been the one to be protected before. It feels strange.
“Plus, if Trick sees you worry, he’ll probably spike your juice with gin and book you a day of watching cartoons and getting your toes painted.”
I glance down at the chipped polish on my toenails. What would it be like to only have little things like the state of my pedicure to worry about? I decide that would be amazing, not that I think I’ll get there. Even if I could put stop worrying about whether Alberto will wake up, I have to mentally prepare myself to talk to the police.
“Should I go to the police and tell them what happened? To get in front of that?”
“No.” He grabs the blanket off the bed. “I’m going back to my place to get dressed. When I get back we’re leaving, so say your goodbyes to Zoe while I’m gone.” He wraps the blanket around himself and walks out.
Chapter Thirteen
Rachel
We travel to Boston later in the day and check into a high security boutique hotel with very expensive modern art in the lobby. Our suite’s walls are a silvery purple and the carpet is cool gray with flecks of earthy stone colors. Trick has the room next door, but he doesn’t go into it. Instead, he drops onto the couch in the suite’s living room and turns on CNBC. I realize that this is how they live, like a small war party that rides together and lives in tents pitched side by side. This is what Sasha meant about their being more like brothers than friends. They occupy places the way a family does. There aren’t calls to arrange visits. They all have keys and codes for the main house. I know Trick has his own place in Coynston, but how often does he actually go there? Not very if my experience of them is anything to go by.
In the late afternoon, a woman comes to take my measurements and to go over photographs to learn what sort of clothes I like. By morning, sample outfits arrive that fit my body and my taste.
I run my fingers over an indigo and black taffeta gown that would be good for things like the Oscars. “Where would I wear this?” I ask Sasha.
