“What’s wrong, Six?” Sayer demanded.
“The cops just got here,” Frankie said. “You need toget here as fast as possible. They’re going to want to talk to you.”
Sayer’s grip tightened in an attempt to get myattention. “What is wrong, Caroline?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I told her. Anotherlayer of ice froze my hands and face and lungs.
“I’ll see what I can find out here,” she promised. Hervoice dropped, infused with sincerity and a lifetime of surviving thisbullshit. “We’ll find her, Caro. I promise. She’s going to be okay.”
But was she? What monster had her? What were theygoing to do to her? What did they hope they could get from her?
How could this have happened? I picked that daycarebecause of their security policies.Goddamnit, I wasgoing to murder the son of a bitch that took her.
“Caroline, you need to tell me what’s wrong,” Sayerdemanded, taking the phone from me and closing it.
I lifted my gaze and blinked slowly at him. For a half-secondI was grateful for the hell he had been through the last five years. There wasno way to prepare for the information I was about to give him, but at the veryleast he had been toughened, built stronger, sharpened to a double-edged swordthat could withstand this blow.
“You have a daughter,” I told him, voice rough withunbearable agony. “And someone kidnapped her.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Five Years Ago
I was going to die. They were going to fucking killme.
Who takes meetings with FBI agents? Who?? Girls thathave death wishes, that’s who.
I remembered what Fat Jack looked like all bloated anddisfigured and dead. Oh, my god, that was going to be me.
Was there a way to get word to Sayer first? They wouldhave to kill me. That was a given. But I didn’t want to be strung up by myfeet. That was my one wish. Sayer would intervene on my behalf, wouldn’t he? Imean, he’d of course let them kill me. But he owed me some kind of dignityafter five years together, right?
I didn’t want to die upside down like some twistedversion of the apostles. I didn’t want my tongue cut out or my hands choppedoff. I didn’t want to be gutted.
Mason Payne walked into the abandoned warehouseflanked by two federal goons. Some of my fear disappeared in light of misplacedpride. Was the big, bad, FBI agent afraid of little ole me?
That put a promising spin on things.
I pushed off the column I’d been leaning on and walkedover to face the absolute bane of my existence. A chance meeting when I wasfifteen years old had propelled me into a never-ending game of cat and mousewith this guy.
Sometimes I was the mouse. And sometimes I was thecat. Today, I was the confused snake. I thought I was in control, but thiscould be the day when the cat figured out how to bite me in two.
He promised this time was different, but Mason’spromises meant nothing to me. Mason took lying to an entirely different level.I mean, I was a professional liar too, but his were buried treasure chests andholy grails and the arc of the covenant—pretty and shiny, but the booby trapswould kill you before you ever reached the prize. They were heavy with deadlyconsequences and dangerously light on the reward. I didn’t build houses ofcards based on promises of immunity or lessened sentences. I didn’t dangle pleabargains in other people’s faces pretending like they were Christmas presents.
I didn’t use the law to manipulate, coerce andcontrol.
Coughing to cover a smile, I tried not to check outhis clothes, which were significantly nicer than anything I’d seen him inbefore. And by nicer, I meant designer. The last time we’d “run into eachother” had been three months ago at a fundraising party for a senate seat race.All of DC had come out in their best black tie to throw money around like itwas confetti. Only Mason’s best black tie was from the discount bin at a men’sbig and tall store. His cheap polyester and coffee-stained tie were a walkingfire hazard.
Of course I wouldn’t have missed an opportunity likethat. Thepakhanwanted a certain judge’s cooperation in an upcoming case. And I wanted the Cartierpearls that belonged to the wife of a certain judge. I had been posing as anaid for the judge until I could get the code to his super safe and find anopportunity to break into it. The job was taking longer than I had originallyanticipated.
So that meant attending a high-profile function—whichI knew was a dangerous game in itself given the amount of law enforcement powerpresent. The function wasn’t all aboveboard. I’d spotted Irish soldiers nearthe bar and an Italian underboss dancing with his wife. There was even a SouthAfrican drug lord near the food table.
But had Mason singled any of them out? No. No, he hadnot. And when he’d asked me to dance, I couldn’t say no. He’d given me shitabout him being close to finding something on me and I’d given him shit abouthis sense of style.
Out of the two of us, I was the only one with accurateinformation.
Not that I believed I was completely untouchable. Butso far, I’d covered my tracks. I’d been careful. I’d kept my hands clean and mynose clean and done my due diligence with every job. Save for the one he triedto run me down at when I was fifteen.
Luckily for me, the man had no probable cause toarrest me or detain me or question me. He had nothing on me. He’d simplyrecognized me from a list of potential Russian-associated Sixes. And being thegreen little newbie to the bureau he was, had decided to take that opportunityto introducehimselfwith a spectacle in the mostpublic of ways.
