The options for rescue cycled through my mind. Frank and Poulton were on a plane to Jacksonville to meet Shooter and Cassie. And I had checked in to a hotel for the night.
No one was coming.
His expression changed then, his head cocking. “Or maybe you could tell me something, and I give you an easy out. How did you know to come here? If Natalie didn’t tell you?”
He stared at me, and I swallowed. Seeing the future. Camila crying. My mother confused. A closed-casket funeral.
“Natalie said Freddie had a best friend,” I said. “A Polish kid.”
He blinked.
“The vet where you worked,” I continued. “You told them your name was Donnie Dom. Obviously a fake name.”
“Obviously.”
“Don, I changed to Dawn, another word for Aurora.Domis the Polish word for ‘house.’ Dawn Dom. Aurora House, the name of this place. It’s on the sign between here and the Olive.”
“Smart,” he said.
“Your birthright.”
“And where I’ll be living long after you’re gone.”
“You killed your best friend,” I said.
Was I buying time? Because no one was coming.
“I didn’t want to,” he hollered over the storm. “Freddie saw me holding this dead woman’s ATM card. I was there for a similar reason as him. But much darker. We got talking, and… he told me he was working for the FBI. I couldn’t risk it.”
“He trusted you,” I said. “He hadn’t told anyone else.”
His face contorted in pain, and I thought of something my mother used to say. That inside every evil man was a small boy whose life had not gone as he dreamt. My job was to uncover those details: to strip that boy down to a confession. And in that moment, let him find grace.
But I didn’t think I was capable of that task. Or that Donnie Dom was interested in forgiveness or peace.
“Are you ready, Agent Camden?” he asked, holding up a scalpel.
Under the arm straps, I balled up both fists, preparing to take the pain.
I focused everything on a single image in my head.
My daughter, at the beach. Laughing in the shallow water. Splashing me unexpectedly.
Te amo, Daddy.
Te amomore.
Then something odd happened.
Thunder and lightning came at once. A blast of light so white it lit up the room.
My ears rang, the acrid scent of propellant filling the air.
And a heavy weight crashed down on me.
I turned my head.
Richie Brancato, in a hospital gown, a Glock in his hand. And the body of El Médico, aka Donnie Dom, collapsed atop me.
