“You were working alone when you put that woman on death row,” Andino spat.
“And you were working alone when you killed Tiwari.”
“Fuck you,” Andino said. “You’re aiding and abetting the woman who killed Mia!”
Saffi saw red. She’d been the one holding this damn investigation together, the one who’d been hunting the right suspect when Andino had been more than happy to write things off as an accident. To think he had the gall to bring up Martinez when he’d just killed Tiwari in cold blood. She lifted the gun and pointed it to the underside of Andino’s chin. Her finger wasn’t on the trigger—even now she couldn’t fathom actually hurting him—but the fear in his eyes as he was forced to look up at her was gratifying.
Saffi felt twenty-three again, standing in the middle of an airport in Arizona. This, without a doubt, felt like it should be a momentous occasion. Once again, she had the naïve notion that Taylor would burst through the door, the only chance in hell they had at understanding each other.
But Taylor did not come. It was foolish to think he would.
“Answer the question,” she demanded. “How did you figure it out?”
“I saw the letter she sent,” Andino said, suddenly compliant. Dimple made a sound of disapproval in the background. “It came at the same time the article was released. Seemed like too much of a coincidence. It got me thinking about what Eli had said, so I logged in to your computer.”
Saffi blanched. “How did you know the password?”
Andino huffed something close to laughter. “It’s the same from five years ago. You think it’s so clever, don’t you?” he scoffed. “You told us once when you were drunk.”
Even if that was true, it wasn’t easy to remember. Her father had instilled the importance of cybersecurity into her from a young age, so her password was a stochastic combination of letters andnumbers. No dates, no references, no correlation to anything in her life. It was this reminder of exactly how many years Saffi had known Andino—reminders of exchanging drunk secrets and laughing until odd hours of the morning—that left her feeling ill. She angled the gun away from Andino’s face. Still held in place, but no longer a direct threat.
Sensing an opportunity, Andino began speaking rapidly, low enough that Dimple couldn’t hear. “Saffi, listen to me. This isn’t like you. You have a gun and the killer you’ve been chasing all year is right behind you. I know you feel guilty for what happened to Mia. This is your chance to make things right.”
But Saffi hadn’t learned nothing from her conversation with her parents. She shook her head. “No. There’s no making things right.”
“Of course there is—what are you talking about?”
In all her years of knowing him, Saffi had never been able to get through to Andino. But some part of her still wanted to try. Maybe now that she was finally starting to understand what she really wanted—who she really was—it could be different. “Five years ago, I left thinking I was doing the right thing. Not for myself, but for everyone else. And I’m so sick of it. I’m so sick of living for other people when they wouldn’t do the same for me.”
“Then don’t do it for anyone else,” Andino said, a tinge of desperation peeking through. “Do it because it’s the right thing to do!”
“Says who?”
“She’s killed people,” Andino said.
“So have I,” Saffi said. She almost glanced over at Tiwari’s lifeless body but stopped herself. “So have you.”
“She killed Mia!”
“You keep saying that as though her death was more punishable than Tiwari’s,” Saffi said.
Andino didn’t respond, which was an admission. To him, one innocent life meant more than another. It was a selfish sense of justice that was more similar to Dimple’s than he probably realized.
“If I let you go, what will you do?” Saffi asked.
“Don’t pretend like I’m a complete stranger,” Andino said. “You know what I’ll do. And you know why too.”
Of course Saffi knew. Andino would turn Dimple in for killing Martinez along with all of the evidence Saffi had stacked against her. It was the same thing Saffi had done five years ago after finding out that the woman she’d put on death row had died needlessly. But all that had resulted in was suffering on her end. She’d done the right thing and had been punished for it too. The same would happen to Andino.
“There’s not enough to convict her,” Saffi said. “There is, however, enough to convict you.”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Of course it was.
“You could help me,” Andino tried again. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” His eyes darted down to the gun in her hand and then back up, quick as a bullet. “Not yet.”
“I want to move on,” Saffi said softly. It was the first time she said it out loud. Her fingers curled tighter around the cool metal in her palm.
