“Kevin literally did that yesterday,” I point out.
Gino grabs his cell phone and dials. “Kevin. I need you to tell me who Vanessa Esposito is—and don’t spare any details.”
The call drags on for nearly ten minutes, voices rising and falling as Gino paces. Finally, he ends it.
“Thanks, Kevin. You and Lucy should come by tonight for dinner.”
Gino turns to us. “Vanessa wasn’t lying. But I still want to ask her a few questions. First, to make sure she really is who she says she is. Second, to confirm she didn’t tell anyone she was coming. Kevin was surprised she even got here as fast as she did.”
Drew and I both nod, then follow Gino up the stairs to his office.
Before we enter, he turns. “Drew, stay behind her. Mateo, you stand next to me. She recognizes you. She trusts you even if it’s just a little.”
“Do you really think she could pull a long con?” I ask. “She’s worked at that hospital for two years. Someone would’ve noticed if a different person was pretending to be her.”
“I doubt it. But the timing is really weird. That’s all I’m saying.”
Drew hangs back near the door while Gino and I step forward. Vanessa’s eyes lock on us, sharp and unyielding. She looks like she’ll fight if she has to.
Gino breaks the intense feeling in the room. “Vanessa, do you understand why I think you might have something to do with this?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” he says evenly. “You answer them. If your answers check out, we untie you. If they don’t…” He lets the thought hang. “Well, let’s not let it get that far.”
She nods.
“So,” Gino says, tilting his head slightly, “sis—when’s your birthday?”
“January seventeenth.”
“Correct.” I look over at him. I know what he’s doing. He’s starting easy, then digging deeper with each question.
“What are your parents’ names?”
“Antonio Esposito and Alicia Andrews.”
“Correct again. So was your mom a stripper or something?”
Vanessa meets his stare, anger and frustration flashing in hereyes. “No. She was a teacher.”
“Right again. How many state championships did you win in cross-country?”
“Three.”
“Good. Why didn’t you join the cross-country team in college?”
“I did,” she says. “I got hurt my freshman year and was never fast enough to compete again.”
“Correct again. Who was your senior prom date?”
He’s reaching for the sinker now, and for some reason, an unexpected twist of jealousy hits me right in the gut.
“Luke Makowski.”
“Very good.”
She looks up at him. “Clearly you spoke to Uncle Kevin. He still hates Luke.”
