In the second before the feed cuts out, Domina looks back at the camera, and thank fuck, the light hasn’t left her eyes completely.
“You still there, shithead?” I ask.
Smooth Talker sighs. “You do not have to be so vulgar, Mr. Basher.”
“How do I know you didn’t kill her two minutes after that recording? You want me to assassinate the man who’s about to become the President of Panama, you’d better give me some goddamned proof of life.”
“I cannot let you speak with her,” the man says. “But you may ask her a question. One I could not possibly know the answer to. I will record her answer and send you the video in a few hours.”
I get to my feet, desperate to pace, but with my phone tethered to Austin’s computer, all I can do is ball my hands into fists hard enough my knuckles crack.
Think! What could she say that might let us know where she is?
“I am waiting, Mr. Basher.”
Shit. I don’t have time to come up with the perfect question. “Tell her I’m sorry for failing her. That I’ll do what you want because it’s the only way to save her.”
“And the question? I am losing my patience, Mr. Basher.”
He’s not the only one. “The night we met…what did I tell her to hang on her chair?”
The call disconnects, taking my last shred of sanity with it.
* * *
Trevor setsa mug of coffee in front of me. “Talk.”
“I’m done talking,Superman. Leave me alone.” I’ve played the video a dozen times. I told myself I was looking for anything that would let us know where she was being held. But really, I just wanted to see her face again. Hear her voice.
I tap the screen again, but he snatches the phone from my hands. “Zephyr’s analyzing the video six ways from Sunday. If there’s something on it, she’ll find it.”
“And what if she doesn’t? In less than twenty-four hours, I’m supposed to kill the Vice President of Panama. Austin can’t reach GarciaorCortez, and we have no leads.” I drop my head into my hands. “They’ve hurt her, Trevor.”
“You don’t know that. She looked…okay on the video,” he says. “Scared, but not injured.”
“Only one person in this world knew about the men I killed before I left Venezuela,” I whisper. “She told them.”
Betrayal tugs at my heart. Domina would have never willingly broken her promise to me. But she did, all the same.
Trevor sits back, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. For a long moment, he doesn’t say a word, and I lift my head.
Shit. From the look in his eyes, Trevor isn’t here in Panama anymore. He’s back in La Crypta wondering if anyone would ever find him. “When I was arrested in Boston,” he says quietly, “the cops told me it was all because of an article in the Washington Post. An articleDaniwrote that identified me as a former intelligence officer.”
“She didn’t…”
“Of course she didn’t,” Austin snaps. “Her editor published a draft story with notes she never intended to see the light of day. When she found out…” He shakes his head. “If we hadn’t gotten Trev out of there, I think it would have killed her.”
Trevor wanders over to the window. The sun paints the sky in orange, pink, and purple, and I wonder if Domina can see it where she is now.
No.Theywouldn’t allow it. If she could see out, someone else could see in. Memories of that dirty warehouse in Caracas make my palms sweat and my whole body ache.
“Leo?” he asks. He’s backlit, but his frown is evident in his voice. “What if itwasn’tDomina?”
“No one else knew. I got an anonymous email a few weeks before I turned in my retirement paperwork. I figured it was from Luis or Franco Rojas. In the years Luis was on the run, Franco had done a lot of research on the Loma Collectivo. He knew they were responsible for what happened to me.”
I take a sip of coffee, needing something to do with my hands. As much as I want to believe Domina didn’t talk—that they didn’tmakeher talk—there’s no other explanation.
“Wait.” Trev crosses the room and braces his hands on the table, staring down at me. “When did you turn in your retirement paperwork?
