“Ms. Donovan,” she greeted me as I slid into her booth, “I’m glad to see you got my note.” A cold shiver trailed up my spine. The way she spoke my name—the subtle way she had of making it clear that she knew exactly who I was and where to find me—reminded me a little too much of Feliks and our conversation in Ramón’s garage.
Irina traced the lip of her mug with a long manicured nail. Her other hand was concealed under the table, and I stiffened as it occurred to me that she might be armed.
“I thought I was meeting Patricia,” I said.
Irina nodded, a thoughtful dip of her head. “Patricia’s given herstatements. By now, she and her young companion are on a flight to Brazil, to start their new life someplace warm.”
“You’re happy for her.”
“Of course,” she said, her raven-black hair falling over her eyes. “Otherwise, I never would have arranged for her to leave.”
“And what about you?” I asked. “What will you do now that…?” I shuddered at the memory of Andrei’s bloodied face. At the heavy, hollow sound he’d made when Vero and I dropped him in the ground.
“Now that my husband is gone?” Irina gave an elegant shrug. “Someone needs to stay and make sure Feliks ends up where he belongs. He will not be happy once he figures out how Andrei died. You and I have cost him too much, and Feliks is no fool. It won’t take him long to figure it out.”
It was a sobering thought. “You think there’s a chance he’ll walk?”
She raised a perfectly plucked brow as she sipped her coffee. Her hand was steady as she set down her mug. “I suppose there’s always a chance. But your detective friend is quite determined. And as Patricia suggested, you were very neat.” She appraised me with the same amused expression she’d worn in the Spinning class at the club. “I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised.” She pulled her hand from under the table and dropped an envelope on top, sliding it toward me.
“What’s this?” I asked, seized by a sudden suffocating case of déjà vu.
“This is the balance I owe you. The job was completed, exactly as we discussed.” I resisted the urge to look at it. “Don’t worry. It’s washed—unmarked and untraceable.” It felt wrong to take Andrei’s money. Money Harris Mickler had probably laundered—and Feliks had probably used to pay Irina’s husband.
Something hardened under her easy smile. “If you do not accept my payment, I might worry about your reasons. Perhaps you’ve grown too close with Detective Anthony? Or is it your sister you’re worried about?” She pushed the envelope closer. “Georgina, is it?”
I snatched up the package, checking the dining room to make sure no one was watching as I drew it to me. A skinny boy in a Panera uniform swept crumbs from the rug with his head down, and a gray-haired woman hunched over her soup a few tables away. No one cared as I stuffed the envelope of dirty money into my purse. No one but me.
Irina dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and tucked her Prada handbag under her arm. “Good. I’m glad our business is concluded to our mutual satisfaction. I will be in touch if I find myself in need of your services again.”
“No, I don’t—” Irina reached inside her pocket and pushed a thin white envelope across the table.
“A letter from Patricia. I did not take the liberty of opening it, but if I’m not mistaken, I believe it’s a referral. Before she found you, she spent some time lurking on an internet forum—a site for women like us.” At my baffled expression, she explained, “Women in difficult situations seeking a specialist with a certain skill set.” Irina’s conspiratorial wink made me feel like I needed a shower. “Patricia seemed to think this particular job might interest you. She asked me to make sure you received this.”
Irina left the envelope on the table. She extended her hand. It hung in the space between us for an uncomfortably long time. Every cell in my body recoiled as I shook it once, quick to let go.
Exhaustion set in as I watched her go, the absolution I’d found after my confession to Julian last night suddenly buried under a mountain of fresh guilt. Patricia’s letter felt just as heavy as the brickof cash Irina had paid me. I turned it over in my hands, grateful to find the envelope sealed shut. If it was sealed, I wouldn’t be tempted to open it. And I couldn’t be accused of knowing whose name was inside. Or how much their life was worth.
I tucked Patricia’s letter in my purse and walked out of Panera, grateful when no one stopped me. I got in my van, grateful when the alternator started. Grateful for the night I’d spent with Julian. Grateful that Patricia was alive, that Irina was out of my life, and that Feliks was behind bars. But mostly, I was grateful to get home to Vero and my kids, and that the nightmare of the last few weeks was over.
EPILOGUE
The house was quiet. Vero was downstairs watching reality TV, and the kids were asleep for the night. I carried a mug of hot chocolate to my office, set it on the coaster beside my keyboard, and stirred the mouse. The screen came to life.
I braced myself as I stared at the face of a new blank document. The screen was bright, empty, and more than a little terrifying. I had turned in my finished draft to Sylvia last night, and my editor was already wanting to know the plot of the next one.
I cracked my knuckles and started typing.
BOOK 2: Untitled First Draft by Fiona Donahue
My hands hovered over the keyboard as I waited for divine inspiration to strike. I stared at the screen for what seemed like an eternity, but I hadn’t the foggiest idea what to write.
I slouched back in my chair. Took a sip of my cocoa. The laststory had begun with Patricia Mickler’s note… a slip of paper on a Panera tray.
I slid open my drawer, peeking at the sealed envelope at the bottom of it. Vero and I had sworn we would never open it. And yet, neither of us had volunteered to throw it away. Instead, I’d kept it, telling myself it was a cautionary reminder of the Pandora’s box we’d opened before.
I picked up the envelope and held it against the light of the screen, but the ink was too faint and the envelope too thick; I couldn’t make out the letters through the creamy textured stationery. The cursor blinked, ticking away the seconds. And here I was, wasting my few precious hours of solitude staring at an empty screen.
All I needed was an idea. A spark of inspiration.
