BK: An honest, lawyer-certified statement signed by you, clearing me of all this mess. And I want it tonight.
CV: That’s too soon.
BK: Sounds like a you problem. Subbasement by the elevator, the Sixes. 9:00 p.m.
I press my fist to my mouth, holding in a shriek of victory. “I got her,” I whisper to Matthew, as if she can hear. “I’ll just add a little more drama…”
BK: Come alone.
“Nice,” Matthew says, reading over my shoulder. “I’ll tell Louis themeeting place. He’ll want to get there early and scope it out.”
I let out a long, shaky breath, and he squeezes my shoulders. “You did it. You’re like Bessie Starkman.”
“Who?”
“Rocco Perri’s wife, remember? Toughest female gangster in Canada in the 1930s.”
I’m all knotted up with fear and nervous energy, as well as anxiety about what happens next, but that gets me laughing, and I can’t stop. It’s not even funny, honestly. But with the laughter, my apprehension weakens for now. Better than tears. When I finally stop, Matthew and I stare at each other.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Well, it’s only seven o’clock,” he says. “Let’s eat.”
chapterTHIRTY-SIX
I have never been to the Sixes at night. I’m not sure why I came up with this spot, but it’s too late to change it. Everything around me is dead—quiet, I correct myself. I’m grateful for the few lights scattered across the outdoor parking lot, pouring little circles of safety onto the pavement. They’re not enough, though. As I leave the sidewalk and head into the underground garage, it still feels like I’m walking into darkness.
“Louis is going to meet us down there,” Matthew says quietly as we near the entrance.
I wonder what he thinks Louis willdo. I mean, they both have the best of intentions, but seriously. Louis, bless him, is a scrawny, old-looking forty, just a hair short of the stereotypical nerd with tape around his glasses. Matthew, well, I adore him, but he’s not Indiana Jones. He’sProfessorJones. And I can’t recall Professor Jones punching out many bad guys.
A parking garage lamp overhead buzzes, flickers, and dies. My heart jumps, and adrenaline rushes through me. We keep moving, trying to be quiet, but every step on the pavement echoes in the dark. When we reach the back stairwell, there are no lights at all. I flick on my phone’s flashlight, but the harsh, pale beam only makes me more nervous.
Then we arrive, and I smell the sharp reek of drywall dust. The subbasement is unfinished, not yet divided into storage and engineering rooms, but its cement floor is cluttered with scaffolding, old construction crates, and tools abandoned in the shadows. Sloppy work. In one corner, I see a somewhat unsettling mountain of MSI crates, and I think of Paul with a shudder. I hear the plink of water dripping from a pipe onto cement. An unfinished elevator shaft looms in the middle of the wall beside me. There are useless orange metal fences propped around the deep hole, which would provide absolutely no protection if someone slipped. My inspector brain itches to catalogue everything wrong with this place. But I’m not here to work. I’m here to save my life.
“Turn out the light,” Matthew whispers.
I kill the flashlight, and immediately a brutal overhead lamp slams on, blinding us. I stumble back, one hand shielding my eyes.
“Bridge,” Claudia purrs.
I know that voice so well. I’m a little surprised by how much it hurts, hearing her now. Claudia and I had never been friends, but she saved me when I thought I was heading for unemployment. She gave me opportunities, and she taught me a lot. I always knew she was out for herself, and I’d seen her go behind people’s backs. And yet I—foolishly—trusted her. I’d never suspected she might go behind mine.
I blink hard while my vision adjusts. When I can see, I take in Claudia in high heels, her hair swept up elegantly, her makeup perfect, as if this is just another of her boardroom ambushes. Beside her stands a thick-necked brute. I knew she wouldn’t follow my orders to come alone. I do a double take and realize the man’s fists are already dark with blood. That’s when I see Louis, slumped against a pipe behind them. He isn’t moving. Guilt washes through me. I never should have dragged anyone else into this. Not Matthew. Not Louis. This is too much for any of us.
The thug kicks Louis’s thigh. “Wake up.”
Louis doesn’t move.
Matthew steps forward, fists clenched. “Leave him alone.”
The big man slams his fist into Matthew’s face before he can step out ofthe way. I hear a sickening crack, then Matthew crumples against the wall and slides down it like a broken puppet. I lunge for him, but the thug grabs my arm and flings me hard across the floor. My phone skitters out of reach, and I hit the cement, pain flaring through my ribs. But I’m not giving up. At this point, I can’t. Matthew still hasn’t moved. Neither has Louis. I force myself to stand, and the goon steps back lazily, leaving the next part to Claudia. She strolls my way, her perfume a suffocating cloud of musk.
“You made a mistake,” she says coolly, just a couple of feet away from me. “You should’ve walked away.”
“I guess I’m not getting a raise.”
Her laugh echoes in the space. A cold, mocking sound that I can no longer stand.
