Dirty Little Lies (22 page)

Tracy obeyed. “I was only fifteen.”

“You were a baby.”

“I was so angry with her! She was ruining everything.”

Marisela slid into the chair next to Tracy’s then scooted closer. “Big sisters do that,” she commented, thinking that her own sister, Belinda, likely had a damned long list of all the ways Marisela had effectively screwed up her childhood.

Tracy used the dishtowel as a handkerchief, wiping her face and blowing her nose. “You don’t understand. She wanted to destroy him, but she ended up destroying me.”

Marisela’s heart clenched. This was the information she needed. Right here. Right now. “Who? Who did she want to destroy?”

Tracy shook her head. “You’re not from around here. You don’t know the story.”

Marisela reached out and cupped Tracy’s quivering hand. “No, I don’t know the story. But if you want to tell me, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll listen.”

Tracy shot out of her chair. “I can’t! I appreciate—”

“I’m not just a stranger, Tracy.”

The words tumbled our of Marisela’s mouth in a rush, but she had to trust her gut.

Tracy’s head tilted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Your sister died. She was probably killed. That’s torn you apart over all these years, hasn’t it?”

“Who are you?”

Marisela stood. “My name is Marisela Morales and I work for an organization called Titan International. Two days ago, someone tried to kill Craig Bennett, the congressman. A few weeks ago, Raymond Hightower was murdered on a mountaintop in Switzerland.”

With each tidbit of information, Tracy’s face lost a shade of color. She went from red to pink and splotchy to blushing pale.

“And yesterday, Evan Cole was shot on his way to visit your sister’s grave.”

What was left of Tracy’s color instantly drained from her face. She brought her shaking hand to her mouth, whispered what Marisela thought was Evan’s name, and then fainted dead away on the floor.

* * *

Marisela shouted for Frankie, but hearing no response, she grabbed the dishtowel, doused it with water from the sink, wrung it out as quickly as she could, and then slid next to Tracy on the floor. She cursed as she moved Tracy’s head, checking for bumps, but she couldn’t feel any. Marisela ran the wet towel over Tracy’s face, and almost instantly, the woman’s eyes fluttered open.

“What happened?”

Marisela helped Tracy sit up. In the silent seconds that followed, Tracy’s memory slammed back into operation.

“Did you say Evan…was killed…at Rebecca’s grave?”

“Didn’t you know he was dead? It was all over the news.”

Tracy shook her head, groaning and clutching at her temple. “I don’t watch the news or read newspapers. Too depressing. Oh, my God. Evan?”

To her credit, Tracy didn’t dissolve into tears again. Marisela retrieved the iced tea and held the glass to Tracy’s mouth, so she could take a few sips.

“Who was Evan Cole to you?”

Tracy’s eyes widened with fear. “What is this Titan group you work for?” she asked, after pushing the glass away.

Marisela focused. Okay, she had to drop the Evan Cole questions. For now. Concentrate. Employ a dash of honesty. Judging by the bits and pieces Marisela had heard so far, Tracy obviously knew more about the night her sister died than she had told the police all those years ago. And her knowledge could be the key to finding out who had hired Yizenia Santiago to exact revenge for a fifteen-year-old crime. So far, she saw no evidence to indicate that Tracy was behind the killings. The woman appeared haunted, not bitter. And her shock at hearing about the fates of the men she’d once hung around with had been too genuine to be faked by a woman so emotionally fragile.

“We’re a private investigation firm. When Craig Bennett was shot, his wife hired us to protect him and find out who was trying to kill him. Certain evidence leads us to believe that his attempted murder was retribution for what happened to your sister on that island fifteen years ago.”

Tracy braced her hands on either side of her in an attempt to stand, but she seemed to have no strength in her arms.

“Oh, God. You said someone tried to kill Craig. Is he—?”

“No, he’s recovering. Slowly.”

Tracy’s lips pressed into a tight line. Not good.

“You were dating Bradley Hightower,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. Non-threatening. “After he dumped your sister.”

She gave a little nod.

“She was supposedly furious about that. Did she go to the island that night to confront the two of you?” Tracy shook her head.

Marisela grabbed her arm at the elbow, firmly but gently. “Raymond Hightower is dead, Tracy. Evan Cole, who wasn’t even there that night, was ruthlessly murdered yesterday right in front of me.”

The waterworks renewed, though the tears flowed silently.

“Craig Bennett is clinging to life in a hospital and could spend the rest of his days living in fear if we don’t find out who is trying to kill him. And Brad Hightower! We can’t find him yet, but he’s in danger and could be next on the killer’s list. If there was anyone else there that night, anyone else who might become a target of this killer, we need to know so we can protect them. Do you understand?”

Tracy managed a nod.

“Was anyone else there that night?”

“No,” she said weakly. “Craig and Bradley had gone camping.”

“Just the two of them?” Marisela asked.

Tracy nodded. “Evan had a party for his parents. I don’t know why Raymond didn’t go. He usually did. I was in bed that night”—her voice grew stronger—”sleeping. But Becca came in, all psyched up about something she just had to show me. Had to! We snuck out our bedroom window. I don’t know how, but she’d gotten Raymond to drive us over to the marina where she stole a boat and made us go with her to the island.”

Marisela helped Tracy stand. They slipped back into the kitchen chairs, but not before Marisela glanced out the window. Still no sign of Frankie. She was starting to wonder where the hell he’d run off to, especially since she’d called out for him minutes ago and he’d yet to respond.

That wasn’t like him. Wasn’t like him at all.

But before Marisela could suggest she go find him, Tracy continued to talk. “Becca had this crazy look in her eye the whole time. Like she knew something we didn’t know. Like she was finally going to get everything she ever wanted. Halfway there, Raymond wanted to turn back, but Becca wouldn’t let him. She said we had to see what was really going on.”

“If Evan wasn’t there that night, why did someone kill him?” Marisela asked, trying to move Tracy along. An icy hand clawed at Marisela’s spine the longer Frankie remained out of contact. She needed Tracy to spill. Now.

Tracy shook her head, slowly at first, then with growing speed. “No one knew. No one but me.”

“No one knew
what
? What happened that night, Tracy? What you tell me could save Bradley Hightower’s life. And maybe yours. You were there, weren’t you? Rebecca made you go. What if this killer is simply targeting everyone who was there that night, including you? You need to tell me everything so we can protect you. How did your sister go from leading you on some expedition to being murdered? Why didn’t you tell all this to the police? What have you been covering up all these years, so much that it’s been eating you alive?”

Tracy took a deep, vibrating breath. She opened her mouth to speak, but Marisela silenced her when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of someone sneaking past the kitchen doorway.

Marisela reached for her LadySmith. The weapon, smaller than her Taurus 9 mm, was easier to hide, but she didn’t want to pull it in case Frankie was the one who’d invaded the house. But why would he sneak around? To search Tracy’s stuff? Possibly…but that hadn’t been the plan.

She glanced out the window yet again and saw nothing, including no new cars in the drive. Just Tracy’s white truck and the Corvette, still and untouched. But with all the boo-hooing going on in the kitchen, she supposed someone could have come up the gravel drive without her or Tracy noticing. And the vibe didn’t feel right. She’d bet her newly stuffed bank account that Frankie wasn’t the one in the house.

“What’s wrong?” Tracy whimpered.

A noise from the back of the house forced Marisela to spring to action. Spotting Tracy’s keys on the counter, she grabbed them and tucked them tightly in Tracy’s hand. “You need to get out of here.”

The sound had startled Tracy, but she hadn’t processed that her home had been invaded. “What’s happening?”

Marisela shushed her and spoke directly into her ear. “I’m not sure, but you need to get to your brother. Can you do that?”

Tracy’s eyes widened with fear. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Marisela pulled her gun, but pointed it away from Tracy. “I think someone just broke into the house.”

Tracy stood, her arms and legs unsteady, her eyes darting around as if the collections she’d amassed were her primary concern, ahead of her life. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” Marisela whispered, taking Tracy by the arm and leading her toward the archway that separated the kitchen from the hall. “But I’m going to find out.”

“Where’s Frank? Your boyfriend. Is he really your boyfriend?”

“Good question,” Marisela replied, answering the location question, not the boyfriend one. “I’ll find him, too. Trust me.”

Marisela would have loved to believe that Frankie had been distracted by the animals in the barn or something equally unbelievable, but she knew he wouldn’t take off on her. Not by choice.

After glancing up and down the hall, Marisela tugged Tracy into the front room, her gun at the lead. She considered calling out to Frankie again, but decided not to reveal their location. For all the intruder knew, she and Tracy were still weeping in the kitchen. She stopped at the front door. Once they opened that squeaky screen, their position would be revealed.

“Is there any other way out of the house?”

“Back door,” Tracy answered.

Marisela spun around, shaking her head, knowing the figure she’d seen—the one she was nearly certain wasn’t Frankie—could be waiting for them there. “Any other?”

“Windows. The one in the bathroom has a broken screen.”

“Can you climb through?”

Marisela only allowed Tracy half a shrug before pushing her gently into the bathroom. Once Marisela was sure Tracy could make it outside, she moved to the door. “Lock this door behind me. Stay in here until I tell you it’s safe to move, then make a run for your truck. Don’t look back. Go to your brother.”

“Shouldn’t I call the police?”

Oh, yeah, that would be fun.

“Let me worry about the police. You just get out of here. Don’t let Parker talk you into going anywhere. You stay put until other Titan operatives arrive. Tracy, look, I came here thinking that you hired the assassin to kill the—”

“I didn’t!”

Marisela nodded. “I believe you, but you could be in danger. Do you understand?”

“This is my home, Marisela. I can’t…”

Figuring Tracy had simply depleted her tear stockpile, Marisela watched the woman’s features melt into utter despair. “You can, Tracy. Don’t be a victim to some two-bit punk who probably followed us here to jack our car.”

Tracy took a deep breath, nodded decisively, and then closed the door.

Marisela waited to hear a click before she made her way toward the back of the house with the most silent steps she could manage. She made it all the way to the back door before a hand shot out from around the corner and dragged her into the darkness.

Fourteen

MARISELA THREW HER
elbow back hard, satisfied when she heard a breathless grunt. Spinning in the opposite direction, she built momentum so that when her fist, clutching the gun, connected with the nose of her attacker, blood spurted and the assailant dropped to the ground. She stepped back into the light as his body fell.

Good, it wasn’t Frankie.

Not that she’d feel bad if she knocked him out. He knew better than to grab her like that—which is why she hadn’t hesitated.

She quickly checked to see that the guy moaning on the ground wasn’t armed, then she pistol-whipped him to silence, dragging him back into the closet from where he’d emerged. The hallway was narrow, so a chair from the kitchen jammed between the door and wall would keep it closed even after the guy woke up. Where was Frankie? Had he been attacked while she was in the house? She and Tracy had been talking for a while. Was this another warning, another attack to convince them to back off?

Marisela crouched down and scrambled back to the bathroom. She knocked lightly on the door.

“Don’t open it, Tracy. It’s me. Are you still in there?”

She heard a whimper.

“Are you okay?”

A long pause. “I’m…okay.”

“Get ready to bolt. I just found the guy in your house?”

“Where?”

“Don’t worry. I took care of him, but I don’t think he was alone and I think his friends may have jumped Frankie. I’m going to cause a diversion out front. When I do, I want you to scramble to the truck, got it? Don’t look back. Just get out. Drive like a bat out of hell. Don’t stop for red lights. In fact, don’t stop until you’re with Parker. Can you do that?”

The whimpers increased, followed by a series of deep, nearly hyperventilating breaths.

“Tracy?”

“I don’t know where he lives,” she confessed. “He always visits me!”

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

“Okay, where can you go?”

“I have a neighbor, a few farms down. Her husband used to be a marine. I’ll be safe there.”

Marisela blew out a relieved breath. “Good thinking. You bust your ass getting there and then stay inside until I personally come get you, got it?”

“Yes,” Tracy said.

Satisfied that Tracy would follow her directions, Marisela made her way to the back door, crouched down so no one peeking through windows would see her. Not only did she want Tracy safe, she wanted to hear the rest of the story. So much didn’t make sense. There was a good chance that somewhere in the blanks Tracy had yet to fill was the answer to who had hired Yizenia Santiago. Marisela couldn’t imagine that Tracy had had anything to do with the assassin. She wasn’t yet a hundred percent sure about Parker, but she doubted he’d knowingly put his remaining sister in harm’s way. That left the identity of the person who hired Yizenia wide open—which put them all in danger.