Dirty Little Lies (28 page)

“I’ve no need to speak with Tracy. Someone contacted me on her behalf.”

“That may be, but whoever contacted you is a liar.”

* * *

Ian watched from a distance as Marisela led Yizenia out of the apartment building, the assassin’s rifle, encased in leather, slung over her arm. Her own weapon, the muzzle obviously pressed against Yizenia’s back, remained out of sight. Marisela had done exceptionally well. Yizenia, likely for reasons she’d never share, had spoken openly with his agent. The deaths of Raymond Hightower and Evan Cole, the critical injuries of Congressman Bennett, the chaos reintroduced into the lives of Parker and Tracy Manning had been sparked by nothing more than lies.

His passenger door opened and Frank slid inside. “Where’s Manning?” Ian asked.

“On ice. Wants to see his sister,” Frank replied, his eyes trained on Marisela as she put Yizenia in the back of Max’s sedan and the car pulled away from the curb. Ian didn’t start the ignition, but instead turned to the agent beside him.

“What do you want, Frank?”

“Out.”

“You had your chance,” Ian said. He’d wanted nothing more than to rid himself of this macho asshole for years, but Brynn had forbidden his dismissal. After Frank’s shooting in Puerto Rico, he’d given the agent another chance to walk away on his own, with a hefty bonus that would have kept him in gold chains and guayaberas for the rest of his life. Frank had turned him down. “You chose to stay.”

Frank’s expression, aimed out the windshield, was dark and inscrutable. “I thought Marisela needed me,” Frank replied.

“I could have told you otherwise.”

“Your opinion don’t mean shit.”

“Honestly?” Ian asked, exaggerating his offense. “And all this time I thought I’d been your mentor.”

“Fuck you,” Frank shot back.

“And that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Who fucks whom?”

Frank’s rage was carefully checked, but the fire behind his eyes told Ian he’d better proceed with caution. They had Yizenia in their custody. For the time being, Craig Bennett and the elusive Bradley Hightower were safe from her bullets of retribution. He couldn’t allow Frank to divide his focus.

“Life’s all about who fucks
whom
,” Frank replied.

“Right now, my life is simply about retaining Titan’s stellar reputation for investigation and personal protection?”

“You sent Marisela in, alone, to talk to a killer who may or may not have some freaky obsession with her.”

Ian contained a grin. “You better than anyone know that Marisela is incredibly resourceful, that she can take care of herself. Don’t pretend you were worried about her.”

The sharp snap of Frank’s eyes could have sliced right through him. “What does that bitch want with her?”

Ian wished he knew the answer to Frank’s question. The tone in Yizenia’s voice had raised his hackles, but Marisela seemed to handle the situation with aplomb. He’d underestimated his newest operative once—and Ian wasn’t the type of man to make the same mistake twice.

“We’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. Right now, the only question we should concern ourselves with is what do we want from Yizenia?”

“The name of her client,” Frank responded.

Ian pursed his lips. “She’ll never talk.”

Frank chuckled. “She’s never dealt with Marisela,
verdad
?”

Despite his best efforts, Ian grinned. “I can’t argue that point, even with you.”

Seventeen

“WE DON’T HAVE
a choice.”

Marisela slammed her hand on Ian’s desk. Frankie watched Ian and Brynn exchange glances that if he wasn’t wrong bordered first on confused and then on understanding. He shut his eyes tightly.
Dios mio
, they were finally beginning to understand how Marisela ticked, how she thought, what pushed her and prodded her to need to win, no matter the price.

He’d understood her for years, but a damn lot of good it did him. As much as he wanted to deny the truth, he knew now they were on different paths. He was ready to jump off this train and she was panting after a longer, faster ride. He wanted to do what he wanted when he wanted—she’d already lived that life. He’d tried to care about this case, but the only thing he really cared about was protecting Marisela. And since she’d done a damned good job of that on her own—facing down a professional killer and coming out on top—he had to stop fooling himself. His excuse for staying was gone.

Except that he still wanted to work with her, be around her, make love to her whenever he had the chance. But what would that make him if he stuck around in a job he hated just for that?

“I agree with Marisela,” Frankie said. “Tracy Manning is tougher than you think. Look at all she’s been through.”

“Her brother won’t allow it,” Brynn said.

“Her brother doesn’t have a fucking choice,” Marisela insisted. “Let me talk to her. I’m telling you, she wants to know the whole truth. She’s folding under the pressure of knowing that Evan Cole was killed in her honor. She needs to confront Yizenia. And only after Yizenia sees how wrong she is about what really happened that night will she give up the name of her client.”

Frankie watched Ian. He was listening, considering, working out the logistics of Marisela’s plan. Frankie could practically see the cogs turning behind those cold blue eyes. Frankie knew Ian would still screw Marisela the first chance he got—or screw her over—but he’d do it knowing that he’d lose a good agent in the aftermath. Maybe that would be enough to keep him from jumping her at the first opportunity.

“Listen to her, Brynn,” Frankie said, making eye contact with the reluctant Blake twin. “Yizenia isn’t going to give up her client’s name until she’s convinced she was tricked. That her honor has been betrayed. And the only person who can do that is Tracy Manning.”

Brynn stood in the corner near the bookcase, her frown marring her china-doll face. “Yizenia will suspect that this is all a ruse. And even if we do convince her, she won’t care. She’d go to prison before she ruined her reputation.”

“Maybe ten years ago,” Marisela said, her eyes narrowed. “Maybe thirty when she was first building that reputation she’s protecting. Going to prison now for murder means dying there.”

“And her client will only hire someone else to finish the job,” Frankie added.

Ian rubbed the darkening shadows on his chin.

They’d been in deep discussion since returning last night from Jamaica Plain. None of them, with the exception of Yizenia, who was being held in the penthouse apartment above the office, had gotten any sleep.

“We’ll let Tracy state her case to Yizenia,” Ian decided.

He glanced over his shoulder, but his sister had ceased her objections. She simply shook her head as if the exercise would be a waste of time. She knew Yizenia best. Frankie suspected she was right and that Yizenia would not trade the name of her client for her freedom, which would leave them with nothing.

“What about Brad Hightower?” Frankie asked. “Max said he had a lead.”

Ian nodded. “He’s following up right now. I think we should all get some rest and reconvene at the safe house at five o’clock. This show will be even more effective if we have the final player in the game.”

Frankie stood and left, barely slowing when he heard Marisela behind him.

“So?” she said, knocking him in the shoulder. “I was right, wasn’t I? About Yizenia shooting that guy in the alley? Saving your life?”

“Couldn’t wait five seconds to remind me of that, could you?”

“No,” she said, surprised. “Why should I? I was right.”

He couldn’t help the half-smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe you’re right about a lot of things.”

She stopped him by grabbing his sleeve. Her dark eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms tight, enhancing her chest until his mouth watered. “What else am I right about?”

Behind them, Ian and Brynn emerged from the office, their heads bent in serious discussion. Frankie grabbed Marisela’s arm and led her around a corner, then swiped his key card, leading her into an unoccupied office. He didn’t bother with the light. In the dark, he held both of Marisela’s hands behind her back and nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent, so rich and addictive. She surrendered to his assault for a moment, then twisted out of his hold.

“What else am I right about?” she repeated.

A sliver of light glowed from the motion detector in the corner, slashing across her face and illuminating her plump lips. Sweet lips. Lips he’d miss.

And her eyes. So brown and rich, like fresh-brewed
café
. And so full of suspicion. She knew him so well. Knew when he was kidding around. And when he was dead serious.

“About me.”

“What about you?”

“You said I was like a caged animal.”

She blinked. Did she not remember? “So?” She slid her hands around his neck. “Does that mean more fun at the hotel before we catch up on our Zs?”

Instantly, his body hardened. He found himself gritting his teeth, biting back the words he knew he had to say. She was always ready for a quick roll, even when she pretended to resist. But that wasn’t enough for Frankie anymore—one more reason why he had to leave.

“That’s up to you.” He splayed his hands around her waist, up her back, across her shoulder blades, pressing her close so that her breasts tortured him and her
concha
slid across his dick and awakened every nerve ending in his body. “I take it you’ve forgiven me for not listening to you about Yizenia saving my ass?”

“No,” she said, her face so close to his, he could see her eyes glittering. “But I can let you make it up to me.”

She kissed him and her mouth was so hot and her tongue so aggressive, he decided to drop his bombshell later. After he’d made love to her. For the last time.

* * *

From a shadowy corner of the room, Marisela watched Yizenia pace back and forth in front of Tracy Manning, who sat on the couch of the nondescript safe house, weeping into her brother’s chest. Parker Manning, for all his previous nastiness, melted in the wake of his sister’s grief. He whispered to her soothingly, patted her hair, and interrupted his sister’s confession only long enough to promise that he’d personally kill anyone who implicated Tracy in Rebecca’s murder.

The threat fell on deaf ears, since no one in the room (Marisela, Tracy, Parker, and Yizenia) and no one listening in (Ian, Brynn, and Frankie) had any reason to want Tracy arrested.

They simply wanted Yizenia to tell them who had hired her.

When Yizenia’s pacing swung her close to Marisela, she reached out and grabbed Yizenia’s arm. “Convinced?”

Yizenia’s nostrils flared.
“Yo no soy estúpida. Sé la verdad cuando yo la oigo.”

Marisela gave a curt nod. No, Yizenia wasn’t stupid. But she’d thought her client had been telling the truth, hadn’t she? And she’d been dead wrong.

“Will you tell us who ordered you to kill?”

“No one orders me,” Yizenia insisted.

“He paid you,” Marisela insisted. “He gave you just enough information to lead you to the wrong conclusion.

Yizenia yanked her arm out of Marisela’s grip. “And for that, he’ll pay.”

“Give us his name,” Marisela insisted. “We’ll do the rest.”

Yizenia’s laugh was a derisive snicker. “What will you, the high-and-mighty Titan International, do that I cannot do better? You are bound by laws and lawsuits. And without me, you have no proof against him. Your court system will bring you no justice. He’s not poor and unconnected. His power likely reaches far, just as that of those boys’ families did so long ago.”

Marisela narrowed her gaze, not liking where this conversation was heading. “You let Ian and Brynn worry about the court system and the influence of money and power. They’ve got a shitload of that, too.”

Yizenia’s tsk was narrowly close to a scornful spit. “I know Brynn. I’ve known Ian,” she said, her voice suddenly husky. “But they’re powerless to stop the inevitable and you know it.”

Yizenia made a move toward the door, but Marisela blocked her path. Incensed, she stalked to the other side of the room and tucked herself into a corner much like Marisela had, only Yizenia’s corner wasn’t anywhere near the door, a window, or any other means of escape.

Sadly, the assassin had a point. Without her testimony and evidence, which would have to include her admission of guilt on her part in the attempted murder of Craig Bennett and the murders of Evan Cole and Raymond Hightower, they’d have an uphill battle proving a client even existed. But Marisela had survived enough uphill battles to not be deterred, especially once the door opened and Max strode in.

Their ace in the hole walked in directly behind him.

Bradley Hightower.

He was just as tall and handsome as Marisela had guessed he’d be. The last fifteen years had been kind to him in many ways. He was buff, tanned, and perfectly dressed from his tailored cotton shirt cuffed at the elbow to his loose linen slacks and twelve-hundred dollar John Lobb shoes. He wore aviator sunglasses, which he instantly ripped off his face, then waited for his eyes to adjust to the muted light. When the process was complete, he instantly spotted Tracy on the couch. He stepped toward her, but Parker jumped to his feet and blocked his way.

“Get away from her. You started all this. You’re to blame!”

Bradley took a step back and sighed. “You’re right. Evan and my brother are dead because of me.” He spoke with the kind of assuredness that only men comfortable in their own skin could manage. He glanced back at Max, who stood stoically near the doorway, and continued, “I hadn’t spoken to Raymond in years. He’d become quite the daredevil, so his death on that mountaintop didn’t surprise me. No one knew it was murder until the body was recovered, least of all the brother he hated.”

“So you come out of the woodwork now, after your friends start dropping like flies?” Parker spat.

Though his generous lips quivered, Bradley Hightower folded his sunglasses and slid them into his pocket. “Tracy, I had no idea what you’ve gone through. Had I known, I would have come home. After my father sent me off to Europe to ensure that none of his rich friends found out his son was a fag, I promised myself never to return, never to dredge up that awful time again. Craig and I never meant to hurt anyone. We were just stupid kids fooling around. He wasn’t gay. He deserved to live his life honestly and to have a career in politics without risking it all because of teenage experimentation. And you. That night burst your illusions about a lot of things. Did you really want me hanging around, reminding you every day of how I’d used you? I swear, Tracy. I was a stupid, selfish kid. You didn’t deserve my lies. I’m so sorry.”