Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
BACKGROUND:
Subject was not merely a client of the Las Vegas trafficking ring—he was an active recruiter. Financial records indicate commission payments dating back eighteen months, corresponding with at least seven confirmed disappearances in the Southern California area.
TRINA DE LOS REYES:
Subject’s relationship with victim began as operational. She was an unwitting asset, used to identify and approach targets. Evidence suggests she became aware of the operation’s true nature approximately three weeks before her death.
CAUSE OF DEATH:
Subject eliminated victim when she began asking questions about the source of the $50,000 payment. Insurance policy ($200,000, subject as sole beneficiary) provided additional financial motivation.
DANE MORRISON:
Victim was conducting independent investigation into subject’s finances following funeral. Digital forensics indicate he accessed records linking subject to the trafficking ring hours before the shooting.
MIRA DE LOS REYES:
Subject has expressed specific intent to eliminate this target. Intercepted communications reference her as “the last witness” and “unfinished business.” Subject appears to hold personal animosity beyond operational necessity.
PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSESSMENT:
Subject is experiencing rapid decompensation. Behavioral patterns indicate abandonment of prior methodical approach. Three known aliases burned within 72 hours. Financial movements suggest no exit strategy.
Subject is no longer operating with self-preservation as primary motivation.
Maximum protective posture recommended immediately.
A voice inside his head—one he had spent decades trying to silence—started speaking as he read the email for the second time.
You’re too weak.
You’ll fail to protect her.
She’ll see you for who you are.
And once that happened, Mira would discard him just like how his parents had discard him.
Chapter Twelve
I FINALLY KNOW WHAT it means to be loved.
Zacharie hasn’t ever said the words, but his actions speak so loudly that even if he did, I probably wouldn’t hear them anyway.
My love tank has been overflowing since moving into his home. He’s there for me like no one has ever been there for me. He cares about what I like and don’t like, remembers every small preference I mention in passing, and he never tired of answering the gazillion questions I peppered him with when I asked for his help with my next book.
Even now, I can feel his eyes on me as we walk through the federal building, his hand warm and steady at the small of my back. The hallways are all clean lines and fluorescent lighting, the kind of institutional architecture that makes everyone look vaguely guilty. Agents in dark suits move past us with purpose, their gazes sliding over me with professional disinterest before catching on Zacharie and sharpening into recognition.
The women, though.
The women have been giving me the side-eye since we stepped through security.
I try not to notice. I try to focus on the mission—we’re here because protocol requires us to be interviewed separately about Braxton, and anything I can remember might help catch him before he hurts anyone else.
But it’s hard to ignore the way a redhead in a pencil skirt looks me up and down, then glances at Zacharie with an expression that clearly says: Her? Really?
I smooth down my cardigan and remind myself that jealousy is unproductive.
“This way.” Zacharie guides me toward a door at the end of the corridor. “I’ll be in the next room. If you need anything—”
“I’ll be fine.” I make sure to smile so he’d stop worrying about me. “Go save the world or whatever.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face before he disappears through an adjacent door, and I’m left alone in what looks like a standard interrogation room. Metal table, uncomfortable chairs, one-way mirror that I’m definitely not going to think too hard about.
The door opens behind me.
“Mirabella de los Reyes, isn’t it?”
I turn.
The woman standing in the doorway is tall, blonde, and beautiful in that polished, intimidating way that makes me immediately aware of every wrinkle in my cardigan. She moves like someone who knows exactly how much space she’s entitled to take up—which is all of it.
“I’m Special Agent Tanya Jeffries.”
The name hits me like a bucket of ice water.
Tanya.
As in Zacharie’s Almost Wife.
I must react visibly, because her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches.
“You seem to recognize my name.”
“Um, yes.” There’s no point lying when my face gives everything away. “Zacharie told me about his work and, um, colleagues.”
“Since Zacky—”
Why is she calling him something that rhymes with yucky?
“—isn’t the type to mince words, I’m sure you know I’m more than that.”
Her tone is pleasant. Her smile is pleasant. Everything about her is pleasant in a way that makes me feel like I’m being slowly lowered into a tank of sharks.
I just nod and work on keeping my own smile in place. Jealousy isn’t healthy. Jealousy isn’t productive. Jealousy is—
Tanya settles into the chair across from me and flips open a folder with manicured fingers.
“So...you were a favor.”
“A favor?”
She smiles, and this time there’s nothing pleasant about it.
“How like him not to tell you. A colleague asked for his assistance in rescuing you.” She taps a page in the folder. “Cases like yours are always difficult, given the fact that it’s your own blood who got you in trouble.”