Page 83 of Redemption
“Yes. It’s time to take out DuFort … and Lachlan and Keira Mount.”
J’s eyes widen once more for a split second, and then she smiles with glee. “It’s time to go full-on dead man’s switch? I’ve been waiting for this day forever.” She hops out of the car and claps her hands. “Come on, boys. Let’s do this. I was born ready to pull the pin on this grenade.”
“Good,” I tell her as I open the door to the house. “Because we’re going fishing and we’re going to need bait.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Marco
Two days back in America, and I find myself in yet another vehicle. This time, I sit in an alley in the French Quarter, waiting for my brother’s former foster sister—who we broke out of a mental institution—to execute the next step in the plan to free him and his family forever.
It’s a job I never expected to have, but one I’m honestly honored to call mine. It’s certainly better than not having a brother at all and definitely more interesting.
I dropped J off on a corner off Bourbon Street a few blocks away, and by now, she should have made her way into my brother’s hidden home and hopefully already removed our mother’s painting. Mother would paint him a new one, but I can’t judge or argue about wanting to bring it with him into his new life. But that’s not the only thing J is in the house to retrieve. My brother has another magic duffel bag inside with his dead man’s switch. As I understand it, it’s a bag full of hard drives. Lachlan Mount’s equivalent of his little black book with enough incriminating information on enough people to send the entire city into a panicked frenzy.
However, our mission carries more than one objective. My attention is locked on the gray garage doors that blend into the wall lining the alley. Behind me, closer to the corner, is a black delivery van that Joy informed us is being used by law enforcement to keep tabs on one of the only known entrances or exits to my brother’s hidden domain. They don’t know where he is, so they’re hoping, eventually, someone will arrive or leave that they can either apprehend or follow.
According to Joy, they’ve been waiting there since the morning after we made our first trip to Italy. Now, J is going to give them quite a thrill, dressed as Keira Mount.
This morning, J walked out of the safe house, wearing both my brother’s wife’s clothes and her wedding ring. Even I was surprised at how similar they looked when J added an Hermès scarf over her hair à la Grace Kelly. Hopefully, it was similar enough to fool the authorities as well. After over a week of no action, my brother believed they’d bite on just about anything, and Joy agreed with him completely.
I check the clock on the dash again. J is already five minutes behind our projected schedule.
What is taking you so long, woman?
None of us had any real idea what she’d find inside after Luca’s weeklong absence, but now, I’m starting to question the wisdom of using a legitimately crazy woman as part of the plan.
Did she go rogue?
Thankfully, the cops in the van ahead of me have no idea she’s inside, so the time frame isn’t jeopardizing her exit. My brother believes J can and will do exactly what he needs her to, and I pray that his faith and trust in her isn’t misplaced.
Three more minutes tick by, and my fingers itch to text my brother that there might be a problem. Before I can reach for my phone, the bottom of the garage door rises from the pavement.
Thank you, God.
My attention instantly splits between the door ahead of me and the van in my rearview mirror.
Come on, J. Let’s do this.
We’re nearly ten minutes behind schedule, but everything can still go perfectly. I reach for my phone to text my brother.
Door is rising. Almost on the move.
His response is short.
10-4. In position.
As soon as the door has risen halfway, an engine revs inside, and the sound bounces down the alley.
I hope she picked something fast.
Obviously, it’s not something I needed to worry about because as soon as a car can clear the door, a black BMW rockets out of the garage and into the alley. Tires squeal as it shoots forward, dodging a dumpster as it flies down the uneven pavement.
I can’t imagine the chaos in the police van at this moment, but as the BMW bolts out from the alley and into the street, the van jerks into motion before I have a chance to touch my gearshift. The surveillance van nearly scrapes the side of my Camry as it thunders out of the alley, in hot pursuit of J in the BMW.
Excellent. The chase is on.
I shift into drive and follow the van, hoping that whoever is inside has DuFort on the phone already. To be a fly on the wall of that conversation would be useful … which is why, in my brother’s words, we’re going fishing.
