Page 118 of Trace of Doubt
“After you left this morning, Eli and I followed. We saw him tailing you and put together a plan. Eli asked him if he’d take our pic because selfies were always horrible. I protested, stating I didn’t want anyone touching our phones. Eli played the irritated boyfriend and asked the man if he’d use his phone to take the pic and text Eli with it. He agreed. Once done and we had his phone info, I requested him to delete the pic from his phone. He signed his own death warrant.”
“Thank you. He’d have arrested me and ruined everything.” I despised myself for the insensitive words, the lack of compassion for a dead man.
“Mistakes are a countdown to a bullet. Understand?”
“Yes. Nothing stands in your way.”
She pulled the gun from her back waistband. “I need you to take this.”
I shook my head. “The last time I took a gun from you, I served fifteen years.”
“So you do learn from your mistakes.” She replaced her weapon. “No fingerprints. Having you with me in the business gives me a sense of family. Don’t spoil it.” She pointed to a park light, and we ventured closer. After having me turn around twice, she declared me free of blood. “Eli will clean up the mess back there and dispose of the matter.”
Dispose? “Where?”
“I have no idea. He’ll tell me later. Are you buckling on me, little sister?”
“Just curious. I saw the news earlier. The FBI is looking for me and McClure is facing an investigation in alleged charges of planning my escape. I imagine you arranged the article.”
“All things work for good for those who plan ahead. The FBI’s inquiry buys us time to finish up a deal before we leave.”
“Leave where?”
“Haven’t decided yet... Hong Kong, St.Petersburg, or Cyprus.”
“I always wanted to travel,” I said.
“No problem with a money flow. Hey, Sis. I’m in the mood for ice cream, chocolate cherry cheesecake. We’ll have a double-decker on the way to the penthouse, a way of celebrating that you passed the test.”
I tossed and turned, an image of the dead man’s blood covering every inch of me. I showered twice, rubbed my skin raw, but the nightmare repeated. My sister had grown up in a home where our parents demonstrated decency and morals. They helped others and encouraged us to emulate them. Marissa played the good girl,leader, cheerleader, straight-A student in high school and college. Had her tendency for narcissism and manipulation always been a part of her, or had she acquired the traits while growing up? In weighing her behavior tendencies, I accepted Marissa was driven by a lust for money, and eliminating others meant nothing to her. Business as usual. Her attitude grieved me. People were tossed aside like trash.
The moment I started to drift, I relived the scene again.... Shadows pulled in around me, and I knelt over the man’s body. Blood flowed from his chest, through my fingers, and dripped down my arms. His name was Lance...
72
DENTON
I’d never met Special Agent Lance Mason, the man who’d been found murdered on Miami’s north side, but we had a connection through Shelby. I parked my rental car in the secured parking area of Houston’s FBI headquarters at 9:30a.m. and read the latest news before Mike arrived, which should be any time since he was always early.
The FBI said Lance had been briefed about Shelby insisting she work as an informant and using an alias. No reason why he ventured out alone in a rogue attempt to close in on the case that got him killed. Lance’s wife reported he’d left their home at 9:30p.m., but he didn’t share where he was going or when he’d be back.
Shelby had sent me a text last night and typed her attempt to infiltrate Marissa’s operation resulted in the death of an FBI agent by the name of Lance.
Marissa shot him in the chest, then wanted ice cream. Eli disposed of the body.
Concern for the woman I loved wrestled with how to move forward in my job. Shelby had witnessed her sister commit two murders, and evidence stacked that Marissa had ordered the deaths of others. She’d have no reservations about killing Shelby or anyone who got in her way. But the FBI didn’t have enough evidence to make a case against Marissa and pull Shelby away from danger.
Mike pulled into an empty parking spot beside me. He stepped out and leaned against his car. I believed we were on the same page with this case—Marissa and her operation needed to come down and soon. Frustration added lines to his face, and I identified with the same emotion. The possibility rose of those in charge dismissing all we’d uncovered. I wanted Shelby out of the death trap, but I knew she’d never agree to leave until Marissa wore cuffs.
I exited my truck and greeted Mike. “Are you questioning why Lance Mason didn’t have backup before he met with Shelby?”
“No clue unless he had doubts she’d show.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I talked to his partner. He wasn’t aware of the meetup, said Mason tended to balk at protocol.”
“And it got him killed.”
“Left a wife and two small kids.” He snorted. “I want to cuff Stover and Chandler myself.”
I sensed my blood pressure skyrocket. “That’s my claim.”
