‘Where did you get that?’ I whispered. Thudthudthud. My heart was about ready to beat out of my chest.
‘I took it,’ Murphy shrugged. ‘I’m not exactly a pro at photographing children, but I think I did okay.’
I wanted to take the photo from him. I wanted to shoot him. ‘Why?’
‘There are plenty more of these,’ he said, opening his fingers and letting the piece of paper flutter to the ground. ‘Why do you think I took them? I can’t very well buy your cooperation with just the one.’
I remained silent; it wasn’t easy. My skin was crawling, just from being alone with him. I just wanted to know what the hell Murphy wanted from me, so I could either acquiesce, or shoot him between the eyes.
I kind of hoped I’d get to shoot him. I’d try to aim so that none of his blood would splatter against the photograph that lay on the floor between our feet.
‘Ask me,’ he said.
‘Ask you what?’ I sighed.
‘Ask me what I need your cooperation with.’ He took an egg roll between his fingers and bit into it, hot sauce running down his chin. ‘But ask me while I’m sitting down eating. I’m fucking starved.’
Ten minutes later, we were sitting at the dining table. Murphy had proceeded to bring a stack of photographs out of his suit pocket and place them face-down on the table beside his hand, but hadn’t let me see any more. I’d since collected the one he’d let fall to the ground, and I held it in front of me, my food untouched. I’d also poured myself a vodka, no mixer. No ice, either. After the fucking I’d taken from Dornan on this very dining table, I couldn’t think of ice cubes without blushing and getting very, very turned on. Being turned on didn’t really match being stuck with Christopher Murphy.
‘You’re not gonna eat?’ Murphy asked around a mouthful of food.
‘Just get to the point,’ I said.
‘Alright.’ He stopped eating, looking at me seriously as the snark vanished from his face. I swallowed nervously. Snarky Murphy I could handle. When he got serious, it scared the living shit out of me.
‘In approximately—’ he paused to check his watch, ‘one hour, your father and the rest of your family will be entering the United States government’s witness protection program. The DEA are on the ground in Colombia, moving in to take them to a safe house.’
I raised my eyebrows; inside my heart was thundering.
‘Why should I believe anything you say?’ I replied tersely. Witness protection? Bullshit.
He didn’t smile, didn’t smirk. In fact, this Christopher Murphy was entirely normal, concerned even, and that made him even more terrifying.
‘You don’t have to,’ he said, sitting back and wiping his hands on a napkin. ‘But you have two options right now. You run and tell loverboy Dornan and give him the tip-off. Or we make a deal, and you get to see your son again.’
I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, a suppressed smile.
‘It’s a very good deal.’
I didn’t say anything for a moment, my head whirling. I remembered sitting at a similar table in Colombia nine years ago, swallowing packages of what I believed to be cocaine, only to find out later that I’d couriered eighteen pellets of baker’s-grade flour across the border as a test.
Was this a test? Were they testing my loyalty after all this time?
‘You think you can mention a son I gave up for adoption over eleven years ago and I’ll just do whatever you want?’
Murphy eyed me confidently. ‘That’s exactly what I think.’
Well, I didn’t know what to say to that. I pressed my lips together. ‘He doesn’t even know me,’ I said, but my words came out weaker than I’d planned.
‘You might think you’re covert, and you’re clever, but my dear Mariana,’ Murphy paused and leaned across the table, smiling smugly, ‘you’re also very fucking predictable.’
‘If Emilio heard you talking like this, he would kill you.’ I said. ‘Slowly. Painfully. I heard what he did to Bella. I’m sure he’s done plenty worse since then.’
Murphy’s eyes lit up at the mention of her name; the accountant who had been there before me, the girl who had been tortured, piece by piece over the better part of a week, until Dornan shot her and put her out of her misery.
‘I saw what he did to Bella,’ Murphy said. ‘Did you know if you drill into the right part of a person’s skull, you can see their brain while they’re still conscious?’ He pretended to drill into his forehead with two fingers, a zzzz sound coming from between his teeth.
I was suddenly convinced that he’d played an active part in her grisly demise.
‘Anyway,’ he said, running his tongue over his teeth, ‘your father’s actually stopped drinking and gambling. Crazy, right?’
‘Unbelievable,’ I answered. ‘Just like the rest of your story. Why would the DEA help my father go into hiding? It’s ludicrous. He’s a criminal.’
Murphy waved his fork dismissively. ‘He’s small fry compared to Emilio and Julian Ross. We’re talking about smashing an international drug syndicate here. You think I’d have stuck around for this long if it wasn’t worth something huge? My entire career has been devoted to taking these fuckers down.’
I huffed incredulously. ‘Murphy, you have a bank account in the Bahamas with hundreds of thousands of dollars in it. Drug money.’
‘Drug money,’ he smiled. ‘That’s a cute name for it.’
‘It’s the truth!’ I insisted. ‘What the hell are the DEA going to do when they realise you’re in on this whole mess?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ll lay low for a couple of months, then charter myself a plane straight out of Dodge and into early retirement abroad. The government pension isn’t exactly enough to pay for all my . . . hobbies.’
‘Emilio will know it was you,’ I countered. ‘He’ll empty your accounts quicker than you can snort a line of coke off your desk.’ I’d seen him do it before.
He pursed his lips and stared at me like I was a moron. ‘Why do you think I came here?’ he responded. ‘You’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen. And in return, I get you your son.’
‘What about Dornan?’ I asked, dazed.
‘What about Dornan?’ Murphy rebounded.
I searched his face for an indication of how this could go but got nothing. ‘I’m not participating in anything that would hurt him. He saved my life.’
Murphy sneered. ‘He took you to be his own personal whore. He used – uses – you for his own perverted pleasure. Does he make you say thank you after you swallow?’
Wow. That hurt. Even coming from Murphy. I shouldn’t care, I scolded myself.
‘You don’t know anything about me,’ I answered coldly. ‘Or him.’
‘I know your son is dying to meet you,’ he said, smarmy fuck that he was. ‘What else matters? The whole family is in WITSEC, and if you do this one little thing for me, you’ll be right there with them.’
‘When you say the whole family—’
‘He’s not included,’ Murphy cut me off. ‘There’s no records of your son even existing. I had the birth certificate and the adoption papers removed from the state office when you started cleaning my money, just in case I ever needed to blackmail you, babe.’
Was he lying? I couldn’t tell. The sick thing was, he knew exactly what to say to get me to pay attention, whether it was the truth or not. I wanted to see my son more than I wanted anything in the entire universe.
I’d kill to see him. Die if it meant I could touch his face one more time.
‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked dully. Dornan’s face loomed large in my mind, so distracting I could barely concentrate on what Murphy was saying.
He smiled, and it was like he knew he had me hooked on his bait. Now, to reel me in.
‘You’re gonna move some money for me, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Some of Emilio’s money. Don’t worry, I’ll let you keep a little to get yourself set up. But the bulk of it goes into my personal offshore accounts, are we clear? It costs
money to hide.’
I nodded. ‘And that’s it?’
He nodded, chewing slowly.
‘Well, I guess we’re done here, then. You need help packing your shit up?’ I was acting nonplussed, but inside I was a quivering mess. I needed to be alone so I could figure out what the fuck my next move would be. Some vague feeling in the pit of my stomach told me I had to bring Dornan in on all this, but the urge to investigate a little further myself was too tempting. I still had the burner phone John had gifted me with, and I needed Murphy to leave so I could make some calls.
He threw his fork down, and it made a high-pitched ting against the china as he pushed his plate away. Hurriedly, I closed all of the cardboard boxes and shoved them back into the paper bag, thrusting it at Murphy. He rolled his eyes and removed the lo mein, setting it on the table for me to keep. How thoughtful.
‘I can’t leave without cracking open the fortune cookies,’ he said, standing slowly. ‘That would be rude.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Open them in the car. With your girlfriend.’ I snatched up the two fortune cookies – the romantic motherfucker had brought one for each of us – and stalked towards the front door.
‘I’ll call you,’ Murphy said, knocking his shoulder against mine as he passed me.
‘Can’t wait,’ I threw back, tossing the fortune cookies at him. He caught them easily, a look of amusement on his face. Bastard. I hated him. I hated him almost as much as I hated Emilio.
He pocketed the plastic-wrapped cookies and reached for the door handle but drew back at the last second. ‘I almost forgot,’ he grinned, looking back at me as he held up the stack of photographs.
I wanted them. But I knew if I showed how much I wanted them, he’d raise the stakes. I held my jaw rigid and slipped the tip of my tongue between my front teeth, biting down until I tasted blood. Don’t react.
He held the stack out to me, a smirk on his face. ‘You want them?’
I reached for them slowly; too slowly. He yanked them back just as my fingers were about to close around them, dropping the paper bag full of leftovers on the floor as his other hand wrapped around my throat. Squeezing tight, he pushed me back into the wall. My head hit the plaster with a dull thunk.
I gave him a sour look, my voice coming out in a rasp as his fingers hovered at my throat. ‘I knew there’d be a price. What is it?’
He chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully, watching my mouth with great interest.
‘You want to kiss me, Murphy? Is that it?’
He grinned, letting go of my throat and grabbing a chunk of my hair as he pressed me harder against the wall. He pushed his greedy lips against mine, nine years worth of his pent-up frustration crushing against me. It was bad, but not so bad, until he stuck his tongue in my mouth. Gross. I stilled for a few moments, thinking it was a small price to pay in the scheme of things. When his hand started travelling from my waist up towards my chest, I shoved him off me.
‘I think I threw up a little in my mouth,’ I deadpanned. ‘This was fun, we should do it again never.’ I snatched the photos from his hand, and he made no attempt to stop me this time.
Murphy sniffed, wiping his wet mouth with one finger. Still sampling the goods, no doubt. I knew he was excited about finally laying one on me after all this time, but his pupils were pinpricks. There was something bubbling in his veins, and I was betting on coke.
‘You forgot your fortune cookie,’ he said, tearing open the packaging and cracking the cookie in half before holding it out to me. ‘Read it.’
‘No.’
‘Then no more photos for you.’
I snatched the broken fortune cookie out of his hand and pulled out the piece of paper, letting the cookie pieces fall to the ground as I read it.
‘Fortune favours the brave.’ I dropped the piece of paper, and it fell lazily to the ground.
‘How brave are you feeling today?’ he asked, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. I pulled away sharply. He’d touched me all he was going to touch me today. My skin was already screaming for me to get in the shower and scrub his prints off of me.
I didn’t bother answering the brave question. It irritated me.
‘Aren’t you going to read yours?’ I said instead.
He cracked his open and threw the cookie into his mouth, as he unfurled the quote that had been jammed inside. He laughed, handing the piece of paper to me. I took it reluctantly. What I really wanted was for him to fucking leave so I could see the rest of the photos that were clutched in my hand.
‘If you would rule the world quietly, you must keep it amused.’
I handed it back to him. ‘Looks like you got the right one. I don’t want to rule the world.’
Murphy tilted his head to the side. ‘Everybody wants to rule the world, Mariana. Which reminds me. If you tell anyone what we spoke about – Dornan included – I will slit your throat ear to ear and hang you off a fucking bridge. And I’ll make sure your son sees you die. Got it?’
A chill ran through me. ‘Yeah. I got it.’
I opened the door for him, shoving him out and slamming it as hard as I could behind him.
I didn’t want to rule the world. I didn’t care about power.
I just wanted to be free.
It was late. Almost midnight, by the time Murphy had left. I spread the photos across my coffee table, drinking them in as his words started to hit home.
I wanted to believe what he was saying. Wanted to believe it wasn’t a cruel trick, a test, as Emilio was so fond of subjecting people to. But I’d known Murphy a long time now, knew his subtle little tells, could pretty much always pick when he was lying.
But, faced with the possibility of seeing my son again, my heart overrode my brain until I was so confused, I had no idea if he was lying or telling the truth. My BS meter was completely screwed in the face of the chance to reunite with Luis.
Murphy wanted me to embezzle money for him. A lot of money. It was a probable death sentence. Emilio had people everywhere – hell, he had Murphy, one of the most senior and powerful officers in the DEA.
But it seemed Murphy had grown tired of playing second fiddle to the Il Sangue Cartel. Seemed he wanted it all for himself. Seemed he was cleaning house, and he wanted me to assist him. Maybe it had something to do with Allie. Perhaps it was true love.
I looked at the photos one by one. Luis riding a bicycle. Luis entering a school classroom, a backpack slung over one shoulder. Luis kicking a soccer ball. His hair was long, his skin darker than mine. Lord, he looked exactly like his father. His eyes were the only thing that said he was mine. He looked exactly as I’d imagined he would, and that was a miracle within itself. It was as if I’d dreamed him into existence. He was exquisite. Greedily, as I examined the photographs, I wanted more. I wanted to hear his voice. I wondered if it still had that high, child-like pitch. He was almost twelve. Soon, it’d get deeper, more mature.
I wanted to hear his voice as a child just once before he grew up. Just one time. I wanted to hold him in my arms. I wanted to look into his eyes and see him looking back. I wanted to be his mother.
My hands were shaking.
I weighed up my options. If I told Dornan, Murphy would deny everything. He’d make sure I died, but worst of all, he’d hurt Luis. I’d heard his threat, and I knew he wasn’t bluffing.
Fuck.
If Emilio went down, what did that mean for Dornan? For John, even? For Guillermo?
If Emilio went down, what did that mean for me?
The notion that I might one day be free of the Il Sangue Cartel seemed so ludicrous, I couldn’t even picture it. I was a survivor, and survivors didn’t live on hope and dreams. They lived on blending in and doing what they were fucking told.
Dornan. Luis. It seemed like I was going to have to risk one to protect the other.
Dornan would understand, I reasoned with myself. He was a father. He knew the ferocity of a parent’s love.
I’d always loved Luis above all else
, even though I’d never known him, even though he’d never remember a single thing about the precious few hours we spent as mother and son before he was taken away. But Dornan against Luis? One or the other? I’d never had to face that ultimatum before.
I thought of how far I’d be willing to go to protect my son. Would I betray Dornan? Could I?
Of course I could. I loved Dornan beyond words, beyond space and time and every shitty thing that stood between us ever finding freedom. But I loved my son more. He was a part of me. He came from me. And I’d tear the fucking world down to lay my eyes on him one more time.
Murphy was long gone, and I’d looked at each photograph at least a dozen times before I sprang into action. I rechecked the front door, making sure it was locked, and jammed a dining chair underneath the door knob for good measure. Once I was certain the place was relatively secure, I retrieved my burner phone from its hiding spot: a canister of flour that sat at the back of the pantry. Shaking the excess powder from the protective ziplock bag, I took the phone out and dialled.
I prayed for an answer.
‘What?’ the voice on the line said abruptly.
‘It’s me,’ I whispered, my heart thundering in my chest. Nobody was with me, but if Guillermo arrived home from his ride, I didn’t want him hearing my conversation.
‘We’re not due to speak for two weeks,’ Este’s older brother hissed. ‘Is this a safe line?’
Once a month for the past eight-and-a-half years – ever since John gave me the phone – I’d been speaking to Miguel, my dead boyfriend’s brother. Checking on my family. Checking on my son. My family still thought I’d died nine years ago, shortly after I was brought to Los Angeles, and I needed to keep it that way. If they ever found out, my father would no doubt do something stupid and reckless and we’d all be dead inside a week.
Miguel was the only person I could think of who I knew would keep the secret for me, and, more importantly, keep tabs on the son Este and I had been forced to give up for adoption when we were teenagers. The family who’d adopted Luis were distant relatives of Esteban, and they lived in the same small village that Miguel had settled in after I left. Miguel was the only one in the world who knew where Luis was – but now Murphy had stripped that secret away and turned it into a liability.