When we arrive, the mood has changed. The tension is tangible. Sloane is pale, Declan’s jaw is as hard as granite, and the bodyguards at the other tables look like they’re about to jump out of their skins.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, sliding into my seat.
Sloane says, “Declan got a call. We need to go.”
“Now? We didn’t eat yet!”
Sloane’s look could melt off my face. I hold up my hands in surrender. “Sorry.”
We all get up and head toward the restaurant’s entrance. Everyone is so uptight, they don’t notice I’m wearing Spider’s suit jacket. Probably a good thing.
As we walk, Spider asks Declan in a low voice, “What’s happened?”
“They found Diego.”
“What do you mean? His head?”
“No. Whoever that body belonged to that the cops found in the landfill, it wasn’t him. They misidentified it. Not sure yet if that was an accident or not.”
“Bloody hell!”
“Aye,” says Declan darkly. “But it gets much more interesting than that, mate.”
“What do you mean?”
“Diego’s still alive.”
Spider’s shock is palpable. He almost trips over his own feet when he hears that piece of news.
Whoever this Diego is, he’s obviously someone important.
9
Riley
The trip back to the house is weird. Everyone is tense and silent. Spider drives like he’s trying to qualify for the Indy 500. Sloane keeps glancing nervously at Declan, who grinds his jaw so hard and frequently, I worry for his molars.
When we’re finally home, the men all disappear into the kitchen, and Sloane brings me back to my room.
As soon as she closes the door behind us, I turn to her and demand, “Okay, spill. Who’s this Diego and why is everyone so freaked out?”
Sloane sits carefully on the edge of the bed and takes a breath. “Diego was Declan’s boss. Until he was captured by MS-13 and murdered. Only now it seems he wasn’t murdered, but that someone deliberately made it look like he was.”
She looks at me, rummaging through my carry-on. “What are you doing?”
“Getting snacks. This sounds juicy. Keep talking.”
She waits until I’m sitting across from her in a chair, tearing into the plastic wrapper on the Twizzlers box with my teeth, to continue.
“There was a fire in a warehouse—”
“Where? Here?”
“New York.”
“Which part?”
Sloane says tartly, “Would you like me to draw you a map?”
“Sorry. Just trying to get a good visual of the action. Go on.”
I chow down on two Twizzlers at once. For a moment, Sloane watches me chew with a constipated look on her face, then starts talking again.
“Diego was found at the warehouse when the fire department arrived to put out the flames. They’ve taken him to the hospital.”
“So he’s injured?”
She nods. “We don’t know how badly yet.”
“Why would someone try to make it look like he was murdered but keep him alive?”
“We don’t know that yet, either.”
I chew thoughtfully. “I bet he was tortured for information by a rival syndicate.”
Sloane’s voice comes out faint. “That’s a likely scenario, yes.”
“Were you close with him, this Diego?”
“No. I never met him.”
“Then why are you so upset?”
Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she passes a hand over her face and exhales.
“Diego…had a lot of information. About a lot of people. Secret information. Things that could be devastating if they ever came out. Many people could be affected.”
Her tone makes me understand that by “affected,” she means killed.
“Holy shit.”
“Exactly.”
We sit in silence while I devour another piece of candy. Then I’m stopped by a horrible thought. “Is Declan in danger?”
“He’s always in danger,” she says softly. Then she closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers, and whispers, “Fuck.”
I’m about to go over to the bed and attempt to comfort her, when a knock comes on the door.
“Come in.”
Declan enters, his eyes hunting for Sloane. He spots her sitting on the bed and strides forward. “I’ve got to leave.”
She stands, looking alarmed. “Leave? When?”
“Now.”