hell and back. You don’t know. You don’t have a fucking clue. She doesn’t want—she can’t relive that night again. I won’t have you harassing her. I swear to God, if you go anywhere near her, I’ll make you pay.”
Frankie allowed the threat to hang in the air, then smoothly moved to the door, gesturing for Marisela to follow. “Well make a note. Thanks for your…cooperation.”
“Fuck you.”
* * *
“Where do we go next?” Marisela asked as she slid into the cab of the custom truck Frankie’d pulled out of the Titan garage. At first, she didn’t think the vehicle suited him. For her, he’d always be a souped-up El Dorado kind of hombre . But witnessing him wrestle all the horsepower of this top-of-the-line F150 really turned her on.
Not that it took much for Frankie to push her buttons.
“Next up is Tracy Manning,” he replied. “Her brother might be protecting her for a reason.”
She nodded. If some dickhead had not only fucked with her heart, but murdered her sister and then jetted off to Europe looking guilty as sin, she imagined she’d have all the motivation she needed to hire an assassin to off the guy, money or not. Actually, she’d likely just do the job herself. But fifteen years later? What had stirred up the pot? And why was Bennett the first to go, instead of Bradley Hightower? He was the one who’d pitted sister against sister.
“What about the Hightower brothers?” she asked. “The police reports said Tracy was home in bed when her sister disappeared. I mean, she can’t tell us anything more than her brother did about what happened that night. But I’m betting Brad Hightower could.”
Marisela undid her ponytail, ran her hand through her hair, and then refastened the tie. The pulse at her temples was starting to pound. “We’ve got to find Brad Hightower before we can interview him.”
“Does he have a motive to have his own friend killed?” Frankie asked.
“How do we know if they’re still friends? The Hightowers left the country, and so far as anyone knows, they never came back.”
“Max has a team checking on that,” he reminded her. “Give the office a buzz and tell them to pull us an address for Tracy Manning, too. And financial records, if they can find them. With any luck, we’ll get this taken care of quickly.”
Marisela whipped out her cell phone, wondering about Frankie’s dismissive tone. He’d made no secret of his dissatisfaction with working for Titan, but after he’d survived his bullet to the gut three months ago, he hadn’t said anything more about leaving. Marisela guessed he’d been sticking around for her, and the fact that he was still restless caused a pit in her stomach. Damn if she wasn’t getting used to having him around.
Before she could press the speed-dial link to the home office, the device vibrated, signaling an incoming call. The caller ID read, “ Private .”
“Marisela,” she greeted.
“Good, I’m glad I caught you.”
“Brynn?”
“Yes, I’m with Ian and we have a lead on the shooter. Is your interview with Peter Manning complete?”
Marisela activated the speakerphone and slid the phone into a holder on the dashboard. “We’re just leaving his place. He gave us the 411 on what he knew about his sister’s death, but so far, we have nothing to connect him to our anonymous shooter.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Brynn said, a chuckle in her voice causing Marisela and Frankie to exchange curious glances. “She’s not anonymous anymore.”
Seven
MARISELA FOUND IAN sitting on the edge of a queen-size bed in a Jamaica Plain apartment that from a cursory glance, was about ten steps down from the luxury her boss was used to. The place was clean and sparsely furnished, but the stale smell in the elevator and the worn carpets beneath her boots made this place much more her world than his. And from the way he sat with his head cradled in his hands, she guessed be wasn’t taking the culture shock very
Frankie allowed the threat to hang in the air, then smoothly moved to the door, gesturing for Marisela to follow. “Well make a note. Thanks for your…cooperation.”
“Fuck you.”
* * *
“Where do we go next?” Marisela asked as she slid into the cab of the custom truck Frankie’d pulled out of the Titan garage. At first, she didn’t think the vehicle suited him. For her, he’d always be a souped-up El Dorado kind of hombre . But witnessing him wrestle all the horsepower of this top-of-the-line F150 really turned her on.
Not that it took much for Frankie to push her buttons.
“Next up is Tracy Manning,” he replied. “Her brother might be protecting her for a reason.”
She nodded. If some dickhead had not only fucked with her heart, but murdered her sister and then jetted off to Europe looking guilty as sin, she imagined she’d have all the motivation she needed to hire an assassin to off the guy, money or not. Actually, she’d likely just do the job herself. But fifteen years later? What had stirred up the pot? And why was Bennett the first to go, instead of Bradley Hightower? He was the one who’d pitted sister against sister.
“What about the Hightower brothers?” she asked. “The police reports said Tracy was home in bed when her sister disappeared. I mean, she can’t tell us anything more than her brother did about what happened that night. But I’m betting Brad Hightower could.”
Marisela undid her ponytail, ran her hand through her hair, and then refastened the tie. The pulse at her temples was starting to pound. “We’ve got to find Brad Hightower before we can interview him.”
“Does he have a motive to have his own friend killed?” Frankie asked.
“How do we know if they’re still friends? The Hightowers left the country, and so far as anyone knows, they never came back.”
“Max has a team checking on that,” he reminded her. “Give the office a buzz and tell them to pull us an address for Tracy Manning, too. And financial records, if they can find them. With any luck, we’ll get this taken care of quickly.”
Marisela whipped out her cell phone, wondering about Frankie’s dismissive tone. He’d made no secret of his dissatisfaction with working for Titan, but after he’d survived his bullet to the gut three months ago, he hadn’t said anything more about leaving. Marisela guessed he’d been sticking around for her, and the fact that he was still restless caused a pit in her stomach. Damn if she wasn’t getting used to having him around.
Before she could press the speed-dial link to the home office, the device vibrated, signaling an incoming call. The caller ID read, “ Private .”
“Marisela,” she greeted.
“Good, I’m glad I caught you.”
“Brynn?”
“Yes, I’m with Ian and we have a lead on the shooter. Is your interview with Peter Manning complete?”
Marisela activated the speakerphone and slid the phone into a holder on the dashboard. “We’re just leaving his place. He gave us the 411 on what he knew about his sister’s death, but so far, we have nothing to connect him to our anonymous shooter.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Brynn said, a chuckle in her voice causing Marisela and Frankie to exchange curious glances. “She’s not anonymous anymore.”
Seven
MARISELA FOUND IAN sitting on the edge of a queen-size bed in a Jamaica Plain apartment that from a cursory glance, was about ten steps down from the luxury her boss was used to. The place was clean and sparsely furnished, but the stale smell in the elevator and the worn carpets beneath her boots made this place much more her world than his. And from the way he sat with his head cradled in his hands, she guessed be wasn’t taking the culture shock very
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