The Red Ledger 9 Read online

  The Red Ledger

  9

  MEREDITH WILD

  This book is an original publication of Meredith Wild.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2019 Meredith Wild

  Cover Design by Meredith Wild

  Cover photographs: Alamy & Shutterstock

  * * *

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EPILOGUE

  Also from Waterhouse Press

  Excerpt from Shark’s Edge

  Also by Meredith Wild

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Alexandria, Virginia

  I catch the scent of my mother’s perfume, a weakening trace of her presence. My father shutters himself in his office, leaving me to face the palpable void alone.

  The otherwise empty house creates space for a swirl of emotions I’m not ready for. The prospect of facing my mother after revealing the truth about how my sister died has been eating at me for hours. I don’t know how I’ll sleep after today, even though I feel the exhaustion deep in my bones. My mother will see this as a betrayal, this sudden breaking open of the secret she’s held on to for twenty years—a terrible, heartbreaking secret that was born from someone else’s sins. I hope my father can see that. Maybe not today, but one day when his anger has cooled. She was only trying to protect his heart.

  My stomach rumbles loudly, marking a sudden hunger after this harrowing day. I go to the kitchen, switch on the light, and make myself a sandwich. Everything is the same. The condiments in the refrigerator door. The breadbox on the counter. The kettle on the stove that only my mother ever uses.

  The familiarity should give me some comfort, but when it comes to the things that really matter, everything is out of place. My family is fractured. My future with Tristan is uncertain. My freedom is in question. My entire life has become a sea of broken glass. I’m just praying any of the pieces can keep me above the water.

  I resist the urge to cry. All my tears today couldn’t bring Tristan back to me. They couldn’t heal my father’s hurt. I’m certain they can’t touch mine. So I deny their existence. I go to the kettle, fill it with water from the tap, and light the burner underneath, all the while holding on to the feeble hope that somehow tomorrow will be better.

  After a few minutes, I pull out my phone and stare at the blank screen. Calling Tristan again is pointless. Every time sends me immediately to a generic voicemail recording. Knowing the authorities are trying to track him down, he likely trashed his phone the first chance he got, severing the line between us too.

  It burns me that he left without me, but I know he didn’t have another choice. I had my father there to protect me. Tristan couldn’t count on mercy from the man who sent him to the front lines to begin with. He saw an opening and took it.

  And he’ll find me. I have to trust that. What we have is too strong to walk away from. We’ve endured the threat of death and dangers beyond anything I could have ever imagined. We weren’t expecting the FBI to track me down, but that’s not enough to keep us apart. Agent Rivero bending to my father’s insistence that we keep all of this under the radar gives me hope. I won’t abandon my father’s mission, but once he gets what he needs, I have every intention of disappearing again. I’ll figure out a way to find Tristan if I have to walk to the ends of the earth to do it.

  I can barely hear my father’s voice on the other side of the house, but he’s talking to someone. Maybe my mother. If he’s on the phone, I take it as a sign that he’s past wanting solitude. The kettle whistles, and I make two mugs of tea.

  He’s sitting behind his desk beyond the French doors of his office when I arrive. He sees my hands full and jumps up to open the door.

  “Can I come in?”

  I brace myself for him to turn me away. He has every right to want space after everything that’s happened today. Even if his mood is grim, having his company would be a welcome change. Being alone right now is too painful.

  Sadness swims in his eyes as our gazes lock, full of quiet understanding.

  “Of course,” he says, stepping back so I can enter.

  “I made some tea for us.” I set his down and hold mine in my lap.

  He takes his chair again, eyeing the steaming mug wearily. “I’m a coffee guy. You know that.”

  “It’s too late for coffee. Besides, Mom always says tea makes everything better.” I shouldn’t be bringing her up when everything is so raw. He doesn’t want to talk about this, or maybe even think of her, but I can’t keep from trying to mend things however I can. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

  “No, I don’t.” He traces his fingers along the ridge of his desk. “I know it’s hard not to worry, but try not to. We’re not missing any suitcases. Her toothbrush is still in the cup. I already checked.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “She probably just needs some time. Same as me.”

  “And here I am interrupting it. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m happy you’re here. I want to be alone with my thoughts about as much as you do, I’m guessing.” He studies me like he can see the past two months written on my skin. “You’ve been through hell, haven’t you?”

  My throat tightens painfully. I can barely manage a swallow to hold back the emotion chugging through me, threatening to take over my whole body. I can’t answer him. I can’t begin to explain all that’s happened. I take a sip of my tea and let it scald my tongue. The heat feels good on its journey through my chest.

  One day I might be far enough away from the horror of it all that I can heal. I’ll never forget, but I’ll need to find a way to move on. It’s hard to make peace with it on my own. Having Tristan with me has been a grounding force. Without him I’d be reeling. And I’d probably be dead.

  “I’m just glad I haven’t been alone.”

  “It’s always been easy to place the blame on Tristan,” he says. “But the fact that you’re sitting here right now probably means he’s had a pretty big hand in keeping you safe through all of this.”

  I’ve lost count of the number of times Tristan’s saved my life. I’d like to believe I saved his a time or two. I can’t imagine how I could have endured any of this without him.

  “Your mother told me you found the letter,” he continues.

  I nod, avoiding his eyes. The letter nominating Tristan for a special operations team at my father’s wish is one I haven’t been able to forget. It’s the letter that’s kept me from reaching out to him for so long, not knowing if I could ever truly forgive him.

  “I know you were trying to protect me, but…” I take in a shaky breath. But you destroyed us. You broke us.

  “I was, and I still am. That doesn’t make it right. If I could change things now, I promise you, I would.”

  His admission means more than he realizes. After feeding my resentment for so long, I’m not ready fo
r his change of heart. He never approved of the relationship. If he acted like he did, I could always sense his pretense. Defying his wishes for me for so long carried its own weight, compounding the pain of Tristan leaving.

  “You have no idea what it means to hear you say that, Dad.”

  “You probably blamed him for a long time for leaving you,” he says, waiting for my answering nod before continuing. “When it came to enlisting, you should know I didn’t give him much choice. I manipulated the situation to edge him out of your life. I was blinded by wanting a better life for you than I could imagine him giving you. Lucia kept you safe in her way. This was mine. We both did the things we did out of love, which is probably hard to accept after everything you’ve been through. All I can tell you is that I’ll lie, cheat, and manipulate the hell out of this mess with that same single-minded determination. I’m going to get justice, one way or the other.”

  When he says justice, it sounds like revenge. For Mariana. For all this pain.

  My lips tremble. I want to speak, but I’m afraid of crumbling. I sniff and wipe at the tears already spilling down my cheeks. “Thank you,” I manage.

  “Thank me when this is over. Until then, I just want you to know, I am sorry. For what it’s worth…” He pauses to hand me a tissue. “I figured today was a good day for the truth, all things considered.”

  I take it, wishing the tears could stop. “Dad… Tristan’s changed. He’s done things… I’ve done things. We can’t take any of it back, but I don’t care. He’s still the person I’m supposed to be with. I need you to believe that.”

  “I do.”

  I pause. “He’s…a criminal.”

  He tenses slightly but doesn’t waver. “I honestly don’t care right now.”

  The weight of his disapproval all these years lifts a little more. At least I won’t have to fight this war with my father anymore. Thank God, because there’s still the rest of the world to contend with.

  “I’ll protect you both. As long as I can keep Rivero locked down, we’ll be fine. Try not to worry about that right now.”

  “I have no idea where Tristan is. Even if I knew where to look, I have to worry about leading the FBI right to him.”

  My father rests his hand on the desktop and captures the tiny tab of paper at the end of the tea bag between his fingertips. “I have a feeling he’s going to come for you no matter who’s looking for him, don’t you?”

  God, I hope so. With all of my being…but not if it puts Tristan in danger. I won’t put his freedom in jeopardy.

  “I want that and I don’t.”

  My father leans forward, holding my gaze steadily. “I’m going to do everything in my power to fix this. I’m going to make it right, Isabel. If it costs me my job, my savings, so be it. I don’t care. Mark my words, it’s not going to cost me my family.”

  We stay that way a long time, holding the promise between us, before he slowly reaches for his tea. He brings it to his lips and drinks.

  “What kind is this?”

  I laugh softly through my tears. “Earl Grey.”

  He sets it down. “I guess I could get used to that.”

  Our worlds have been turned upside down. Our lovers have left our sides. We can’t know what tomorrow will bring. But in that small moment, in the solitude of the night, I’m grateful we’re in this together.

  TRISTAN

  Makanga and I arrive at the garage before dawn. The sky is metal gray, but it’s light enough to make out the lettering on the worn sign for Dion’s Body Shop.

  “You sure he’s here?” I ask.

  The neighborhood is deserted at this hour. The birds chirping in the trees are the only sounds.

  “Oh yeah. He’s an early riser. Likes to do his important business before people start rolling in for repairs and shit.”

  We get out and stroll up to the main door. Makanga walks right inside, so I follow.

  “Dion!” he bellows, no doubt waking up the whole damn neighborhood.

  Dion enters suddenly through a doorway toward the back of the building.

  “Hey, it’s the mailman.”

  “Postman. Get it right, brother,” Makanga shoots back with a grin.

  Dion laughs as he takes long, casual strides to meet us. He’s lanky. His blue mechanic’s coveralls catch on the sharp angles of his shoulders.

  “Dion. Nice to meet ya,” he says, holding out his hand to me. He gnashes gum on one side of his mouth, which makes for a crooked smile.

  “Red.” I shake his hand, noticing the hard calluses on his palms and the grease stains on his uniform. He may be the man to go to for everything we need, but my guess is he’s no stranger to hard work.

  Makanga claps his hands together. “So, what have you got for us?”

  Dion pitches his thumb over his shoulder. “How about this for starters?”

  Behind him is a red BMW coupe. It’s an older model but appears to be in good shape.

  I look to Makanga.

  He winks. “I got you.”

  I walk over to feather my fingers along the slick curve of the hood. “You could have lent me a beater, you know?” But I’m not arguing. He knows my weakness for fast cars.

  “I figure you’re good for it.”

  “I am. Why don’t you let Dion hook you up with some new wheels?”

  Makanga shrugs. “I like Betsy. She’s got some miles left in her.”

  “I’ve tried, trust me,” Dion says with a laugh. “Come on. Check out the rest.”

  We follow him into his office. He takes out his keys and unlocks a closet with a metal door. He pulls out a heavy black duffel bag and deposits it onto his desk with a huff. “Merry Christmas.”

  I unzip it and start pulling out the contents. “Santa did well.”

  Dion snickers. “Have fun. Here’s a burner too,” he says, pulling a flip phone out of his pocket and setting it next to the bag.

  There’s enough firepower in the bag to support the overthrow of a small government. Handguns, automatic weapons, silencers, small explosives. I’m not sure what Makanga is envisioning for the next mission, but I don’t mind shopping from Dion’s collection.

  As I start setting things aside, Makanga’s phone rings. The shrill sound reverberates off the walls of the small room. He glances at it, then up to me.

  “It’s Aguilera.”

  Dion has his arms crossed and is leaning against the wall, glancing curiously between the two of us.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say.

  Makanga hands me the phone as I walk out of Dion’s office. I answer it.

  “Hi, Devon.”

  “Hello?” A woman’s tentative voice is on the other end. “Who is this?”

  “I’m a friend of Makanga’s. Listen, I need to ask you some questions about Senator Keegan.”

  She’s quiet for a few seconds. We’re not going to get far if she’s already clamming up.

  “You understand that someone’s trying to kill you, right?”

  “I’m still trying to wrap my head around that. But why? Why would someone want me dead?”

  Not so long ago, Isabel said those same words with that same innocent disbelief. I hope Devon Aguilera doesn’t have to travel the road Isabel’s taken to figure out how real the threat is.

  “Does Keegan know you’re pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he happy about it?”

  Her voice is softer when she speaks. “He wasn’t angry. He was… I don’t know…overwhelmed, I guess. We both were. It’s complicated. He has a family.”

  “Did he tell you to get rid of it?”

  She’s quiet again. “He didn’t tell me to, but he didn’t rule it out as a possibility. He knew it was up to me, though.”

  “And you didn’t want to.”

  She huffs out a sigh, like she knows what I’m getting at. “Whatever you think you know about him, I’m in love with this man. I didn’t want to be the woman to tear his family apart, but that doesn’t mean I�
��m giving up on us. We made some mistakes, but we’re not over.”

  Little does she know, the commitment to her own happily ever after with the senator is exactly why she has a dot on her head.

  “Have you reached out to him since you left?”

  “I’ve wanted to, but I’m scared.”

  I think for a minute, weighing everything she’s said. Keegan could have told someone Aguilera was carrying his child, triggering concern about his political reputation and ability to follow through on the legislation that Simon is no doubt counting on getting pushed through. If Keegan was financially involved enough, he could have justified asking for it himself. If he was that heartless, Aguilera doesn’t seem to have a clue. Either way, he’ll want to see her if she reaches out. To reunite or to get her killed. I’ll be ready for both.

  “Where do you usually meet?”

  “He decided not to move his family up to DC yet, so he flies home on the weekends. Sometimes we’ll see each other at my apartment before he leaves. Sometimes I’ll fly to DC to see him.”

  “Where do you stay in DC? At his place?”

  “No. He’s worried about people seeing us. We stay at a hotel.”

  “What’s the name of it?”

  “Hotel Madera.”

  “Good. It’s Sunday, so he’ll be flying home tonight. Give him a call and tell him you need to meet tomorrow night. Eight o’clock at the hotel bar. Don’t tell him anything else. I don’t care how genuine he sounds. If he knows where you’re staying, you’re not going to be safe there anymore.”

  She takes a few anxious breaths. “Am I going to be able to see him?”

  “No.” I frown, concerned now that Aguilera has missed the whole point of our conversation.