Chương 5
Emma spun around.
“Stay awake.”
Lorenzo rested his forehead against the concrete.
“Yes, doctor.”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“Neither is your mother.”
Claire said, “Keep antagonizing the medical team.”
Emma came back and took three of his fingers again.
“One step.”
He looked down.
“One step,” he agreed.
They continued.
Halfway through the tunnel, Claire found blood on her hand where it supported him.
Too much.
She stopped.
“We need more pressure.”
“We need to move.”
“We need you not dead.”
“Those people find the entrance—”
“They already found blood under the bench. They’ll find the trapdoor eventually.”
“Exactly.”
Claire pushed him against the wall and tightened the wrap around his torso.
He gripped the pipe overhead.
His breathing became rough.
She looked at him.
“Pain?”
“Yes.”
“Dizzy?”
“Yes.”
“Nauseous?”
“No.”
“Chest pain?”
“My entire body is currently negotiating its contract.”
“Lorenzo.”
“No chest pain.”
She finished tying the cloth.
When she stepped back, his head remained bowed.
“Why did Paolo shoot you himself?”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“You said Paolo shot you. Why?”
“Bad time for curiosity.”
“No. It’s a good time. I need to know who’s looking for us.”
“I told you.”
“You told me names. I’m asking why your cousin, who presumably has men for this, fired the gun himself.”
Lorenzo studied her.
“He was angry.”
“At the fentanyl?”
“At me.”
“That’s vague.”
“I hit him.”
Claire blinked.
“When?”
“Dining room. Earlier.”
“You punched him before the meeting?”
“During.”
“Why?”
“He said something.”
“What?”
Lorenzo looked toward Emma.
Claire understood.
“About me?”
“No.”
“About a woman?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My sister.”
“You have a sister?”
“Had.”
The word changed the air.
Claire did not ask immediately.
Lorenzo adjusted his grip on the pipe.
“Paolo said she’d have understood what he was doing. That she wasn’t afraid of making money.”
“And you hit him.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to your sister?”
“Overdose.”
Claire looked at him.
He looked away.
Fentanyl.
The motive was no longer business.
Not only business.
“You found out Paolo was moving the same thing that killed her.”
“Not the same batch.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“No.”
Emma was staring at them.
Claire softened her voice.
“How old was she?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
Claire said nothing.
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“He knew.”
“Paolo?”
“He knew why I wouldn’t touch that business. Everybody knew.”
“And he did it anyway.”
“Yes.”
Now Claire understood why the meeting had become personal enough for a man to shoot his cousin with his own hand.
She also understood something less flattering about Lorenzo.
“You didn’t shut it down because it was killing strangers.”
He looked at her.
“You shut it down because it reminded you of your sister.”
His expression hardened.
“Does motive invalidate outcome?”
“No.”
“But?”
“But don’t become noble in the tunnel.”
For a second his eyes flashed with the man people feared.
Claire refused to look away.
Then the anger left him.
“Fair.”
They reached a rusted steel door.
Lorenzo produced the pump-house key.
His hand shook so badly he missed the lock twice.
Claire took the key.
“Tell me if this opens directly outside.”
“Small basement.”
“Windows?”
“One.”
“Door?”
“Upstairs.”
“Anyone use the building?”
“Not regularly.”
She unlocked it.
The smell of oil and wet concrete entered the tunnel.
They climbed three steps into darkness.
Claire closed the steel door behind them.
The pump house was partly underground. A narrow staircase led to a room above where old estate irrigation controls had once been housed. She could hear rain against the roof.
Her phone gained one bar.
Then lost it.
Claire held it higher.
One bar.
“Who can we call?” she asked.
Lorenzo leaned against the wall.
“No one.”
“You must have someone.”
“I have people.”
“Same thing.”
“Not tonight.”
Claire looked at him.
“You don’t know who betrayed you.”
“Correct.”
“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said.”
“I’m fading, not deaf.”
“Police.”
“No.”
“Ambulance.”
“No.”
“Then Emma and I leave.”
He looked at her.
“You said armed people may be on the road.”
“They’re hunting you.”
“If they saw you with me, they’re hunting you too.”
Claire knew.
He knew she knew.
That irritated her more than being told.
Emma sat on the bottom stair and opened her toy kit.
Claire crouched until she was eye level.
“Sweetheart, I need you to be really brave for a little longer.”
“I am brave.”
“Yes.”
“Can we go home?”
“I’m trying.”
“Bunny’s not home.”
“I know.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
Not with dramatic tears.
Just moisture collecting silently along the lower lids.
Claire brushed wet curls from her face.
“We’ll try to get him later.”
“You said that.”
“I know.”
“Mr. Lorenzo can get him.”
Lorenzo, behind them, said nothing.
Emma turned.
“You live here.”
He swallowed.
“Yes.”
“So you get Bunny.”
He looked at Claire.
Claire gave him no help.
Lorenzo lowered himself painfully to one knee.
That alone nearly toppled him.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“If I can, I’ll get your rabbit.”
“Promise?”
Claire expected him to lie.
Adults lied to children constantly in the name of comfort.
Lorenzo did not.
“I can’t promise.”
Emma considered him.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
He stood again with Claire’s help.
Something in his face looked worse afterward.
“Phone,” he said.
Claire held hers out.
“Who?”
“My attorney.”
“You said no one.”
“He’s not my person.”
“He’s your attorney.”
“That means he bills me to distrust everybody equally.”
“Name.”
“Daniel Keane.”
Claire searched her contacts by habit, then realized how stupid that was.
Lorenzo recited a number from memory.
She dialed.
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Voicemail.
Claire hung up.
“Again.”
She called.
Voicemail.
“Someone else.”
Lorenzo named another number.
A woman answered immediately.
“Hello?”
Lorenzo took the phone.
“Marisol.”
Silence.
Then the woman’s voice changed.
“Lorenzo?”
“Listen.”
“Oh my God. Where are you?”
“No questions.”
“Everyone thinks—”
“I know.”
“Paolo said you were hit by—”
“Marisol.”
Claire watched his face.
This person mattered.
“Are you safe?” Lorenzo asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
May you like
“Home.”
“Stay there. Lock the door. Don’t call anyone from the house.”
