Surviving Ice
Page 78

It took just over four hours for me to get to this middle-of-nowhere location, just outside Reno, Nevada. If I couldn’t see the nose of an old Chevy pickup tucked behind the trailer, I’d think Bentley had sent me here on a wild-goose chase to get me away from San Francisco and Ivy. Had I not already secured her safety, I would have dragged him here with me just to be sure.
As it is, this could be a trap.
I move quietly and slowly in the dark until I find a sizable rock to hide behind. From there, I settle in, using night-vision binoculars that I swiped from Bentley’s stash.
And I wait. For four hours, ignoring the cold, surrounded by nothing but desert and rocks and the high-pitched barks of coyotes circling their kill, until I’m sure that no one is on alert, waiting for me.
And then I move in, slithering beneath the truck and behind the tires to lie in wait.
The sky is beginning to lighten when I finally hear movement inside the trailer. Footfalls. Someone rolling out of bed.
My heart begins to race as it always does, as adrenaline kicks in, hoping that everything goes according to plan. It’s so easy for these things to derail, especially when there’s more than one person involved.
Moments later, the door swings open with a loud creak and bang. I’m careful to hide behind the wheel as I watch Mario step out, his nose still puffy and slightly discolored. His gaze drifts over the wide expanse of land. Someone else would think he’s simply taking in the terrain, but I know better.
He rounds the corner with a stretch and then pulls his sweatpants down to take his morning piss, his back to me.
That’s when I roll out, gun aimed, silencer on.
And close the distance silently, like I’ve been trained to do so well.
He deserves this. For all those girls he raped.
And to keep Ivy safe.
He deserves it because otherwise he’s going to get away with it. And maybe do it again.
I wait until he turns around, until our eyes lock, but it’s not long enough for him to react.
And just like that, in seconds, half of my problem is gone, and Ned’s killer has been punished.
Ricky, still asleep in his bed, is a quick finish, too.
That’s usually what my job is—hours, even days of preparation, seconds of execution.
And then I get to the real work, setting the stage for the cops.
FORTY-SEVEN
IVY
“Why couldn’t we take the truck again?”
“Carl needed it,” Bobby yells over his shoulder.
I glower at the back of his head as his Harley turns down Dakota’s street. I’d like to punch him in the ribs, but I want to make it home alive, so I keep my hands where they are, with my kit sandwiched between the two of us. I refused to leave it behind. “What exactly did Sebastian say?” I’m still pissed that Bobby didn’t wake me up when the phone rang. He says he tried, and I snarled at him and burrowed farther into the grimy leather couch in response, but I think he’s bullshitting me. He also let me sleep in—something I only do after shooting half a bottle of cheap whiskey to keep my idle mind distracted.
“That he’d meet you at home.”
My stomach does a nervous flip. I still have no idea what I’m going to say to him when I see him.
That I know he’s been lying to me about everything?
Turns out I don’t have to figure it out just yet. There is no navy Acura in the driveway. Bobby pulls in behind my car and I hop off the back of his bike, glad to have two boots on the ground. Dakota waits in the doorway with a smile and a coffee for me.
I think it’s for me, only Bobby is trailing me in and she’s smiling at him, too.
He’s a sucker if he thinks that’s going anywhere. “You owe me a new phone, by the way.”
“Take it up with your guy,” he grumbles, already dismissing me, his attention glued to my friend in her loose, flowing dress.
I roll my eyes. “Has Sebastian been around?”
Dakota shakes her head. “No. Sorry.”
I grab a glass of water and Advil and duck into my room, glad for the privacy, something I haven’t had since yesterday morning. Locking the bathroom doors, I take an extra-long shower, until I’m sure that I’ve missed whatever live show might be going on next door.
And then I curl up in my bed and wait for Sebastian to come home to me.
FORTY-EIGHT
SEBASTIAN
She looks so small, so fragile, so beautiful, her black hair splayed across the white pillows like streaks of paint, the evening’s light soft across her sleeping body, wrapped in a blue towel.
I want to savor this peace—her peace—for a while longer, because I honestly don’t know how Ivy’s going to react to the truth. I’d like to think she’ll take it in stride, like she’s taken everything so far. But I have to prepare myself for the reality that she may be done with me after this.
And the idea of that scares the hell out of me.
So I simply stand there and watch her sleep, until she must sense me because her eyes flutter open and she sits up with a start.
My stomach twists into knots.
“Sebastian.” She reaches out with a hand, beckoning me. “You’re okay.”
“I am.” For now.
Her eyes rove over me and then freeze and jump to meet mine, as if silently reprimanding herself for her thoughts. I feel the sudden switch in temperature, as she goes from concern to anger and hurt. It’s damn near icy, and it makes me shiver. “You’re not a bodyguard, are you?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t just happen to hear about my work from your friend Mike, did you?”
I sigh. “No.”
She grits her teeth. “And you know who killed my uncle.”
She’s pretty much figured everything out on her own as it is. At least that will make this slightly easier. I won’t feel like I’m slapping her across the face as I deliver each truth to replace my lies.
“I told you not to make me ask.”
I reconciled myself to telling her everything on the long drive here. If this is ever going to work, she needs to know. And if she doesn’t want anything to do with me after she knows . . .
My stomach clenches at the thought.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed, but I don’t dare reach out to touch her. “That day I walked into your shop for the first time?”
“Yeah,” she says with wariness.
“I was there for a videotape.” I meet her gaze. “And maybe to kill you.”
FORTY-NINE
IVY
I’ve never felt so many different emotions for one person over the course of an evening.
It quickly began with the overwhelming urge to vomit, as Sebastian described, in great detail, how he followed me, studied me and, after searching Ned’s house top to bottom for this video, decided to befriend me.
I flew straight for my case, tearing out the foam inset to run my fingers over the interior. Feeling the sticky residue left by the duct tape that Sebastian says held that damned video in place.
I can’t believe Ned would put it there for me to find.
I can’t believe Ned tried to blackmail someone to get out of his financial hole.
He got himself killed because of it.
He almost got me killed because of it, although I still can’t believe he ever thought it would come to this point.