“He could get into trouble.”
“He won’t if we all keep our mouths shut. You have to remember that Mike wasn’t following you around to keep you safe. He was trying to see what you were up to because he thought that I was breaking the law.” Laura held onto Andy’s hand. “We’ll be fine if we all stick together. Trust me on this. I know how to get away with a crime.”
Andy glanced up at her, then looked away. Her silences had meaning now. They were no longer a symptom of her indecision. They were usually followed by a difficult question.
Laura held her breath and waited.
This was the moment when Andy would finally ask about Paula. Why Laura had killed her instead of grabbing the empty gun. What she’d whispered in Paula’s ear as she was dying. Why she had told Andy to tell the police that she was unconscious when Paula had died.
Andy said, “There was only one suitcase in the storage unit.”
Laura let out the breath. Her brain took a moment to dial back the anxiety and find the correct response. “Do you think that’s the only storage unit?”
Andy raised her eyebrows. “Is the money from your family?”
“It’s from the safe houses, the vans. I wouldn’t take Queller money.”
“Paula said the same thing.”
Laura held her breath again.
Andy said, “Isn’t it all blood money?”
“Yes.” Laura had told herself that the stash money was different; she had justified keeping it because she was terrified Jasper would come after her. The make-up bag hidden inside the couch. The storage units. The fake IDs she had bought off the same forger in Toronto who had worked on Alexandra Maplecroft’s credentials. All of her machinations had been done in case Jasper figured out where she was.
And all of her fears had been misplaced, because Andy was right.
Jasper clearly did not give a shit about the fraudulent paperwork. The statute of limitations on the fraud had run out years ago, and his public apology tour had actually raised his numbers in the early presidential polls.
Andy kept stubbing the toe of her shoe into the ground. “Why did you give it up?”
Laura almost laughed, because she had not been asked the question in such a long time that her first thought was, Give up what?
She said, “The short answer is Nick, but it’s more complicated than that.”
“We’ve got time for the long answer.”
Laura didn’t think there were that many hours left in her lifetime, but she tried, “When you play classical, you’re playing the exact notes as written. You have to practice incessantly because you’ll lose your dynamics—that’s basically how you express the notes. Even a few days away, you can feel the dexterity leaving your fingers. Keeping it takes a lot of time. Time away from other things.”
“Like Nick.”
“Like Nick,” Laura confirmed. “He never came out and told me to quit, but he kept making comments about the other things we could be doing together. So, when I gave up the classical part of my career, I thought I was making the decision for myself, but really, he was the one who put it into my head.”
“And then you played jazz?”
Laura felt herself smiling. She had adored jazz. Even now she couldn’t listen to it because the loss was too painful. “Jazz isn’t about the notes, it’s about the melodic expression. Less practice, more emotion. With classical, there’s a wall between you and the audience. With jazz, it’s a shared journey. Afterward, you don’t want to leave the stage. And from a technical perspective, it’s a completely different touch.”
“Touch?”
“The way you press the keys; the velocity, the depth; it’s hard to put into words, but it’s really your essence as a performer. I loved being part of something so vibrant. If I had known what it was like to play jazz, I never would’ve gone the classical route. And Nick saw that, even before I did.”
“So he talked you into giving that up, too?”
“It was my choice,” Laura said, because that was the truth. Everything had been her choice. “Then I was in the studio, and I found a way to love that, and Nick started making noises again and—” She shrugged. “He narrows your life. That’s what men like Nick do. They pull you away from everything you love so that they are the only thing you focus on.” Laura felt the need to add, “If you let them.”
Andy’s attention had strayed. Mike Falcone was getting out of his car. He was wearing a suit and tie. A grin split his handsome face as he approached them. Laura tried to ignore the way Andy perked up. Mike was charming and self-deprecating and everything about him set Laura’s teeth on edge.
Charisma.
When he got close enough, Andy said, “What a coincidence.”
He pointed to his ear. “Sorry, can’t hear you. One of my testicles is still lodged in my ear canal.”
Andy laughed, and Laura felt her stomach tense.
He said, “Beautiful day to visit a whackjob.”
“You’re selling yourself short,” Andy teased. There was an easy grin on her face that Laura had never seen. “How are your three older sisters?”
“That part was true.”
“And that thing about your dad?”
“Also true,” he said. “You wanna explain how you ended up at Paula Kunde’s house? She’s at the top of your mom’s no-fly list.”
Laura felt Andy stiffen beside her. Her own nerves were rattled every time she thought about Andy eavesdropping on her conversation with Hoodie. Laura would never forgive herself for inadvertently sending her daughter into the lions’ den.
Still, Andy held her own, just shrugging at Mike’s question.
He tried, “What about those bricks of cash in your back pockets? Put quite a damper on the mood.”
Andy smiled, shrugging again.
Laura waited, but there was nothing more except the weight of sexual tension.
Mike asked Laura, “Nervous?”
“Why would I be?”
He shrugged. “Just an average day where you meet a guy you sent to prison for the rest of his life.”
“He sent himself to prison. You people are the jackasses who keep letting him go in front of the parole board.”
“It takes a village.” Mike pointed to the pink scar on his temple where he’d been hit in the head. “You ever figure out who knocked me out in your front yard?”
“How do you know it wasn’t me?”
Laura smiled because he smiled.
He gave a slight bow of surrender, indicating the prison. “After you, ladies.”
They walked ahead of Mike toward the visitors’ entrance. Laura looked up at the tall building with bars over reinforced glass in the windows. Nick was inside. He was waiting for her. Laura felt a sudden shakiness after days of certainty. Could she do this?
Did she have a choice?
Her shoulders tensed as they were buzzed through the front doors. The guard who met them was massive, taller than Mike, his belly jutting past his black leather belt. His shoes squeaked as he led them through security. They stored their purses and phones in metal lockers, then he led them down a long corridor.
Laura fought a shudder. The walls felt like they were closing in. Every time a door or gate slammed shut, her stomach clenched. She had only been confined for two years, but the thought of being trapped alone in a cell again brought on a cold sweat.
Or was she thinking about Nick?
Andy slipped her hand into Laura’s as they reached the end of the corridor. They followed the guard into a small, airless room. Monitors showed feeds from all of the cameras. Six guards sat with headphones on, eavesdropping on inmate conversations inside the visitors’ room.
“Marshal?” There was a man standing with his back to the wall. Unlike the others, he was wearing a suit and tie. He shook Mike’s hand. “Marshal Rosenfeld.”
“Marshal Falcone,” Mike said. “This is my witness. Her daughter.”
Rosenfeld nodded to each of them as he pulled a small plastic case out of his pocket. “These go in your ears. They’ll transmit back to the station over there where we will record everything that’s said between you and the inmate.”