“I only meant to clip Alexis’ shoulder when I fired at her. The motorbike she was on swerved and the round ended up hitting her square in the torso.”

“You nearly killed her,” I snap. “You nearly fucking killed her.”

“This is all irrelevant now. I didn’t kill her. Your sister is alive, and we need to talk to her. Her involvement with the Widow Makers motorcycle club is a mystery to us, but her repeated refusals to leave them leads us to believe she is now working with them. Over the last eighteen months, twelve people have died because of the feud between Rebel’s motorcycle club and the cartel. We need the killing to stop, and we need your sister. A thirty-minute gap took place between Alexis disappearing down that alleyway and those men shoving her in the back of that van. During that time, she was witness to the murder of one of Seattle’s most prominent High Court judges. We need her, Sloane. We need her so she can testify.”

Testify.

And there it is. The whole thing makes a whole lot of sense now. Yes, of course this is why the DEA are so desperate to get their hands on her. They need her to complete their case, and in doing that they want to put Alexis on the stand so she can speak out against a crazy fucking Mexican cartel. And they’re wondering why she doesn’t want to go with them?

“Great. So you’re willing to throw innocent people under the bus to get your own way, right? You’re willing to shoot people and rob them of their careers, ruin everything they’ve worked hard for, ensure they lose everything, just so you can get your guy. Fuck anyone else who might get in the way, right?” I want to get the hell out of here. I want to leave so bad, I feel sick. My father’s eyes grow round with surprise.

“It’s important that these men pay for what they did, Sloane. It’s important that justice—“

“Fuck justice! Fuck the DEA, and fuck you, Dad. Lexi asked you not to contact the police, and look at where the hell we are right now. My life is in ruins, and Lexi’s recovering from an injury that almost took her life. She could have easily died, okay? And Agent Lowell here couldn’t fucking care less.”

Lowell slaps her hand on the table, sending a stack of her papers slipping sideways, crashing to the floor. “I care about protecting the people who devote their lives to the law, Dr. Romera. I care about organized crime in this country destroying everything America holds dear.”

She sounds like she’s given this bullshit patriotic speech a few times before. I roll my eyes. “I’m ready to leave now, if you don’t mind.”

Lowell slumps back into her chair, letting out an exasperated sigh. “This cartel kills children, Dr. Romera. They sell twelve-year-olds as sex slaves. Do you want that on your conscience?”

“My conscience has nothing to do with this.”

“It does if you refuse to act. That’s a crime of omission right there.”

“I haven’t broken any laws. I haven’t participated in any crime. And now that I’m thinking on it, your threats are empty, aren’t they? You have no grounds to seize my assets. You’re just clutching at fucking straws.”

“Oh, Dr. Romera,” Lowell laughs, “that is where you’re entirely wrong. Perhaps you ought to read this.” She slides another piece of paper toward me, this time writing, not a photograph.

Witness Report

Grace Miller

My eyes scan over the document, my blood running cold in my veins. It’s the blood. The blood I stole from the hospital to give to Zeth. Grace reported me, told them everything. I read, my eyes blurring a little at the words. Suspicious. Defensive. Missing supplies.

“I can’t believe—”

Lowell snatches back the witness report, swiping it from between my fingers. “You can’t believe your friend informed on you? Ms. Miller was being questioned in relation to the crime herself. She obviously felt telling the truth was better than losing her only source of income. Single mothers tend to be quite pragmatic when it comes to looking at the big picture.”

Single mother? I didn’t even know Gracie had kids. I can’t blame her for telling the truth, I guess.

“And as for freezing your assets, we absolutely can do that, Sloane. The RICO Act means anything you own or possess can be ours in two seconds flat if we decide to travel down that road.”

“RICO Act?”

“The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act. It means anything I suspect you may have gained from your involvement with Zeth and Charlie Holsan’s little gang, or perhaps from your connection with Rebel and the Widow Makers, can be seized and quarantined indefinitely.”

My lungs feel like they’re collapsing. From the smug look on the monster’s face and the worried look on my father’s, I know she’s telling the truth. So it’s not just my job that I’m losing here. I’m losing everything.

“What I suggest we—” Lowell stops talking when there’s a sharp rap at the door and another agent, a man I don’t know, sticks his head around the door. He looks concerned. “What is it?” Lowell snaps.

“Call just came in. It’s him. Mayfair. He said something about a guy called Ernie?”

Lowell’s face loses its color. I suspect mine does, too. Zeth? What the hell is he doing? Agent Lowell stands, puts her hands on her hips, paces in one direction and then changes her mind, pacing back the other way. “Fucking asshole. Goddamnit.” She looks up at the other agent. “Okay, put him through.”