Cara

 

Pulling up to the compound by herself, Cara tried to remember everything Devin coached her to say. She’d been going over it for days now. The night they finished the Bianchi hit, he ran her through everything that happened so she would know every step of the plan, down to the layout of the bedroom.

 

The Morettis needed to believe she made the hit; otherwise, the deal was off, and she would be killed. So, the stakes were high, but still, Cara tried not to think about it. She needed to be natural, calm. For all Cristoff knew, she’d done the hit and had nothing to worry about, so if she walked in a bundle of nerves, it could raise suspicions.

 

She parked Devin’s car behind the large white house and took a deep breath. He’d left her the car, saying he wouldn’t need it where he was headed.

 

“That sounds like you’re dying,” Cara had joked as he’d handed her the keys.

 

“I kind of am. Devin Caputo will be no more after this.”

 

As morbid as it’d seemed, Cara liked the sound of that. The idea that Cara Williams would be dead and a new woman would be born. Someone without an abusive past or blood on her hands. Cara wanted that fresh start more than anything, and despite all they’d been through, she hoped Devin had found his fresh start, as well.

 

Before she could even make it to the back door, it opened, and a man she had never seen before stepped out.

 

“Right this way,” he said, gesturing for her to come inside.

 

Cara did as he said, but she found the formality of the Morettis to be rather ridiculous. They weren’t royalty; they were criminals. Why did they have so many butler-types roaming around? Of course, she would never say any of this to anyone, and as much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t smirk as Jeeves—that wasn’t his real name, but it was how Cara referred to him in her head—led her up the stairs and to Cristoff’s office door. He knocked three times for her and then stepped to the side.

 

“Come in,” Cristoff’s high-pitched voice said.

 

Cara glanced at the butler, wondering whether he’d open the door for her, but he merely stood there, hands crossed in front of him, staring at the wall straight ahead. So, Cara opened the door herself.

 

“Ah, Cara,” Cristoff said, standing and welcoming her with both arms thrown wide. “It has been awhile.”

 

“Yes,” she said, though in her mind it had not been nearly long enough. “It has been. How have you been?”

 

Cristoff smiled. “I’ve been great. My sources tell me everything went to plan at the Bianchi compound, so I am over the moon.”

 

“Everything went perfectly,” Cara said, smiling at him.

 

“I knew it would. I never doubted you for a second,” Cristoff said.

 

Cara knew this was a lie. According to Devin, Cristoff fully intended for Cara to botch the Bianchi job and end up dead. He had never anticipated she would survive and be sitting in front of him again. Cara wondered whether he was more impressed or annoyed with her.

 

“Do tell me how everything went the other night,” Cristoff said, leaning back in his chair the way he did so often, hands crossed over his stomach. “I want to hear all of the details.”

 

It sounded like a curious question, but Cara knew it was a challenge. A threat even. If she slipped up, missed even one detail, that could be the end of her.

 

“I parked along the road behind some trees and walked up to the gate.”

 

“What time?” Cristoff asked, interrupting her.

 

“After eleven. The guard came to the gate for his checks, and I wrapped a chloroform-soaked rag around his mouth until he passed out.”

 

“That’s quite the feat of strength,” Cristoff said. “Not to sound sexist, but it’s surprising a woman was capable of that.”

 

Cara laughed. “What was truly surprising was how little this guard was. He was a small man, and it took less than two minutes for him to succumb. I simply wrapped the rag around his mouth and pulled it back, trapping him against the gate until he went limp.”

 

Cristoff nodded, seemingly satisfied.

 

“Then I climbed the fence and ran across the yard until I was hidden in the shadows of the house. Climbing on top of a nearby shed and jumping to a second story windowsill, I found an unlocked window and pushed it open.”

 

“Unlocked?” Cristoff asked, eyebrows raised. “That seems lucky.”

 

“Very lucky,” Cara agreed. “I was prepared to break the window, but it proved to not be necessary, which allowed me to sneak into Rob’s bathroom silently. That was the room the window opened into—the bathroom.”

 

“And he didn’t hear you climbing into his bathroom?” Cristoff asked.

 

“Well,” Cara said, smiling awkwardly. “He was a little preoccupied. He had a lady friend over.”

 

“Ahh,” Cristoff said.

 

“Yes. So, I simply waited for them to finish, and then I took him out when he came to the bathroom afterward.”

 

“How?”

 

“A bullet to the temple,” Cara answered without hesitation.

 

“Then it sounds as though everything couldn’t have gone better. That’s quite impressive for an amateur.”

 

“Things could have gone slightly better,” Cara said, bobbing her head side to side. “I caught the attention of some guards during my exit, and there was a small exchange of gunfire, but I managed to outrun them and get back to the car.”

 

Cristoff nodded, his fingers drumming on his stomach, and Cara stared at him, not wanting to break eye contact. Her insides felt like jelly. She’d given every detail just as Devin described it to her, so all she could do now was hope Cristoff bought it. Finally, after a long time, he leaned forward and pulled out a manila folder from his desk.

 

“Then I suppose we should move on to the discussion of payment,” he said.

 

Relief flooded through her body, and Cara felt like she could breathe again.

 

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’ve been doing a lot of research about where I would like to live.”

 

Cristoff held up a hand to stop her. “There may be some slight confusion. I have chosen where you will live.”

 

“What?” Cara asked. She was certain he’d said she could choose where she went. He said she could choose her own name. Those were the conditions.

 

“I’m sorry if you misunderstood, but I already have the details settled. I have a new ID and passport for you, and a house in your name waiting on an island just off the coast of the Honduras.”

 

“You chose a new name for me?” she asked.

 

“Amber,” Cristoff said, smiling.

 

Cara could have strangled him. He knew what that would mean to her. He knew that was the name of Devin’s wife, and he knew Devin and Cara had been involved. He was a vile man, and Cara wanted to kill him. But she couldn’t. Like so many other areas of her life, she was powerless to do anything. She had no way of gaining another identity. No way of getting herself out of the country on her own. As much as she hated him, she needed Cristoff.

 

“Okay,” she said, forcing a smile. “I like it.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Cristoff said. “Now, this file has all of your new information, but I must ask for one small favor in return.”

 

“I thought the Bianchi hit was the favor?”

 

“The Bianchi hit was your payment for this packet. What I will ask of you now is a favor. Between friends, you know?”

 

Friends? Cara would have laughed if she wasn’t so terrified of what Cristoff would say next.

 

“I need you to do one more hit for me.”

 

If she’d been standing up, her knees would have collapsed from underneath her. The air left her lungs, and she had to work hard to suck more in so she wouldn’t pass out.

 

“Another hit?” she managed, her words coming in gasps.

 

“Just one measly hit,” Cristoff replied, winking at her. “It’s someone who lives on the island, and as you can imagine, it isn’t often we have hit men sent overseas to complete these hits. So, with you being on the island, it only makes sense.”

 

“It’s a favor?” Cara asked, trying to discern whether it was a favor she could reasonably refuse.

 

Cristoff nodded. “Yes. It’s a favor; in the same way me not turning you into the police for murder is a favor. Don’t you love favors amongst friends?”

 

And that answered that question. This was a job. A command. If she refused, she’d be locked up before she could even say the word “Amber.”

 

Cara grabbed the folder from him. “What are friends for?”

 

# # #

 

Cara had never liked flying. Even on commercial airlines, something about the constant humming of the air around the cabin made her anxious. So, the small plane that flew her to the island had her feeling nauseous before she’d even boarded. It looked like a plane the Wright brothers would have flown, which was not a ringing endorsement. Still, desperate times called for impossibly bumpy plane rides to distant locations.

 

When the plane finally landed, Cara wasted little time disembarking. Immediately she noticed the difference in the air. It smelled salty like the ocean, and she could already feel her hair reacting to the humidity, frizzing out at the ends. But she didn’t mind. She breathed it in greedily, so glad to no longer be on US soil.

 

In the days before she left the country, the two detectives who originally questioned her had called and left several messages hoping to talk with her again, but Cara had managed to successfully avoid them. And now, she was in a different country, surrounded by thousands of miles of water, and she couldn’t wait to see her new house.

 

Of course, per Cristoff’s instructions, she would not receive the key to her new beach house until she completed the hit. And knowing him, even once she completed the hit and got into the house, she would need to complete another task to turn on the water and the electricity and the Internet.

 

Devin told her that nothing from the mafia was ever free, and Cara was beginning to believe him.

 

She didn’t let herself think about Devin very often. It just hurt too much. Not knowing where in the world he was or who he was with. When they’d been living under the same roof, she’d had the choice to not speak to him or see him, but now, there wasn’t an option.

 

She had no way to get in contact with him. No way to know if he was okay. For a while, she’d thought that was what she wanted, but now she wasn’t so sure. Of course, none of that mattered. It couldn’t be helped, so she once again, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, pushed Devin from her mind and tried to focus on the task at hand.

 

Cristoff had supplied her with a map of the island, directions to the target’s house, and exact instructions on how to carry out the hit. All she had to do was carry it out. It was simple. Follow the instructions, pull a trigger, and she would be free. As long as she didn’t think about the life that would be ended once she pulled that trigger, everything would be okay.

 

She’d purposefully avoided asking Cristoff why the target needed to be taken out. It was easier for Cara if she imagined the person had driven a busload of children off a cliff rather than the more likely scenario of falling into debt with the wrong people.

 

This hit was especially hard because it felt unnecessary. Before, every time Cara had killed someone, there had been a reason. First, it was to escape the years of abuse she’d suffered at the hands of Danny. Then, it was to keep herself out of sex slavery—though, that was later proven to be entirely fabricated.

 

Now, she was killing a man for a beach house. Once she crossed this line, she was officially a murderer. There was no way she could claim self-defense or blackmail. She was going to take a human life so that she could live comfortably on a tropical island.

 

She wished Devin was with her. He’d be able to carry out the hit. Even though she could tell the hits weighed on his mind at times, he was able to separate himself emotionally from the task at hand. Cara wasn’t capable of that yet.

 

She’d asked him where he was headed when he left, one suitcase in hand, a manila packet tucked under his arm, but he hadn’t said.

 

He’d smiled at her. “Somewhere warm. Please promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

 

Cara nodded. “What are you going to do with the house?”

 

Devin lifted the manila packet in the air. “I have it taken care of.”

 

“You always do,” she said, smiling and shaking her head.

 

It was true. Devin always had an answer for everything. A plan. Cara wondered what he’d tell her if he were with her now, but then she quickly dismissed the thought. It wouldn’t do to dwell on things she’d never have the answer to. She had a job to do.