forgive you. Yet you turned your back on me. On what we were!”
“C. Please.”
Colton kicked him, pulled the barbs out of his back and Sean cried out, then bit the inside of his cheek. He tasted blood. Not just from the inside of his mouth, but his face had been cut on the stairs and blood dripped onto the stone floor.
“You lied to me. Infiltrated my group. You used me, betrayed me, used our friendship to clear your name. You walked away, not caring that everything we did was to make the fucking world better!”
“Not. The same.” He cleared his throat. His body felt like it was on fire and he had little control of his tingling limbs. He tried to get up, but fell back down.
“The senator sees the world as I do. The innocent and the evil. We could have done great things!”
“What are you going to do?”
“No one will ever find you, but I promise—everyone who thinks they know you will see you for who you really are. A selfish bastard who cares for no one, cares for nothing but himself.”
Colton leaned over him. “And if you think we won’t get away with it? You’re wrong. It’s already in motion.”
Sean heard Colton walk away, the cage close, the lock turn.
Colton walked up the stairs, turned off the light. Sean laid on the cold stone floor in the dark.
In a cage.
Trapped.
He heard a click above him, then speaker static followed by an odd sound. At first he didn’t know what it was. Music? White noise?
No. The sound of rodents scratching on walls. Scurrying around. Faint, intermittent. Sean couldn’t see anything in the windowless room, but felt as if animals surrounded him. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t real, it was psychological warfare. But his fear grew with every passing minute.
* * *
Jonathan left his library while his men removed the body and cleaned the mess.
He shouldn’t have killed Hunt. He hadn’t planned to kill him until he’d finished setting the plan in motion. His daughter was a problem—a threat, truly, to Lucy—but Jonathan would deal with her accordingly.
No one would hurt Lucy again.
He sat in his small office off his master suite. He’d poured a double Scotch because sleep was always elusive, and a stiff drink before bed helped.
He hadn’t done what he needed to do. He hadn’t protected his people. He hadn’t made it clear to Sean Rogan what he had planned.
But Jimmy Hunt was a problem, and problems needed to be solved.
It was after midnight when a knock on the door disturbed his contemplation.
“Come in.”
Colton stepped in. A man who should have been his son.
Jonathan motioned to the bottle of Glenlivet. “Please.”
Colton poured himself a single shot, drained it, put the glass down. “Sean attempted to escape. He baited me.”
“And?”
“He’s in the cage.”
“No harm, no foul.”
“I should never have reacted. You taught me better than that.”
“Sean Rogan always gets under the skin. You are a much better man, and faltering in the face of betrayal? Understandable.”
“Are you okay, sir? I spoke to Margery.”
“We may not be able to stay under the radar, but we’ll be okay. We need to collect Rogan’s prints, hair, DNA, everything. Preserve it. Photos. You know what to do. Then tomorrow we’ll head for Cape Verde.”
“You may never be able to return.”
Colton sounded worried, and Jonathan appreciated his loyalty. “I have already liquidated most of my assets. If the government comes after them, they won’t find much. Eventually, we’ll be able to come and go as we please. But Colton, I need you to listen to me: if anything happens, you and Sergio go to the safe house in Canada. You will have enough resources there for the rest of your lives.”
“Don’t talk that way. Please.”
Jonathan rose, put his hands on Colton’s shoulders. “Son, you have made me proud. I would never have been able to accomplish everything I have without you and Sergio by my side. If anything happens to you—my heart will be broken. If I know you’re safe, I know you will continue my legacy.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Chapter Forty-eight
HOUSTON, TEXAS
Elise was angry.
She ditched the van quickly—she wasn’t an idiot—and walked half a mile to where she’d stashed her backup car. She headed south; she had a passport under the name Elizabeth Hansen. She was young and cute and figured no one would give her shit.
But she didn’t want to go to Mexico. She wanted to go back to Los