Rogue - Michele Mannon Page 0,97

as I hurry toward our trailer, failing miserably at composing myself before I do the strut of shame before my sister’s ever-curious eyes.

But as I race across the trailer park and approach the single cement block we’ve been using as a step, reality bowls me over as brusquely as a door slamming in my face. Literally bowling me over—the significance of the dead man in the polyester tracksuit I almost trip over nearly bringing me to my knees.

No. NO.

“Madelyn!”

Paying little heed to the dead mobster lying facedown in the dirt and half hidden in the shrubbery to the right of the step, I fumble with my keys. Drawing in a breath, I manage to unlock the door. My heart races as I try to calm my thoughts. The door is locked…is still locked.

I burst inside our trailer, calling, “Madelyn, Madelyn.”

“I’m right here.”

I spot her standing inside our small kitchenette and immediately notice the cupcakes on the countertop. In the Smith family, on special occasions like birthdays, it’s our custom to bypass cakes in favor of smaller, individualized cupcakes. As I’ve no tolerance for baking, Mama passed down her recipes to Madelyn.

Oh crap. I missed her twentieth birthday.

She rolls her eyes at me. “It’s no biggie you forgot. A lots been going on…”

“Holy mother of God, are you okay?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. The storm blew out as quickly as it rolled in.”

Don’t. Worry.

I rush toward her and pull her into my arms. She’s okay. She’s okay. And seemingly unaware of the dead man on our doorstop.

“I can feel your heart beating. It’s fine. They’ll be other birthdays.”

Damn right there will me.

I pull away and place my hands on her arms.

“You’re crying,” I hear her murmur.

“You didn’t answer the phone.” Which is the least of my problems. God, no way can she understand how our world has twisted topsy-turvy. How could she? I’ve done everything in my power to keep her out of my business. Only to have Franco’s man show up here. Which can only mean Franco’s acting on his curiosity about me and Madelyn. Or worse, he knows I’ve been spying on him. But who killed his man? And how long ago?

“I forgot to plug it into the charger after I called you to warn you about the storm. Luckily, it was all bark with no bite. Matter of fact, it was just like—”

“Please tell me you stayed inside?”

“From the storm? Of course. You worry too much. I’ve been sorting through boxes and busy packing up for school. Believe it or not, there’s something liberating about condensing a life’s worth of junk into three duffle bags. I’m taking Mama’s afghan, if you don’t mind?”

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and I quickly retrieve it, thinking it’s Jaxson. Goddamn it. Of all the rotten timing—it’s Francis.

I hear Madelyn say, “I have to tell you something you’re not going to like.” But I wave her off.

“Give me ten minutes, okay? Stay here. I need to take this call,” I tell her, rushing outside and closing the door behind me as I withdraw my gun and hit Talk on my cell phone.

“Now is not a good time,” I snap, while working my way around our trailer, adrenaline spurring me onward, my focus more on clearing the area and making sure no more of Franco’s men are lying in wait than on Francis. “What is it?” I demand, already anticipating what he’ll say.

He begins to stutter, spitting mad. “Novák is at Franco’s place looking for Veronica. An anonymous caller—a woman—rang him up, saying his playmate was with another guy. He’s tearing the place apart looking for her. Is this your doing, Kylie?”

Yeah, it is. Jaxson and I anticipated that Novák would head straight to Franco’s. I glance at my watch. Right on time for my second call, one now thanks to Francis, I won’t need to be making. It’s purpose being simply to confirm how many men Novák has in tow. Information I hoped to trick Franco into revealing . . . Franco, who sent a man to my trailer . . .

I stop short, the hairs on my arm standing up like tiny soldiers. Another dead man wearing a polyester tracksuit in lying just behind our trailer. In the faint light, I search the perimeter of the trailer park for clues. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what happened here. Except I’m grateful, so damn grateful Franco’s men didn’t get to Madelyn.

Franco knows. He knows.

Both hands shake as I struggle