The Sinners - Ruby Vincent Page 0,86

If Royal and I wanted past him, I had to give him something.

“And the day they ran, they went to the lake house.”

“Lake house?” Rio stepped toward me and Royal moved with him, edging between me and his father. Rio hardly registered him. “What lake house?”

“Ours. On Earnshaw Lake. One of our neighbors spotted them,” I said. “I didn’t tell you because the feds have already been through the place. I figured it was nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

Rio moved in closer. He pushed Royal out of the way and snarled when he jumped back, refusing to let him near me.

“Move aside, boy. You’re testing my patience. I have no intention of hurting her.”

I touched Royal’s back, silently communicating it was okay.

“It’s not nothing,” Rio continued, sidestepping him. “Twenty-five million dollars in their pockets and a short window to get away. They wouldn’t make a stop unless it was absolutely necessary. They went to that lake house for a reason.”

I did say the man was intelligent.

“What reason could that be?” I asked. “And what does it matter? The FBI searched it. If there was something, they would have found it.”

“A search is only as effective as the searchers, and they are completely ineffective against a smarter target. Give me the address.”

I rattled it off without hesitation.

“Damien, let’s go,” Rio ordered.

Cold fingers wrapped around mine and brought them to his lips. “Thank you for your help, Ember. If this information doesn’t pan out, expect us to have another conversation.”

“Call next time. We’ll do it somewhere warm. Lit. Maybe a café. Do you like chocolate scones?”

His chuckle turned to frosted air on my knuckles. “Love them. It’s a date.”

Rio and his men retreated to their cars. Only when their lights were specks in the distance did I fall to the ground, knees giving out.

Chapter Nine

“What does it mean?”

Eli scrutinized the paper backward and forward. He even flipped it over.

“No clue. Do you have any ideas?”

The two of us were in my room the next day. Eli showed up first thing to grill me on what went down at the lake house. Smug didn’t begin to explain his smirk when I told him what we found in the mailbox. He loved me enough to spare the “I told you so.”

“No. It’s three letters and nineteen numbers. It’s not a phone number. If it’s in code, it’s a short message.”

“I’m hoping it’s simpler than NSA code-cracking. Mom and Dad knew I didn’t mess around with that stuff. The other clues were kind of easy for me to follow,” I muttered. “Ciphers and secret-book codes are too hard.”

Eli twisted side to side in my desk chair. He fixed on the note like staring at it hard enough would reveal the answer.

“What if they’re done leaving you clues and this is it?” Eli offered. “They couldn’t put this letter in a vase outside. The rain would’ve destroyed it. But the feds weren’t about to dig through Mrs. Henderson’s mail. It was safe in there, so they could tell us what they needed us to know. Somehow, this is it.” He shook the paper. “This is where they are.”

“Could be,” I reluctantly agreed. My plan to avoid getting his hopes up was dying a quick death. Those hopes were up. Eli’s baby blues were shining like Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and Boxing Day were rolled into one, and Mom and Dad were coming home for the massive celebration.

“I looked up countries connected to those initials.” The words tugged out of me on a hook tied to my promise to tell him everything. “CMB is the airport code for Colombo, Sri Lanka, and the United Nations country code for Cambodia.”

“Cambodia.” Eli bounced in the chair. “Em, Cambodia is a non-extradition country. That’s it!”

“And those numbers are supposed to be an address? In another language? How would I figure out what it is? I have nothing to go on.”

He was far from deterred. “I’ll find out what it means. I’ll start looking now.”

Eli got up, marching off paper in hand.

“Whoa, no.”

I plucked it from his fingertips. Eli spun with “What up?!” written on his face.

“I’m hanging on to this. Mom and Dad left this for me. They believed I’d find out what it means and I will.”

“I can help you,” he protested. “I knew about Rory and Mrs. Henderson. I could’ve found the clues. This is connected to me too.”

“It’s too dangerous. The FBI calls what I’m doing obstruction of justice. The nice man who turned the town against me repeated it