Page 9 of Ruthless Intent

He continues talking like I didn’t interrupt him. “Shirts, pants, underwear, socks, three pairs of shoes, two pairs of sneakers, a couple of jackets and a long coat. There’s also the cell phone, which you already have obviously, a tablet, and a laptop. There should be an envelope on the table in the main room with all the logins to bank accounts, and emails. I’ve installed the banking app on your cell, and there are debit and credit cards in the wallet. There should also be a couple hundred dollars in cash. Not that you’re leaving the room.”

“How long do I need to stay here?”

“I’ll be there in an hour. We’ll go through some final paperwork, and then we can talk about next steps.” He’s avoiding my question, that much is obvious.

“Next steps?”

“Zain, fourteen years is a long time. No matter how much you’re trying to pretend otherwise, the next couple of weeks are going to be an adjustment. I still think going back to Whitstone so soon is a mistake.”

“We’ve talked about this. I want to go home.”

“I know, and I understand. But small town mindsets are tough to break. Are you sure it’s going to be worth the heartache? Why not just start afresh somewhere else?”

“Because Whitstone is my home. It’s been my family’s home for generations.”

“And it was the shoddy work of the police force there that caused you to be labeled a murderer, and lose your freedom.”

“Another reason for me to go back.”

“To antagonize them?”

“Something like that.”

I walk back into the bedroom and throw open the closet doors. Crisp white shirts and expensive black pants are on hangers. I turn to the dresser. The top drawer reveals underwear and socks.

“Did you pick up anything more casual for me to wear?”

“There should be jeans, sweatpants, and T-shirts. I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, so we covered all options.”

Taking what I need, I throw it all onto the bed, hit the speaker icon on the phone’s screen, then toss the cell down as well, so I can dress and talk.

“What about the girl?”

Peter sighs. “Zain?—”

“We’ve been through this. Did you find her or not?”

“I found something. As your attorney, I want to go on record as telling you that I think this is a bad idea.”

“Noted. What did you find?”

“As you know, when I sent someone to talk to Esme Trumont, she wasn’t very forthcoming on where her daughter was. We know she left town as soon as she turned eighteen, but then she just … disappeared. Obviously, she changed her name, but not formally. We didn’t need her, and the prosecution would have dragged her out to testify again if we tried to find her. Her not being there worked more in our favor.”

“And now?”

“She wasn’t hard to find. She lives in New York, and uses the name Truman instead of Trumont.”

“So, she’s been lying for years about who she is? I guess once a liar, always a liar.”

“She works at Sacred Saints Hospital.”

“She’s a doctor?”

“No. She works in administration.”

“Do you have her home address?”

“I do.”

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