Page 76 of Lies He Told Me

We all break down, everyone’s emotions at a high boil. I have to remember what they know, what they think — that Daddy is hurt badly, but nothing more. They have no idea how much danger we’re all in, and I can’t tell them.

David looks exactly the same, hooked up to all the tubes. No change, the doctor told me before I got to the room. Wait and see. I kiss David’s forehead.

Then I place my hand on his cheek, cold to the touch.

Oh, David.

“I don’t care what your name is,” I whisper. “I know you. I love you. I love that you risked your life to testify against a mobster, that you risked your life to jump into a freezing river to save someone you’ve never met. That you mist up when you look at our children. That’s the man I know. That’s the man I love. Come back to us, David.”

I press my lips against his, then walk away.

Outside the room, Camille is waiting for me. We step away from the police officer guarding the room and move down the hallway.

“I just got a visit from the FBI,” she says.

“Oh, you’re kidding. Oh, that’s just …” I fall against the wall. “That’s just great.”

“An agent named Blair,” she says. “He knows, Marcie. He’s figured it all out — David’s identity, my role. He worked on the original Cagnina case. Sounds like he’s never really let go of the case.”

“Let me guess,” I say. “They want Cagnina. They don’t give a shit about David or me or the kids.”

“That … pretty much sums it up. He’s coming over tonight to the house.”

The FBI is going to sink its claws in me and make me do whatever they ask.

Meaning that the very thing Silas specifically instructed menotto do is going to happen whether I like it or not.

EIGHTY-TWO

HERE WE GO. I better be on my game.

He follows me into my basement, past the backup refrigerator and paint closet and into the game-room area, finished and carpeted, a large flat-screen TV on the wall, a comfy couch.

Special Agent Francis Blair — fiftysomething, I’d guess, handsome in a rugged sort of way, the five-o’clock shadow and mussed dark hair. “Very nice basement,” he says, which sounds more like an accusation than a compliment. “Must have cost a fortune,” he adds, as if I didn’t get the hint the first time.

He knows about the money. That changes everything about this conversation.

Blair rubs his jaw. “Your friend upstairs, Camille, she doesn’t know, does she? About the money, I mean.”

I don’t answer. I’m under no obligation to. My silence feels guilty, though.

“No, she wouldn’t know.” He answers his own question.“David couldn’t tell her. She was a deputy US marshal.”

I sit on the couch. Maybe I don’t have the strength for this after all.

“The local guy, Sergeant Janowski — he doesn’t know, either, I suppose.” He shakes his head. “So the only people who know about the money are Cagnina’s guy, David, you, and me.”

I steel myself, staying in character as part defense lawyer, part protector of my family. “Is this an interrogation?”

He loses his smile. “I want you to help me catch Michael Cagnina. The man who wants to murder your whole family? Remember that guy?”

I look away. Just hearing that. It’s not exactly news, but — hearing it.

“You want to use me as bait,” I say. “And I would do that why?”

“Why? Because your husband never reported the cash as income,” he says. “And he’s been laundering that cash through his restaurant. And of course let’s not forget the way he got the money to begin with.”

“So what is this, then? You’re offering me a deal?”

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