Page 29 of The Witness

“Oh my God, these are her clothes and her Hermes bag. Does she know what’s going on?”

“Relax. The Mills are clients. I’ve worked with them extensively. Alexander and Smith are…” I struggled to find the right word. It wasn’t friends. But the two men shared something more complex than a simple professional relationship. The two ruthless bastards respected each other and for men like them, it was rare. “Close.”

“They won’t get in trouble for helping me, will they?” She bit her lip, obviously thinking about Lewis Wright.

“No, they are well insulated by money and power. And I doubt Smith told them anything. Remember compartmentalization.”

I turned off the MacArthur Causeway and onto a narrow two-lane bridge over the Intracoastal that ended at a security checkpoint. I stayed to the right and the transponder on Gigi’s car opened the gate. The security guard in the small hut waved as we drove onto Star Island.

I followed the curve in the road toward the Mills estate, passing tall hedges and stately front gates.

“I catered a party at that place.” Sabrina tapped on the window. A ten-foot-tall white stone wall covered in a riot of hot pink bougainvillea hid the estate from the road.

“Star Island. Nothing but the best for the Mills family.” I pulled up to a keypad at a black and gold gate of intricate scrollwork that would have been a fitting entrance for a Venetian palace. The Mills estate wasn’t far from it. I’d worked at the home enough to have my own code to gain access.

I parked Gigi’s car in the circle drive under the shade of a large date palm. The house towered over us, a monument to wealth in pale cream stone and terracotta barrel tile.

“Are we really going to Cuba?” Sabrina asked in a small voice that sounded incredulous.

“Yes, we are going to Cuba. When we get there, you will identify one of the most dangerous criminals in the world, and I will get you the hell out of there.” Getting two Americans into Cuba without papers wasn’t exactly like ordering take-out; it required planning. And thus far, Smith hadn’t filled me in on the details. My patience with flying blind was waning.

“Pinch me.” She held out her arm.

When I hesitated, she shook her forearm at me and nodded emphatically. So I did it.

“Ouch.” She rubbed the spot I’d squeezed.

“Yeah, you’re not asleep. This is not a dream.”

“Fuck.” She dropped her head into her hands and whimpered. I wished my pinch would have woken her from this nightmare. She didn’t deserve to have her life derailed by a man like Sandoval. No good person did.

I got out and moved around to open her door, stopping to pull our pre-packed overnight bags from the trunk. Smith had planned for everything except our mental health.

“Steel, you made good time.” Alexander Mills walked down the front steps of the house to shake my hand. He wore a navy suit that I knew was custom made.

“Traffic wasn’t too bad.” I helped Sabrina from the car. “You don’t mind if we skip introductions, do you?” I looked between Sabrina and Mills.

“When Smith calls in a favor, I know there will be stipulations.” He nodded toward Sabrina and quirked one silver eyebrow at his wife’s doppelgänger. “You wear that outfit almost as well as Gigi.”

“Ah, thank you, sir. I left her handbag in the car. Is that okay?” Sabrina looked from Mills to the car to the massive house. I half expected her to pinch her own arm this time to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. The desire to drop our bags and hug her grew urgent.

“Not a problem at all. If you both will follow me.” Mills led us around the side of the house under a dense canopy of tropical vegetation dotted with hanging orchids. He entered a code on the keypad to open the side gate into the estate’s backyard. We skirted around the resort-style pool and the guest house that was bigger than many Miami homes.

Back at the office, Quinn and a few others would be following our progress on the security feeds from the estate. Overhead a video camera under the guesthouse eves caught my eye, and I gave the Smith Agency gang a smile.

My smile didn’t last.

Sabrina staggered to a halt as we rounded a corner. Dumbfounded, I stopped and gaped along with her. Bobbing at the end of the Mills’s private dock was a seaplane. The urge to pinch my own arm suddenly rose.

It was one hell of a way to get to Cuba.

“It was lovely to not meet you, miss. Steel, always a pleasure, and tell Smith he owes me.” Mills side-stepped the two of us and returned to the house without another word.

“We are going to Cuba in that?” She curled one hand around my arm and squeezed.

“Apparently.” The plane was silhouetted against the vibrant blue of the water and the downtown skyline like it was a promotional photoshoot for the lifestyles of the rich and fabulous.

“Is it bad I’m kind of excited? I’ve never flown in a seaplane before.” The salty breeze blowing off Biscayne Bay whipped away her words.

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