Page 73 of Traitor

Plan B it was.

I pulled the Ziploc bag from the inside pocket of my jacket and removed a wallet. Landon’s wallet. I slid it into the pocket of Lee’s pants and stood back up, somewhat satisfied with the change of course.

Travis, on the other hand, sank down the wall until he was sitting with his back against it, watching my every move. Katya came down the hallway, still speaking with dispatch. Her focus was completely on Travis as she felt his arms and chest. “I’m here. I’m here. Did he shoot you?”

Travis never took his eyes off of me as he answered, “He’s gone—you’re safe.”

I knew that he was watching me to see if I reached for my gun again. Hell, he’d probably manage to channel his inner Marine strength to snap my ass in two before I got close to Katya. She deserved a man like him. More importantly, I hoped that he woke up every day and realized what a lucky son-of-a-bitch he was to have a woman as strong as she was.

She’d been willing to die for him.

I nodded my head at his statement and he relaxed his shoulders marginally.

Katya seemed to finally notice that I was in the room, along with what was left of Lee. “Jesus Christ.”

I muted her cell phone. I knew that the cops were on their way up here—and I didn’t have a lot of time for explanations. “Katya, I need Landon’s ring.”

Her eyes studied mine briefly, as if she was reading my thoughts. It lasted maybe a second before she went back to her bedroom and returned with it in her hands.

Travis’s eyes widened as he watched the exchange. She’d have to explain our history to him. I was out of time. I wiped the ring clean before slipping it onto Lee’s right ring finger. It was maybe half a size bigger than what he would’ve worn normally; not enough to draw a lot of suspicion.

“I was never here.”

I slipped out through the back door and processed what needed to be done next. I jumped into my rental and drove around the lake to avoid the red and blue strobes that were now illuminating the hill.

I’d drive back around in about ten minutes and give my statement to the media before catching the late-night flight back to Lubbock and Lauren. As I waited, I could only pray that I’d left enough evidence to close Landon’s case forever.

Lauren

October 2015

I hadn’t known what to think when I woke up alone in Mike’s bed. I’d been more than a little disoriented and convinced that I was late for work.

The confusion hadn’t lessened once I remembered that I’d quit in spectacular fashion either. Mike should’ve been here, and if he’d gone somewhere, he should’ve left a note.

Right?

I’d wandered from room to room, searching for a scrap piece of paper that would give me some clue as to his whereabouts. When his phone rang once before clicking over to voicemail, I began to suspect that I’d made a huge mistake.

I’d trusted him. Just willingly handed it over. It left me with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Morning turned to afternoon and after several more unanswered phone calls, I made the decision to drive my busted-up BMW back to Torch’s.

“Mijita, it’s the little mice. Your favorite.”Abuelitapatted my foot through the blanket and pointed at the screen before telling Torch, “LoLo loved this movie so much when she was a little girl.”

I frowned and stared at the television screen. It wasCinderellaand for the life of me, I couldn’t recall why we were watching it. “Um,Abuelita? You met me when I was seventeen.”

Torch took another handful of popcorn from the bowl and watched our exchange with an amused expression.

She huffed, “You let me have this, LoLo. You are my only granddaughter—if I want to imagine that you lovedCinderellaas aniña, humor me. I am nothing but an old woman now.”

Torch began chuckling, but stopped once she looked at him. “Her guilt trips are some of the best I’ve seen.”

I snuggled further into the couch, with the blanket up to my neck. “Can we watch something else? Like a grown-up show?”

Torch flipped it to one of the local channels where a baseball game was being aired.Abuelitaimmediately began questioning everything about the sport, so he was forced to explain. She bickered with him over why a strike meant someone was out.

“A strike is an action, Dave. If he gets the strike, it should mean he hits the ball far away.”

I dozed off to the sound of his laughter. My dreams were disjointed; filled with farmers, handcuffs, and roosters that could play baseball. I woke with a start when my phone vibrated against my thigh. Seeing that it was just a news alert, I almost dismissed it until the name caught my eye.

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