Page 68 of Always Been Mine

“Good morning, Ms. Porter.”

Morning? How long had she been out?

She tried to focus on the mirror. “What do you want from me?” she croaked.

“Your father’s whereabouts. We suspect you don’t know, do you?”

“You suspect correctly. But why take me?” Beatrice knew, but she wanted them to spell it out.

“He’s been causing us problems, Ms. Porter. We want him to back off. Taking you is our message to him.”

Beatrice laughed derisively. “You don’t know my father. He doesn’t care what happens to me. All he cares about is his job.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

She tried to place the voice but couldn’t. She figured they had used a voice enhancer anyway.

“Poor girl. Seeing how you’ve been operating so high-profile in Washington DC and no attempt has been made on you so far, you may be right in your assessment.”

Beatrice snorted. “Right is an understatement.”

“And Sullivan, he seems to care about you?”

Gabe was probably losing his mind right now.Oh, no, Rhino. “He probably cares more that you shot his dog, you assholes. We’re fuck buddies. I’m sure he can find my replacement easily enough.”

Another stretch of silence. A different voice came on. “Ms. Porter, I’m surprised you let a man like Sullivan into your bed.”

“He’s . . . well-endowed.” Despite her situation, Beatrice smirked.

The voice chuckled. “You’re just like all the other women he killed.”

She reacted. Froze. She struggled to regulate the quickening of her pulse and breathing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You mean you don’t know he killed people for the mob?”

“No,” Beatrice lied. She wasn’t sure if these people were just fishing for information. “All I know is he did what he had to do.”

“Vague. Was that his answer to you? Did he give you specifics of what he had to do as Dmitry Yerzov?”

Beatrice didn’t respond.

“Did you know he was called theAngel of Death?”

No she didn’t, but she was sure she was about to find out.

“No answer?” This time the laughter was smug. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

Beatrice braced and held her breath.

“He killed children, Ms. Porter. First born sons.”

She realized too late she was shaking her head. “No,” she whispered.

“He probably told you everyone he killed was guilty,” the voice continued. “That’s what enforcers of the mob say, Ms. Porter. That’s how they justify the kill. Anyone who’s in the mafia is a made man, guilty by virtue of association. It doesn’t matter whether you’re sixty years old or six, you’re fair target.”

She couldn’t control the single sob that escaped her. Her lips were trembling, so she bit down to steady it. No! Gabe swore. Even if most of her senses were numb, the rending of her heart delivered a stabbing pain. How could she accept that the man she loved killed children? How would that be acceptable?

He was protecting a cover.

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