Page 129 of Velvet Chains
“For now.” Lucy glanced down at her watch, then at the agents behind her. “But Ms. Marquez, I do need to make something clear.”
Here it came.
“You are not currently a suspect in any criminal investigation. However—” she paused, just long enough to make sure I was listening, “—given the evolving nature of this inquiry, and the risk of flight or interference with ongoing proceedings, I am instructing you not to leave the state without notifying my office.”
Alek opened his mouth, but I beat him to it.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Lucy offered me a faint smile. “Good. I appreciate your cooperation.”
She stood. The men behind her moved as if they were wired to her spine. Alek stood too, his hand lightly touching my arm as if to remind me not to say another word.
We exited in silence.
The door shut behind us with a soft thud, and the receptionist gave me a polite nod as we passed, as if I’d just had a dental cleaning and not walked out of a room where the walls had quietly closed in.
In the elevator, I didn’t breathe.
Alek didn’t speak until we were back in the car.
“That was a fishing expedition,” he said finally, as he pulled out of the parking garage. “But they’ve got bait. And now they think you’re circling.”
I pressed my forehead to the cool window. “Am I?”
“You tell me.”
Outside, Boston carried on—people in scarves clutching coffee cups, salt trucks crawling down side streets, the first signs of snow just beginning to tease the sky.
“They knew more than I thought,” I said. “They had pictures, Alek.”
He drummed his fingers once against the steering wheel. “They don’t have proof. They have pieces. Enough to scare you, not enough to move in. Not yet.”
I didn’t answer. Because he was right. But fear didn’t care about legal thresholds.
“They’re going to keep circling,” I murmured. “Waiting for me to slip.”
“He was an informant on the Callahans. Kieran confessed to killing him,” Alek said, his brow furrowing. “What I don’t understand is why they’re still fishing. This seems like a RICO case tied in a little bow for them. What do they care about you?”
“I don’t know,” I said, leaning my head back on the seat rest. “But it can’t be good.”
Chapter Thirty-One: Ruby
Ididn’t take my coat off when I walked through the door. I just dropped my bag on the floor and stood there, staring at the sink like it might tell me what to do next. The faucet dripped, slow and hollow, a metronome for a morning that had spun completely off its axis.
The house smelled like lemon cleaner. The crew had come and gone, wiping down every surface, vacuuming up the pieces of the life I was pretending was still mine. They hadn’t touched the coffee cup I’d left in the microwave three days ago. Or the blood that still clung to the back of my throat.
I turned on the faucet and let it run. Steam rose up and fogged the window. I pressed my fingers against the sill just to remind myself I was still here.
Then I made myself move.
Upstairs, Rosie’s room was dark and too quiet. Julian had texted earlier—said she was happy, said she was staying another night. Said I needed the rest. I wanted to argue, but he was right. I needed the rest.
I sat on the edge of her bed and pulled one of her blankets into my lap. The pink one with the little worn tag she liked to rub between her fingers when she was sleepy. I pressed it to my chest.
There was a pink unicorn book sticking out from under her pillow. She always tried to hide her favorite one so no one would take it. I opened it, heart stuttering when I saw the bookmark—folded construction paper with the words “Love you mama!” in glitter pen, her hand unsteady. She hadn’t yet mastered writing. It was wonderful.
I set the book down gently and whispered, “I love you too.”
