Page 37 of The Wolves Come at Night
Avery blinked once, twice. “My husband was a baker.”
“Your husband was a spy. He ran his operations out of the bakery. He did not tell you?”
“No. Of course not. You’re insane.” Avery cast her eyes about the room. “This is all insane. I’m leaving.”
Santiago put a hand on Avery’s shoulder, keeping her planted on the sofa. “What she says is true. It’s why Alan and I ‘bought’ the bakery from you after Richard died.” He used little air quotes, and Avery shook her head. “We’d been using it as a cover for years anyway. Of course, it gave us the added benefit of watching over you and the kids. We owed him that much.”
“Richard had an aneurysm.” Avery pronounced each word slowly, with great effect. “I saw the autopsy report.”
“You saw what we paid for you to see. His bike was forced off the road and his head bashed in with a rock.”
“By who?”
Angelie and Santiago met eyes, and she nodded.
“He’s called Game. Joseph Game. He’s a sadistic son of a bitch who works for a group of very bad people. You don’t need to know any more than that.”
“Like hell, I don’t.” The tears were gone now, the calm, collected ER doctor reasserting herself. “This is my family you’re talking about. My daughter is missing and you’re saying my husband was murdered by some sort of, what, assassin? You have to tell me everything.”
“Avery. Trust me. The more you know, the more dangerous this is for you, for the boys, and for Carson.” Santiago’s voice was soothing but had exactly zero effect.
“Carson’s already in serious danger. Does this Game person have my daughter?”
Angelie shrugged. “Possibly him, possibly someone he knows. He won’t hurt her. Not badly, anyway. He just wants me.”
“You? Why?”
Angelie smiled. “Professional jealousy.”
“Sònia,” Santiago warned.
“It’s true. I killed someone he wanted for his own. A contract. He’s mad.”
“So go apologize to the bastard and bring my daughter home.” Avery was on her feet now, still pissed off, and starting to think clearly again. “I’ll go with you. Where is he? Where are they? We have to go, right now. He must—”
“Stop,” Angelie said. “You will not come with us. We have to find him, and he’s very good at hiding. But yes, you will go back to Nashville, or New Haven, whichever you prefer, and wait. The police are involved, and you must continue on as if you are simply a grieving, frightened mother, nothing more. Trust me, Game is nowhere near your home. He is most probably already out of the country. He—they—could be anywhere by now. It will be up to us to hunt him down.”
“You say this like you know something more. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing,” Angelie said.
“You’re lying.”
“Yes, I am. It does not concern you, nor your situation. I will bring Carson home. I promise. You must follow all the instructions the police give you. Play your role. Do a public plea for your daughter’s return. You will not mention me, you will not mention Richard’s death, and you will not mention this meeting. They will go in circles, and while they do, we will track down Game and kill him.”
“The note said no police.”
“Your daughter’s very clever roommate resolved that for you. He can’t complain. You followed instructions. You did not involve them.”
“And the money?”
“This is not about money. That was a message for Santi. So he would reach out to me. We’re complying with Game’s wishes at this point. We will do so until we have Carson back, and then?” Angelie ran a long finger across her throat. “And then I will kill him. Slowly. For you. And for Richard.”
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t just sit around in hotel rooms waiting for news.”
“I would prefer Santiago take you back to New Haven.”
“The Nashville police will think that’s strange.”
