Page 122 of One Secret

'They need to be believable,' I remind him.

'No duh,' Jaime snorts. 'That's what's taking time. I've got someone on it overnight so you'll have the fake invoices and corresponding money trail online by evening tomorrow. It'll be tight but it'll get done.'

Well, wasn't that going to be just a little too close for comfort? After my little tête-à-tête on the boat with Felix, I'm not sure I trust my gift of the gab to keep things cordial until those numbers come in…

You don't have a choice. You let the ruse crack and he's going to start with Darcy…

'You better not leave my ass in the wind here, De Luca,' I warn him.

Jaime's snort crackles down the line.

'Have we ever let you down before?'

I think of that open ocean road. Two bodies, one bullet.

But that's unfair.

Plans had changed too quickly and Jaime and the Machellis had given me everything they had. It wasn't their fault. They hadn't been the one who pulled the trigger.

Instead, I think of Catanzaro. Of Leon's refusal to leave before I was strapped, braced, and escorted out of there. I think of the times I've been picked up from dangerous locales or in need of fake papers.

I think of learning martial arts with Jaime when we were kids.

'No,' I finally answer. 'No, you've never let me down.'

The question had been rhetorical, so my answer stupefies Jaime into quiet before he asks:

'Everything okay there, Cyrus?'

He never uses my first name.

I swallow.

'Not really,' I admit. 'But I'm gonna fix that.'

Not ready to confront whatever Jaime has to say about that, I hang up on him and immediately dial back out. Unlike Jaime, Nat answers promptly and sounds wide awake, despite the hour.

'What's doing, boss?'

I have to stand up. My body is aching, my muscles molding to the shape of the seat. I begin to pace back and forth across the end of the bed, like I'm on some kind of fucking guard duty.

'I want you to do a search for me,' I say into the phone.

'How deep?' Nat asks. I can already hear her attacking her keyboard in an efficient staccato of little plastic tiles.

'Everything,' I order. 'Background, history, old names, old addresses. I want everything you can find. The entire story of their life.'

'Name?' she asks.

I take a breath, pausing beside the bed.

'Darcy Calabrese.'

There's a pause in the tapping.

'You sure about that?' she cautions.

I ignore her.

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