Page 26 of Slow Burn (The Boston Beauties)

I smiled as I washed the conditioner out of my hair. Drew would make fun of me for that thought. I had to hold on to the wall to steady myself.Drew. I didn’t want to leave him, and I didn't want to put my parents through all this.

But I’d come too far to let my emotions get in the way. There was something much bigger at play here than me and my feelings. I could deal with them, what I couldn’t deal with was blackmail, my father being blacklisted, and my brother’s murderers getting away with it. If anything, this needed to be done to bring justice for Josh—if nothing else.

After I showered, I dried my hair then put it in a low braid and popped some brown contacts in, knowing I’d come to regret this when I finally got to my next hotel in about two days. I then put on clean dry panties, a sports bra, a long-sleeved t-shirt and yoga pants. On top of that, I put on a long black robe that some Muslim women often wore. I wrapped my hair in a black scarf, and when it was time to go outside, I’d put on a veil over my face and a pair of fake glasses.

It was nearly three in the morning. I looked through the plain black backpack, which had my new laptop, new iPad and new iPhone, all secure and encrypted. In a Ziploc bag were all the chargers and adapters. I had a journal, a pen, and a case with sunglasses.

I looked through the small carry-on I would bring with me, the only bag I would take. Aside from the clothing I wore, packed were one pair of jeans, a tank top, a pair of Bermuda shorts, a t-shirt, a pair of mesh shorts, Birkenstock sandals, a cardigan, a night dress, one beige bra, 5 undies and 3 pairs of socks. There was a small bag with a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, face cream, a travel-size contact lens solution and a case for them, a small bottle of shampoo, conditioner, body lotion and face wipes. Everything else, I would have to buy.

Breton and I had spent the better half of the summer, researching exactly what all the documents I had found were, and what exactly Matt was up to. We traced paper trail upon paper trail, email upon email, to transactions, contracts, and business deals.

Matt wasn’t working alone, he had partners; his two siblings, one being Julia. Now Breton and I were planning to take their brother down. When we had come up with the idea of framing Matt to buy us more time, and me staging my disappearance, it wasn’t done with a light heart. We knew we were breaking laws and my parents’ hearts. But sometimes you needed to be bad for the greater good.

We had uncovered so many con jobs that they were doing, many with serious safety concerns. One con had them partnering with a top executive of a steel company and manufacturer. They were a supplier for everything from automotive, to buildings, to roads. They were importing lower-grade steel from South American countries, selling it as American, at American prices. The only thing was, it wasn’t American standard. They knew that under pressure, these materials would not hold up, yet they were involved in it.

I was appalled. Matt was brokering the deals with the South American companies and laundering the money into numbered accounts through so many shell companies, and real companies, such as his sister’s salon.

Breton was resourceful, and after a lot of digging, we had solid leads to do even more investigations. This past weekend, while Matt and I were sailing, Breton got into the condo and collected all the documents I only had pictures of up until this point.

‘Thanks for getting all this,’ I said to Nyall, as I sat on the bed, pulled on a pair of black socks and new Nike sneakers. The guys Breton hired from England got most of the things for me. My bras and underwear I’d purchased with cash I had randomly withdrawn over the course of the past two months

I wasn’t looking forward to the next couple hours. I threw my bag over my shoulder and Breton rolled my suitcase out to the van. Nyall was already in the driver's seat, and Breton sat in the back with me.

I didn’t know the next time I’d see him. We rode in silence, though not because we needed to hide things from Nyall; apparently, he did covert missions all the time, this was child's play and a favor owed.

My cousin really was good at what he did.

We drove to the Cape, where Breton’s car was parked at a dark beach parking lot in East Sandwich. He had left his cell there, and if asked, he’d met a girl and took her there to hook up with; he didn’t know her name, picked her up at a bar, and dropped her back there.

Nyall pulled up next to Breton’s car. I got out first, as I heard Breton thanking Nyall, and that he’d be in contact soon.

He followed me out a moment later, knowing there were no cameras around.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered, knowing if I spoke any louder, my voice would crack.

‘Jessa, you can’t cry,’ he warned, his own voice cracking. ‘You can’t show up to the airport with red eyes, I can’t have you looking suspicious in any way. We’ve done too much work.’

I nodded, ‘I know.’

He took me in his arms. ‘I love you, and I’m going to do this as quick as I can. We’re going to get justice for Josh and keep you, your parents and the company safe.’ He pulled away and looked at me. ‘No one gets hurt.’

I nodded again, ‘Broken hearts will mend.’

He hugged me again and kissed the top off my head. ‘I’m going to miss you, but message me as soon as you’re in your hotel.’

‘I will,’ I sniffled and laughed when I looked at him, wiping his eyes. ‘Come on, you’re killing me.’ I pushed him away.

‘Nope, not me. That’s what we’re framing Matt for.’

I smiled and opened the van’s door, sitting in the back seat again. ‘I love you,’ I said to Breton.

‘I love you too. Now go, I’ve got this.’ He looked pained as I closed the door. I watched him stand next to his car as he watched us drive away. I kept looking until I couldn’t see him anymore.

I let out a sob and covered my mouth. I couldn't cry, I needed to be strong. I had to hold my shit together for the next 28 hours. Once I was safely in my hotel room in Sydney, Australia, I could cry as much as I wanted to.

Nyall dropped me off at the international terminal at Boston’s Logan Airport just before five in the morning, over two hours before my flight. I pulled my veil down, put my fake, non-prescription glasses on and tossed my backpack over my shoulder.

‘Thanks so much for everything,’ I said to Nyall.

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