Evidently, one of the monks was a priest—she wasn’t entirely sure how that worked—but he offered confession and, as uncomfortable as it made her feel, she decided that as long as she was here at the monastery she would take advantage of it.

Yes. For the first time in her life, she was going to confess her sins to a priest. Who knows? It couldn’t hurt.

Then afterward she would drive to the airport, return the rental car, and catch the one-thirty flight back home.

Where she would tell her husband and her daughter that she was dying.

++++

“Sasha, I want you to watch. This is what happens to someone when he betrays me.”

“Who betrayed you?”

“A man named Aaron Jasper.”

“What did he do?”

“He’s been stealing from me, my dear. And then he also broke one of my cardinal rules: those who work with me do not visit the Matchmaker.”

“The Matchmaker? Who’s that?”

“Someone you don’t need to concern yourself with.”

Blake’s security team led two people into the room. Mannie still hadn’t arrived, and even though it might have made sense to wait for him, with Aaron and Ibrahim here now, Blake decided to move forward without his associate.

He greeted the two men who’d been led in. “Ibrahim. Aaron.”

“Hello, Fayed,” Ibrahim said.

“Oh, let’s keep it as Blake today. Less formality.” He gestured toward the chair. “Have a seat, Aaron.”

Somewhat hesitantly, he obeyed. “Good afternoon, Blake.”

“Good afternoon. We have a few things to discuss here today.” Then Blake addressed Sasha again. “Loyalty is important to me. I need the people I work with, the people who work for me, I need them to be loyal. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s good to be able to trust people.”

“I agree, Sasha.”

Aaron eyed the tarp and swallowed uneasily.

Blake turned to him. “I have reason to believe that someone in my organization has been taking things that aren’t theirs. Do you know who that might be?”

“Taking things?”

“Sticky fingers. Stealing. Purloining.”

“No, sir.”

“Are you sure? You look nervous. Are you nervous?”

“No, I just . . .” He gulped. “I’m good. I’m fine.”

“And visiting the Matchmaker. Do you have any idea who I’m talking about?”

“No, I—”

“Aaron, you spoke with the Matchmaker. How could that’ve possibly seemed like a good idea to you?”

Blake drew his 1911 MC Operator .45ACP. “Ibrahim, I want you to watch. This is important.”

“Blake,” Aaron said. “You have to understand, I—”