I recognized my driver instantly from the photo Denton had shown me in the hospital. Eli Chandler. Thick brown hair and large eyes scrutinized me. Although physical attractiveness meant nothing in Marissa’s line of work, I saw him as eye bling for her vanity.

“We meet again.” I faced him squarely. “Are we on the same side?”

A wide smile and arctic-white teeth greeted me. “At the moment.”

I’d met his kind before in female form. He could kill me and walk away, easily done with a weapon hidden under his jacket.

We crossed the walkway to the Dolphin Garage. Were FBI agents watching me in case Eli pulled a gun? We stopped at a black Mercedes.

“Get in.”

We drove to the North Coconut Grove area of Miami, light-years from Mom and Dad’s neighborhood back in Sharp’s Creek, Texas. Eli slowed in front of a gated condo complex, several stories–high white stucco trimmed in terra-cotta. Eli pressed in a series of numbers, and the gate opened. The driveway led to a parking garage where he wound the car to the top parking area and parked.

So far I’d escaped death.

“You’ve known Marissa for many years, even worked at the bakery for a while,” I said.

He shut down the Mercedes. “We had good times before and while you were in prison.”

“But now I’m out and I’m a whole lot smarter than you are.”

66

Marissa lived in a world beyond my wildest imagination. But not a fairy tale. Her penthouse overlooked the bay, and the skyline had a million-dollar view. The interior design of white, cream, glass, and chrome oozed with sophistication. Perfectly staged. Perfectly decorated. No hint of personalization. The penthouse resembled what I once had envisioned as my own. I shared those ideas with Marissa, and she’d stolen every detail. Instead of irritation, I felt a deep sense of pity. Could it be my sister always took from others?

Eli opened a glass door from a large open living room, dining room, and kitchen onto a balcony. He gestured for me to step through to the massive area where a light breeze bathed my face. Marissa sat in a robe beneath a canopied table, her attention devoted to something on her phone, or so she wanted me to believe.

“Good morning,” I said.

She lifted her head and smiled. Even without a hint of makeup, she rivaled the beauty of her surroundings. “Hey, Sis. Glad you’re here. Join me and let’s chat.” She nodded at Eli. “Thanks for picking up my sister.”

He disappeared . . . a deadly errand boy. Two other men, stoic as pieces of furniture, stayed inside. I assumed they were bodyguards.

“Breathtaking view.” I took a chair facing her. “Gorgeous penthouse.”

“Thanks. It’s not my only hideaway.”

“This isn’t home?”

“Home is where my money grows. My favorite spot is in Cyprus.”

My mind quickly drew upon research. Those who fought against money laundering had the eastern Mediterranean island country of Cyprus on their radar. The island hailed as an international financial center inviting foreign clients to operate freely. Although some official reports claimed a crackdown on the practice, the revenue into the city took precedence. “I’d like to see it.”