Dispose? “Where?”

“I have no idea. He’ll tell me later. Are you buckling on me, little sister?”

“Just curious. I saw the news earlier. The FBI is looking for me and McClure is facing an investigation in alleged charges of planning my escape. I imagine you arranged the article.”

“All things work for good for those who plan ahead. The FBI’s inquiry buys us time to finish up a deal before we leave.”

“Leave where?”

“Haven’t decided yet . . . Hong Kong, St. Petersburg, or Cyprus.”

“I always wanted to travel,” I said.

“No problem with a money flow. Hey, Sis. I’m in the mood for ice cream, chocolate cherry cheesecake. We’ll have a double-decker on the way to the penthouse, a way of celebrating that you passed the test.”

I tossed and turned, an image of the dead man’s blood covering every inch of me. I showered twice, rubbed my skin raw, but the nightmare repeated. My sister had grown up in a home where our parents demonstrated decency and morals. They helped others and encouraged us to emulate them. Marissa played the good girl, leader, cheerleader, straight-A student in high school and college. Had her tendency for narcissism and manipulation always been a part of her, or had she acquired the traits while growing up? In weighing her behavior tendencies, I accepted Marissa was driven by a lust for money, and eliminating others meant nothing to her. Business as usual. Her attitude grieved me. People were tossed aside like trash.

The moment I started to drift, I relived the scene again. . . . Shadows pulled in around me, and I knelt over the man’s body. Blood flowed from his chest, through my fingers, and dripped down my arms. His name was Lance . . .

72

DENTON

I’d never met Special Agent Lance Mason, the man who’d been found murdered on Miami’s north side, but we had a connection through Shelby. I parked my rental car in the secured parking area of Houston’s FBI headquarters at 9:30 a.m. and read the latest news before Mike arrived, which should be any time since he was always early.

The FBI said Lance had been briefed about Shelby insisting she work as an informant and using an alias. No reason why he ventured out alone in a rogue attempt to close in on the case that got him killed. Lance’s wife reported he’d left their home at 9:30 p.m., but he didn’t share where he was going or when he’d be back.

Shelby had sent me a text last night and typed her attempt to infiltrate Marissa’s operation resulted in the death of an FBI agent by the name of Lance.

Marissa shot him in the chest, then wanted ice cream. Eli disposed of the body.

Concern for the woman I loved wrestled with how to move forward in my job. Shelby had witnessed her sister commit two murders, and evidence stacked that Marissa had ordered the deaths of others. She’d have no reservations about killing Shelby or anyone who got in her way. But the FBI didn’t have enough evidence to make a case against Marissa and pull Shelby away from danger.