I lean forward, slowly raise my hand and motion with a finger for him to come even closer.
He does, despite another warning from his security detail. The bodyguard who tried moving the president along has had enough. He tries to intervene, to step between me and the president, but Cortez holds up a hand, stopping him.
“It’s okay.”
“But, sir—”
“I said it’s okay.”
He’s so close to me now, I could easily reach out and touch him. If I were indeed here to kill him, I could do it within a second. But I’m not here to kill him; I’m here to save him.
I speak into his ear, not a whisper but still loud enough so he can hear me over the noise.
“Somebody close to you wants you dead. They tried to force me to kill you.”
President Cortez doesn’t move for a long time, and then he tilts his head to speak into my ear.
“Did you kill him?”
Not looking at him, I nod.
“Did you bury him?”
I nod again.
“Will you tell me where you buried him?”
Another nod.
President Cortez is silent for another moment, then asks a final question.
“What do you need from me?”
I look up and see the security detail hovering, just feet away, as well as the aide still lingering back by the SUV. I lean forward again, this time my lips almost touching the man’s ear.
“I need you to trust me.”
Forty-Six
Imna Rodriguez was doing everything she could to remain calm. She had her cell phone out and was staring down at the screen as if reading an email or text message when in reality it was so she could focus her attention on something other than the fact President Cortez was supposed to be dead.
She was squeezing the phone so tightly she wouldn’t be surprised if the thing cracked, and she had to take a moment to breathe, to try to center herself, and figure out what the fuck this girl was doing here.
Imna knew just as much as had been passed on to Oliver Hayward—the girl’s name, her location in Alden, the fact she had once been a non-sanctioned assassin for the United States government, and that she was the one who killed Alejandro Cortez last year.
The cartels were certainly happy that Alejandro Cortez was no longer in play, but his father remained a thorn in their side. Which was why they’d wanted him dead for several years now. And which was why once they tracked down Holly Lin and then learned that President Cortez would be visiting California, everything seemed to fall into place.
By now Cortez should be dead on the sidewalk, blood pooling from his head wound, police going into overdrive to secure the scene and try to determine from which direction the bullet had come. One of the sicarios who passed through Hayward’s only days ago would have been ready to take out the girl and the rest of Hayward’s men, just like the sicario they sent to D.C. would have taken out the girl’s family, as well as the men watching them.
No loose ends—that was the trick in a situation like this, the kind that was supposed to eliminate the head of state in another country, but something was wrong. She’d sensed it when their convoy made the detour to avoid the hotel with the fire trucks and police cars. The police were to swarm on the hotel eventually, but that was after the girl had taken out Cortez, not before.
Speaking of the girl, where did she go?
Imna realized President Cortez was moving again, heading into the hotel lobby, and she hurried to keep up with him, scanning the crowd as she went.
The girl was gone.
Sidling up next to Cortez, she asked, “What was that about?”
President Cortez shook his head. He looked pale. She couldn’t begin to imagine what the girl said to him. Had she told him anything close to the truth, surely he would have had the security detail detain her, or have the police arrest her, or something. But none of that happened, and the girl was gone, and now they were in the lobby and a man in a gray suit approached them, some bigwig whose name Imna momentarily forgot, the man’s shiny shoes echoing on the marble floor as he strode up to them with his hand extended.
“President Cortez, thank you for coming today.”
The man spoke in Spanish, though it was clearly not his first language, and Cortez smiled and responded in kind, and then Cortez asked where the closest restroom was located.
The man in the gray suit pointed down the hallway. Cortez thanked him and said he would be back soon. Before he could head in that direction, though, Imna touched his arm.
“Are you feeling okay?”
He forced a smile at her.
“Just a little lightheaded. I’ll be right back.”
Before he could take a step, she tried again.
“Who was the woman outside?”
Another forced smile.
“I’ll be right back, Imna. Wait here.”
She watched him depart, three bodyguards trailing him. The man in the gray suit turned to her and started speaking, again in that faltering Spanish. Part of her wanted to ask him who he was, but she knew she should already know his name, that it was her job to know such things, and before she knew it she cut him off with a curt smile.
“I need to make a phone call. Please give me one minute?”
The man smiled and nodded, and she stepped away, using the encrypted app on her phone.
Oliver Hayward answered after two rings, his tone wary.
“Why are you calling? Isn’t it done yet?”
She wandered over to the corner of the lobby, by a table and some potted plants, and made sure nobody was nearby when she dropped her voice to a harsh whisper.
“No, it’s not done. The girl’s
