“It was your brother.”
Though he expected her to be taken aback by the revelation, he realized in short order how naïve the assumption had been.
In a blur of movement, she was on her feet.
Alex followed just as quickly, preparing to launch into an explanation for his decision to keep the knowledge to himself after their unexpected reunion a few months earlier.
But before a single word could leave his mouth, she threw both arms up in the air. “Un-fucking-believable! It didn’t occur to you that I could have used any of this information when I was trying to find Leila Jackson? You didn’t think it might have been relevant the moment we learned Emilio was selling her to The Shark?”
The way her hands were flying through the air as she mocked him, Alex wondered if she didn’t have more than a little Italian in her. “I—”
“You’re so fucking smart, and yet nothing I shared with you triggered a warning at all. You know, like maybe,” she pulled her phone from her pocket, miming a call, “hey, Amelia, you should probably know that’s the asshole who killed my sister.”
“I didn’t know who this shark person was until after you came to me, or have you—”
Amelia held up a hand. “You don’t get to speak now.”
He could almost see the smoke steaming out of her ears, and mafia capo or not, Alex would not dare defy her command at that moment.
“You know what? I can’t even say that I’m surprised Trevor was working with you guys. Joanna and I knew that he was getting paid from somewhere, and I knew damn well it wasn’t the Leónes or the cartel. That didn’t leave a lot of options, and considering he was one of the few people who knew about me and you, it didn’t take a genius to put the rest of it together.”
“I’m…sorry.” He hung his head in shame and blew out a long breath. “I know I should have told you sooner, but honestly, I didn’t see what good it would do. At this point, it’s all just conjecture.”
“Conjecture?” She barked the word at him.
“We don’t have any—”
“My brother is dead,” she hissed. “Trevor’s dead, his wife is a widow, and his kids are growing up without a father. And why? So you could send him to chase after a ghost? Because if you think that his death isn’t related to him chasing after Gianna’s killer, then you’re kidding yourself.”
The hairs on the back of his neck rose to attention at the callousness in Amelia’s voice. He swallowed the sense of unease. “I just thought that you’d understand, that maybe you could relate. I wanted answers. Wanted to know who’d been responsible for Gianna’s…for taking her.”
“No.” She slammed one hand on her hip and slashed a finger at him with another. “Don’t spin this back around on me. You people were too damn scared of…of, who? Brian Kolthoff? You were scared he’d come for you if you got too close to his secret, so you sent in someone else instead. Someone expendable. A cop.”
As justified as her anger was, the fact Amelia would not let him explain himself fully sent adrenaline burning through his veins. He leveled his gaze at her. “That’s not how it went down, and you know it!” Alex struggled to keep his voice in check. “Trevor was a homicide detective, and he had access to more information than we could’ve found, no matter how hard we’d tried. He wasn’t expendable. We needed him!”
Her jaw tightened.
None of the stubbornness of her youth had left that woman. If anything, she had grown even more bullheaded over the years. “Jesus, Amelia. You know I wouldn’t do that to you, no matter who your brother was.”
As she raised a hand to push the strands of dark hair from her face, she glanced to the horizon. “There’s a storm moving in from the west. I need to leave.”
Alex glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough, a sheet of dark clouds had rolled in to obscure the waning daylight. He spotted a flicker of movement at the bottom of the grassy hill as a couple and their children packed away their picnic supplies. When he turned back to Amelia, she’d already taken the first few steps to the edge of the gazebo.
Scooping up the worn paperback, he followed her to the gravel lot as he searched through his thoughts in a vain effort to find a way to placate her, to remind her that they were on the same side. Try as he might, any reassurances that crossed his mind were nothing more than mindless platitudes.
“I’m sorry, Amelia.” The words sounded hollow and stupid, but an apology was the best he could manage.
Her eyes flicked to his as she pulled open the driver’s side door of the black sedan. “Okay.”
He didn’t have a chance to add to the apology before she disappeared behind the wheel.
All he could do was hope that he hadn’t severed the fragile bond they’d shared. Because if Brian Kolthoff and Senator Stan Young were co-conspirators or allies, then he and the D’Amatos would need Amelia.
And if she kept knocking over Leóne trafficking operations, then she’d need them as much as they needed her.
7
As Zane rubbed his tired eyes one last time, he opened the door of his silver Acura, grabbed his favorite stainless-steel thermos from the cup holder, and stepped into the harsh white light of the FBI’s parking garage. Before he’d turned away from the car, the thud of another door echoed off the tall concrete ceiling.
At quarter ‘til seven, few of the third-floor parking stalls were occupied. When he spotted a familiar black sedan in the row across from him, he locked up his car and made his way to the Acura’s rear fender.
“Morning, Storm.
