Page 97 of Reckless Woman

“What did the girls say happened?”

“That one of their own got hold of a gun and went psycho.”

“Good for her,” I say lightly. “What’s it got to do with Viviana?”

“They all gave her description.”

“Are youshittingme?” I say angrily. “Don’t be so fucking naive. Half the girls in there were probably from South America.”

“I showed one a photograph.” There’s a long pause. “It was a clear identification, Grayson.”

Fuck.

I flick the cigarette away in disgust.So, the bitch made it off the island, after all.“This doesn’t make up for what she did, Peters. For all we know, those men were enemies of Vindicta, and she was sent in to clean them up.”

“Not when the same girl said she wasn’t there by choice. She’d been beaten up pretty bad, apparently.”

“Smoke and mirrors. Those kinds of bruises wash off in water.”

“I have a theory.”Oh Jesus. Here we go.“Viviana’s fallen out of favor after Santiago called her out. They got pissed and sold her into the trafficking circuit as punishment.”

“Don’t try and make me feel sorry for her, Peters,” I scoff. “She crashed my fucking plane, remember? For all we know she was the one who planned the hit on Anna, despite what Dante says.”

“Like I said it’s just a theory…but if she’s scared, where’s the first place she’s going to run to?”

“Colombia,” I murmur, turning cold.

Roman lets out another sigh. “All I’m asking is for younotto kill her on sight. I know what you and Dante are like with payback. You shoot first, regret later.”

“I won’t have any regrets shooting her, Roman,” I warn.

“Before you do, consider that she might be one of the only people who knows who’s really behind Vindicta.”

There’s another pause. “Does Santiago know about this?”

“Not yet, but he will soon. How’s Anna?”

“Broken.”

With that, I hang up.

I reach the outdoor pool with murder on my mind and on my hands. Crouching down next to the water to dip them into the icy coolness, I freeze when the same kind of ice hits my spine.

Slowly lifting a wet hand to my waist, I spin around with my gun outstretched.

There’s a small boy standing behind me. He sees the gun and cries out in fear, dropping whatever was in his hand. It lands on the terrace stones with a loud clatter.

I quickly hide my gun with a curse as he turns to run. “Wait,” I thunder, tossing my cigarette to the ground. He freezes on the spot like I’m a cop with a grudge. “You speak English, kid?”

There’s a pause, and then a slow nod. He can’t be more than nine or ten, and he’s more bones than meat.

“You got a name?”

He nods again slowly.

“You going to share it with me?”

He blinks and stares.