Page 97 of Que Será, Syrah

“Shit,” Clay mutters, looking slightly green. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Problem?” I inquire.

“Well, no. But here,” he hands me back the papers. “Since I’m no longer in a position to get them to Carvalho, you might as well hold onto them. I suppose you might need them at some point.”

“You suppose? Of course, I’ll need them! Also, why can’t you get them to him? I understand he’s no longer at his hotel, but I assume the sheriff’s department has resources. Can’t you find people? Isn’t that what you do?”

“Not when they’re no longer in our jurisdiction, and Mr. Carvalho was apprehended by ICE earlier today. To the best of my knowledge, he is currently being detained and awaiting deportation back to Portugal. If he’s lucky.”

“He-he what? How? Why?”

“His visa was revoked, effective immediately, due to the fact that he’d misrepresented the purpose of his visit. The agency may also have received information suggesting that, during his stay here, he was attempting to defraud US citizens—that’d be you and your sisters, by the way; in case that was unclear.”

“But…”

“So, he’s also been placed on the ‘inadmissible aliens’ list, which means he won’t be allowed back into the country. Probably ever.”

“Oh. I see.” I take in the grim cast of his mouth, the bleakness in his gaze, the veiled hints about reports being filed. And I take a not-so-giant leap. “So, did you…?”

“What? Make a deal with the devil? You could say that. I took what I knew to my bosses. I explained what’s been happening, what I knew about your case, my involvement with you, etc.”

“But…didn’t that get you in trouble?”

His lips twist into a bitter smile. “What do you think? Of course, it did. I’m getting written up for it. But…consequences, right? I’m not immune, either.”

“Clay…”

“No, I’m not looking for sympathy. It could have been worse. And I was tired of all the sneaking around anyway. I’m not built for the shadows as much as I thought.”

I stare at him helplessly. “This is a lot to unpack.” My glance falls on the papers in my hands, and I feel my insides revolt. Too much wine on an empty stomach, I suppose.

“Tell me about it.”

“Yeah, but…Jesus, Clay. I didn’t ask you to blow up your life like that. I had things handled.”

“Turn it around: you didn’t have to do what you did, either. You could have left it to me. Should have, in fact. It’s my job to protect the members of this community.”

“Great. All that efforting, and what did we accomplish? Absolutely nothing.”

And I groan so loudly that Rosa calls from the porch. “What’s going on, Legs? Is everything okay? D’you need us to call Mr. Davenport?”

I paste on a smile as I turn and wave in her direction. “Nope. No. All good, thank you. Nothing to worry about.”

“Liar,” Clay chuckles. Then his face grows serious. “Look, I wouldn’t say it’s all been for nothing. I’ve done a lot of thinking. Figured out some things that I might not have otherwise.”

“Like what?”

His gaze flicks to my sisters and Jake—who are all three gathered at the top of the stairs now, regarding us with varying degrees of suspicion and concern. “Maybe we can do this in private?”

I’m about to say yes—because, last night aside, I’m generally inclined to say yes to him on everything. But I’m tired of hiding in the shadows, as well. I shake my head. “Nah, let’s stay where we are. I think I need my family around me right now.”

Clay’s eyes widen. “Oh. It’s like that, is it? You’re saying you want to do this ‘in front of God and everyone’?”

His question catches me off-guard. Because no, I hadn’t really planned on turning this into a battle of dueling Moonstruck quotes. But if that’s what he wants, game on. “Well, you’re the one who wanted to stop hiding. Here’s your chance.”

Clay takes a deep breath, in and out. “Okay, here goes. I love you, Allegra Martinelli. Which…I’m guessing you already knew that?”

“I had an inkling.” My lips are twitching, my smile trying its damnedest to break free. “Or at least I thought I did, up until last night.”

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