Page 36 of The Wolves Come at Night
“You know I don’t like rules. And in case someone was listening… It’s good to see you, Ange.”
“You, too. Is she here?”
He nodded, inclining his head toward the closed door to her right. “Asleep. I gave her a slight sedative when we got here so she could get some rest. She hadn’t slept for two days. She should be waking up shortly.”
“All right. Want to tell me what the hell’s going on? Who took her daughter?”
“We don’t know. They demanded cash, which, of course, was a signal they wanted to talk.”
“Or they actually want money, and are willing to hurt a child to get it.”
Silence crawled around them. Angelie went to the window, standing by the wall, looking from the side of the heavy drapes out into the city. The wig itched. She hadn’t had to wear a disguise in so long, she’d grown soft. Her hair was too long, grown out unchecked for the past year. She’d have to cut it if they went operational.
Who are you kidding? You already are.
“You know who took her,” Santiago finally said. “He wants to talk.”
She whirled on him. “You said you didn’t know who took her.”
“Ange, come on. Can we stop? The odds of Carson Conway being kidnapped by a stranger are as likely as a giraffe growing a second head. You and I both know who. The question is: Why now? And why from Nashville, instead of New Haven? What sort of game is he playing?”
“The question is: Why the hell didn’t you tell me you know who took my daughter!”
Angelie had to hand it to her, Avery Conway was still a looker, and stealthy as hell. She stormed toward Santiago, hands on her hips, clearly restraining herself from exploding into furious punches and slaps.
Faced with the surge of anger from his old partner’s widow, Santiago took two steps back, raising his hands in defense, just in case. Angelie put a shoulder against the wall, folded her arms across her chest, hooked one ankle over the other, and leaned back to enjoy the show.
“Avery, it’s not what you think,” he started, but she advanced, rage and panicked fear making her as unpredictable as a rattlesnake.
“Santi…” Avery growled.
“Stop, okay? I’ll tell you what I know. Sit down, and stop…doing that.”
Avery breathed once hard, through her nose, then retreated to the elegant couch, took a seat, and crossed her legs demurely. “There. I’m not doing anything. Now, talk.”
With a glance for help to Angelie, denied with a single shake of her head, Santi took a chair opposite Avery and steeled himself. “It’s about Richard.”
“What?”
“The people who’ve taken Carson. They’re the same people who killed Richard.”
Eighteen
Angelie watched with cool curiosity as Avery Conway fell completely to pieces.
The woman clearly didn’t know her husband had worked for Macallan. There was no way anyone was this good an actress. Angelie almost felt sorry for her, if she was able to feel such things, but pity was not going to solve this situation.
Santi was still trying to explain the situation calmly, gently, and Angelie was getting bored. She pushed off the wall and strode to Avery.
“Get yourself together. Richard would not want you to be like this.”
“Who the hell are you?” Avery spat, tear-filled eyes blazing in her chalk-white face.
Angelie smiled grimly. Good. Richard’s widow still had some steel in her. She was going to need it.
“That’s not necessary—” Santi started, but Angelie shook her head sharply.
“Non. She must know. We must act before they come for us all.” To Avery: “My name is not important. What matters is this. Richard worked for us. We are an international consortium trying to rid the world of the vermin who seek to destroy it.”
