Page 4 of Hart of Vengeance
“You’ll get out.” Brock bobbed his head, seeming quite sure of himself.
Maybe he knew something I didn’t, or maybe these two were so desperate, they would say anything to convince me to help them. “You’re certain I’ll get parole?”
Travers relaxed back in his chair. He was also giving off a confident vibe. “The early release program is hardly questioned at a parole hearing, provided you don’t fuck up between now and then.”
I rose. “Find someone else to do your dirty work.” I would clear my own name.
It would be a monumental task to find the person who’d set me up. The only witness, Hector’s neighbor, had told police she’d seen a person wearing a hoodie leaving the building right after she’d heard the gunshot. I hadn’t been wearing a hoodie that night. But the crux of my problem was that the neighbor had disappeared before my trial began.
What if you can’t find the neighbor? Even if you do, what then? Most people turned a blind eye, not wanting to put themselves in the middle of a murder investigation. That was probably why the neighbor had skipped town in the first place.
Kelton thought she’d been spooked or bribed. Or maybe whoever killed Hector had murdered her too.
Travers studied me. “We’re offering you an excellent opportunity. Having a murder charge under your belt will make it hard for you to get a job. You’ll need money to live.”
Six years in the joint had given me a wake-up call. I longed to clear my name, find a decent job, and maybe start a family. But blood was blood no matter what.
“Sorry, gents. I’ll pass.”
I was halfway to the door when Brock asked, “What if we told you we believe Duke might’ve had a hand in Alvarez’s murder?”
I went ramrod straight as the blood running through my veins gelled.
2
Jade
Ismoothed a hand down my pencil skirt, the same skirt I couldn’t afford but had bought anyway. I had to look sharp for my job interview.
I checked my appearance in the glass window of the tall building I was about to walk into. My red polka-dot blouse went well with my red skirt. My black hair was pin-straight, and my black heels complemented my outfit. In my mind, this interview was do or die.
I’d been let go recently from a low-paying receptionist job at a financial company in Boston due to downsizing. For me, money was scarce. After high school, I hadn’t had the money to go to college. My dad had been working hard to save as much as he could to help my sister and me when the time came to pay for college tuition. But when he died, his plan was buried with him. Then again, even if he were alive, I suspected he would have been hard-pressed to afford to help one of us, let alone both of us.
Savannah and I had grown up in a loving household but with very little money. My parents couldn’t afford to pay the high heating bills, and New England in the dead of winter had sucked. Mom had found cheap, moth-eaten blankets at the thrift store and piled them on Savannah and me as she’d tucked us into bed.
If I didn’t get this job, I would be living on the streets. I didn’t have enough money in my bank account to pay the next month’s rent, not that it mattered. My apartment wasn’t any better than the streets. My water barely came out of the faucet. The heat didn’t work, and I had one window that didn’t close all the way.
As much as I wouldn’t want to live in a jail cell, I envied my sister. At least she had a warm bed, food in her belly, and she didn’t have to worry about making ends meet.
I slid into a section of the revolving door. I actually hated revolving doors. My hand had gotten stuck in one last year at my former place of employment, and since I didn’t care to repeat that move, I pushed on the glass to hurry it along even though the door was moving from others getting into their little carveouts.
Once inside, my phone rang. I found a quiet spot away from the elevators and traffic and plucked my phone out of my purse. I prayed that Mallory—my BFF, who had been instrumental in setting up the interview for me—wasn’t calling to tell me the interview was canceled. I couldn’t take another rejection or another “We need someone with more skills than you have, Ms. Kelly.”
The words “No Caller ID” lit up my screen like a beacon in the night. The “No Caller ID” was usually my sister. Sighing heavily, I debated whether to answer or not. If I didn’t, Savannah would bug me until the cows came home, and I didn’t want to be interrupted during my interview.
“Hello.” A knot formed in my stomach as it always did when I accepted a call from my sister in prison.
“Will you accept a collect call from Savannah Kelly?”
I swallowed thickly. “Yes.”
“Jade.” Savannah’s voice was rushed. “I need your help.”
The panic in her voice made me wince. I loved my younger sister. I’d been trying to take care of her since our parents died. But no amount of words or threats had gotten through to her. However, like a stupid sister, I always gave in to her.
“You’re not stupid,” Mallory had said. “But you need to know when to tell her no. She’s a great liar and knows how to get you spun up.”
It had taken a few years to learn to say no to Savannah. As Mallory had said, Savannah was a great liar, at least with me. I’d bought every excuse she’d given me about how she needed money until she drained me of our life savings.
