Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(103)

Shit.

Drugs.

“What?”

“Nothing.” As I glance at Storm through the corner of my eye, her wrinkled brow tells me she may have come to the same conclusion on her own. Still, I won’t voice this out loud. I can’t put Storm in that position. I know her. She’d tell Dan. Not because she wants to get Charlie into trouble; she’d think she was helping. But Storm is na?ve in that sense. Getting the DEA involved without knowing exactly what’s happening could put Charlie’s life at risk. I’ve seen this all before. They’ll put her into a little room and drill her for information, and it will be up to her whether she wants to spend the next twenty-five years in jail or turn on whoever is making her do this.

Turning means testifying. Testifying means someone will want her dead.

I need to find Charlie. Now.





chapter thirty-eight


■ ■ ■

CHARLIE

I don’t bother to smile at the valet this time when I climb into my waiting car. I don’t even think about it. I don’t race to the cash drop location. In fact, if the needle didn’t tell me I was doing forty miles per hour, I’d believe my car was parked in the middle of the road.

Jimmy’s clearance text on the burner phone he handed me tonight comes in and I do as expected, walking stiffly to my Sorento. When I’m safely inside it, with the doors locked and the key in the ignition, I have just enough time to grab and open the spare plastic bag sitting in the glove compartment before the entire contents of my stomach comes up.

I’m dry heaving when the burner phone starts ringing.

“Hello.” I hear the emptiness in my voice.

“All good, little mouse?”

Did Sam know that Manny would be there? Did he do that to me on purpose, to scare me? Or is Manny the “other way in” that Sam was looking for? I’m not supposed to use names and give details, even though it’s a burner phone and there can’t be any wiretaps yet. Suddenly, I don’t care. Of all the things I should be worried about, cops listening in on this conversation is not one of them. “Eddie has a partner. He was there tonight. His name is Manny. He put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger but the chamber was empty. Then he threatened to chop me up into a thousand pieces and feed me to the gators. He said he was going to rob you.” The sentences comes out choppy and without emotion.

Dead silence meets my words. I wait. I say nothing and listen, until I hear a sharp inhale. I picture Sam sitting in his cellar, smoking a cigar as he talks to me.

“Everything else went as planned?”

Sam doesn’t sound like he cares that someone was seconds away from killing me tonight. But Sam is as hard to read as I am. I’ve learned from the best, after all. “Yes.” You got your money, Sam. “I’m not doing this anymore. This was the last time.” I set my jaw stubbornly against the urge to backpedal.

I’m not going back there.

“That’s not an option. I have big plans for us. I was going to surprise you with this but I’ve been holding a cut for you, cycling it through some real estate ventures. One year with Manny and you’ll have more money than you could dream of.”

“A year?” My voice explodes into a shrillness I’ve never heard in myself. That I can’t control. “I won’t last a year. Didn’t you just hear what I said? Manny’s going to kill—”

Sam cuts me off with a sharp edge. “I knew he was going to be there. He was just making sure you were legit, that’s all. Do you really think I’d ever send you in somewhere that I thought you’d get hurt?”

“You already have.” My cold whisper is somehow harsher than the shrill voice a moment ago.

“That was a mistake that I made amends for. At great risk to myself, for you! Have you already forgotten?”

“I’ll never forget what you did to him.” Amends. Because executing a man is supposed to make me feel better.

“And have you forgotten all that I’ve done for you?”

I swallow the bubble of guilt trying to make its way up, fighting for dominance over my bitterness. But I say nothing.

“I’ll take care of Manny, little mouse,” Sam says softly, soothingly. “He was just keeping you on your toes, but I’ll make sure he knows that you are trustworthy. Because you are, right?”

Sam is trying to appease me. Make me feel like he’s actually doing me a favor. “I just want out. I don’t care about the money.”

In an instant, his tone is glacial again. “Really . . . the spoiled little girl doesn’t care about the money. Will you care when you can’t pay for your schooling? Or your fancy clothes and your car? I wonder if you’ll care when you’re whoring yourself out to make ends meet.”

Too late, Sam.

How could you do this to me?

Sam has never spoken to me like that before. There’s a long pause. “Let’s talk tomorrow, when you’ve stopped being so irrational.” The phone clicks, ending the call.

The near-death shock hasn’t worn off but a familiar edge is beginning to find its way back in now: that familiar pain throbbing in my chest cavity, the difficulty breathing, the relief associated with wondering what it would be like to just fall asleep and never wake up again.

All the things I found a brief escape from with Cain.