Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(59)

“Those real?”

I smiled. “As real it gets.”

He nodded. “You did a good job staying under the radar. You’re a tough woman to find.”

“I was just trying to get on with my life.”

“So, New Orleans?” he asked.

“It seemed like as good a place as any.”

“Never been. But Mardi Gras always looked like a fun time.”

“It is.”

I put an end to the small talk.

“So, you have questions.”

“That we do.” His entire demeanor shifted.

He read me my Miranda rights, and shit got real.





“What do you mean you can’t get in to see her?” I tried to keep my voice low as I paced the hallway of the intensive care wing. A woman in flower print scrubs stared at me as she hurried down the hallway. My attempt at outward calm was failing.

“Mr. Duchesne,” Andrew Ivers’s tone was cool and professional, “unless Ms. Agoston affirmatively requests an attorney, there’s nothing I can do. I have a junior associate sitting in the lobby, waiting to call me the moment we have any indication that she has exercised her right to counsel.”


The thought that Charlie hadn’t asked for a lawyer made me hope that things weren’t as bad as I was imaging. She was smart. I was pretty damn sure if things went sideways, she’d ask for one. Still, Ivers had f*cked up my well-orchestrated plan.

“You were supposed to stop her from going in alone.” I raked a hand through my already disheveled hair. “I don’t understand what the f*ck happened.”

Ivers paused before speaking, as if choosing his words carefully. “We sincerely apologize. I had another urgent client matter, and the associate I sent over this morning was detained. He was there by nine o’clock, but she must have gotten there first.”

I blew out a frustrated breath. “Well, she has to leave sometime, so you better have someone there, waiting. I don’t care what your associate has to say to them. He better make it f*cking clear to the FBI that your firm represents her, and she’s not being questioned again without a lawyer present.”

“I’ll send a second associate down, just to be certain.”

“Just make sure they don’t f*ck it up again. Hell, after this morning, I’d expect you to go take care of it yourself.”

“As I said, you have our sincerest apologies, Mr. Duchesne.” He sounded like his teeth were grinding when he added, “I’d be happy to go wait myself. I’ll be in touch as soon as we’ve made contact with Ms. Agoston.”

Ending the call, I sagged against the wall. I bent my knees and slid down the plaster until I sat on the industrial gray linoleum. Resting my elbows on my knees, I dropped my head into my hands.

I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle.

My mother was down the hall, in a coma, hooked up to too many beeping machines. The doctors had run all sorts of tests and had shared theories and ideas, but the bottom line: all we could do was wait.

I didn’t know if I could take another day of sitting across from my father. With each hour that passed without any sign of improvement, he looked more and more like a shell of the man he’d been.

My father had always been larger than life. Confident. In command. But this experience had exposed him as all too human. For two days I’d listened to him speak to my mother’s unconscious form while clutching her hand, and I’d come to realize that much of my father’s strength stemmed from his love for my mother. And without her standing next to him, he was … broken.

I pushed up off the floor and started back down the hall. I’d give him another few hours and then I’d try, once again, to convince him to go home, shower, and get some rest. So far, we’d both been terrified to leave her side for more than a few moments at a time, certain that without us there, she’d just slip away.

Settling myself back into my chair at my mother’s bedside, I listened to my father launch into another trip down memory lane. This time about how angry Mom had been when Dad had laughed after she’d burned their first dinner as a married couple, and how he’d told her he’d eat charred meatloaf for the rest of his damned life and smile while it crunched. His quiet words washed over me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d have a chance to make those kinds of memories with Charlie. I stared down at my phone, willing it to ring.

It didn’t.





There are experiences in life that make you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.

Like watching your father be led away in handcuffs after learning that he allegedly committed the largest financial fraud in the history of the world.

Like arriving in a new city, a fake ID in your pocket, and realizing the rest of your life would be built on a lie.

Like meeting someone who made you want more than the half-life you’d thought would be enough.

Like today. Today had made me question everything.

My strength, my fortitude, my intelligence, my sanity.

I sat huddled on a steel bench in “the bin” at Rikers Island, my body shuddering as the adrenaline seeped away. I brought my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. Tears tracked down my aching face to soak into the gray cotton of my jumpsuit. My left eye had already swelled shut.