She Can Kill Page 2

  Keeping one eye on his little girl, he rolled up the faded wool rug and pried up a large terra-cotta tile. Under the tile, a section of subfloor had been cut away and a wooden box suspended. The nylon bag inside was heavy. Christopher hauled it into the room. He replaced the tile, rug, and desk. Then, picking up Luciana in one arm and the bag in the other, he ran for the car. The sound of engines and the swirl of dust on the horizon changed his mind. He raced for the garage. He should have learned how to fly the helicopter on the other side of the property instead of studying economics. Eva had been right. Pursuing a college education had been foolish.

  Just inside the door, he grabbed a set of keys from the wall rack. He tossed the nylon bag inside the four-wheel-drive pickup truck. He strapped Luciana in the passenger seat and started the engine. He drove away from the buildings, hoping, praying, that whoever was in those vehicles approaching the ranch did not see their escape. The whump whump of a helicopter spurred him to drive faster. Was someone chasing them? He turned to scan the sky, but the sun obliterated his vision. All he could see was the glint of sunlight on the chopper. It disappeared into the distance.

  They hadn’t seen him. He exhaled. They had a chance. It was slim, but there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep his child safe.

  Next to him, his daughter didn’t make a sound.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Twelve years later, Westbury, Pennsylvania

  She enjoyed revenge any way it was served. Hot. Warm. Cold. Or, in the case of Christopher Navarro, frozen solid would suffice.

  Blending in to a group of parents, she tugged her scarf higher on her face and walked toward the school. Though the day was overcast, sunglasses shielded her face as she kept a sharp eye out for Christopher in the crowd. She’d tagged his Mercedes weeks ago as it sat in the parking lot at the winter festival. She knew where he was at all times. Although a glance at the GPS app on her smartphone told her he was nearby, she didn’t see his car. It seemed odd that he wouldn’t attend the school function since Luciana was in the competition. The event had been publicized in the local newspaper.

  What would she do if he was here? Would he recognize her? The puffy circular scarf had been a strategic rather than a fashion choice. She tugged it higher to cover the line of her jaw. She would just have to spot him first.

  She strode through the main entrance and followed the throng of adults down the wide hallway. No one checked identification. No one paid her much attention. With students from several schools competing, the staff wouldn’t expect to recognize every parent. In a single, pathetic attempt to provide security, a teacher stood at the end of the hall to prevent visiting adults from straying beyond the main hall. She held back a snort of disgust. If she had desired admittance, the rail-thin man on guard would not have stood in her way, at least not for long.

  Parents packed the large room. Voices echoed off tile and wood. Pretending to wave at a few people, she sat down on a folding, metal chair near the front of the room as if she belonged there. She spoke to no one. She’d dressed like the other mothers, slim jeans, sweater, flat boots, nothing fancy, nothing to make her stand out.

  Satisfaction swelled in her chest. It had been so long since she’d experienced it, she almost didn’t recognize the pleasant sensation. Coming here today felt bold and invigorating. After years of careful research and months of planning details, her dream was finally coming to fruition.

  A man crossed the stage and stopped in front of a microphone. Behind him, a few dozen plastic chairs were arranged in rows. He tapped the microphone, and the din of conversation faded to quiet as parents settled. The principal introduced himself and gave a quick speech about the hard work and dedication of the teachers and students involved in the spelling bee. She paid him little attention, her gaze riveted on the side of the stage where the heavy curtain shifted. No doubt the competitors waited in the wings. The principal introduced the twelve finalists one by one, in alphabetical order.

  Lucia Rojas was the ninth child in line. Some of the children appeared shy and uncomfortable. Their shoulders curled, and they fidgeted in their chairs. But not her. Tall and slim, with a long mane of dark hair, Lucia took her seat with a straight spine and folded her hands in her lap with determination.

  As she watched the teen, her breath locked in her throat. She’d seen the girl a few weeks before at a local horse show, but it had been from a distance, and she hadn’t been sure. Up close, there was no question. She lifted her phone and opened the video application.

  The girl was Luciana.

  Her features were those of a Vargas, as was her composure. Despite her young age, she carried herself with regality when it was her turn to approach the microphone. She spoke with confidence, as if she fully expected to win. The girl was a Vargas, through and through. Over the course of the next forty minutes, the competitors were pared down until only one remained. The victor. Luciana.

  Now everything could begin.

  She slipped out with a group of other hurried parents and crossed the cement walkway, salt crystals and ice crunching under her boots. Glancing at the street, she froze. Not fifteen meters ahead, a Mercedes turned into the parking lot. The vehicle was silver, sleek, and powerful. She could not see the driver, but she assumed it was Christopher. The car was his, and he would not trust his daughter to anyone else easily. Men like Christopher knew better than to rely on anyone for important tasks. The world they’d come from, the world she still lived in, was a hard place where the trusting ended up dead.

  Lifting the scarf higher on her face, she veered away. People surrounded her, but she felt alone and apart. Fury burned hot in her veins, and she welcomed the frigid wind. Her vengeance was close enough for her to taste its bitterness in the back of her throat. Patience.

  Christopher had sneaked out of Argentina and hidden like a coward. She’d waited a long time for her opportunity to catch him. Patience was the only virtue that remained in her shriveled heart. And she’d been rewarded for her persistence and restraint. She’d found them.

  But as satisfaction filled her, betrayal cleaved her heart in two. For years, she’d tracked Christopher across the United States. He’d always been a clever man. He didn’t use personal credit. Assets, such as houses and cars, were purchased behind one of his numerous corporate shields, with many properties scattered throughout the country. He limited his personal connections to the bare necessities and, until recently, he’d moved frequently. This was the first time he’d stayed in one place long enough for her to catch up with him—to see them both with her own eyes—to confirm that Cristan and Lucia Rojas were Christopher and Luciana Navarro.

  And now it was time for her to put her plan into motion.

  She left the school yard and walked several blocks. Next to a small cemetery, a gray minivan waited at the curb. It was an ugly, ungainly vehicle, but one that went unnoticed, a sort of suburban-America camouflage. As she approached, the engine came to life. Her lieutenant stepped out of the driver’s side and opened the passenger door for her. She climbed in without a word and settled onto the seat. Beneath her, the cold leather chilled her legs through her jeans.

  He slid behind the wheel. “Where are we going?”

  “We’ll go back to the house and wait there.” She’d chosen to rent a vacation home twenty minutes away, near a small but busy ski resort, where she and her driver would not be so noticeable among the vacationers. She’d come into town on a few occasions, each time limiting her exposure to events with enough of a crowd to blend, and each time, she and her driver had walked close together to feign the intimacy of a vacationing couple. There had also been a few midnight drives past Christopher’s home. She had to admit, he’d established an easily defensible base, but his comfort in his surroundings had left her an opening at the winter festival.

  “Was it her?” Her lieutenant turned onto another side road. Small houses with neatly shoveled sidewalks lined both
sides of the street.

  “Yes.” She swallowed the burning in her throat. This slice of middle-class America was an odd place for him to hide. The town was quaint and comfortable. They passed a group of older children walking home from school. A boy scooped up a handful of snow, shoved it down the neck of his companion’s jacket, and ran, grinning. His laughing companion gave chase. How could Christopher live in such a boring place? How much had he changed? Had he lost his edge?

  “You are positive?” he asked.

  “I am one hundred percent certain.”

  He glanced in the side and rearview mirrors. “Then we go on with the plan?”

  “Yes.” She pulled off her gloves and dropped them in her lap.

  “I know you’ve worked hard to prepare for this, but we don’t need to be creative. I could put a bullet between his eyes. He’d never know what hit him.” He glanced sideways at her. He had never been a pretty man. His skin was rough and dark, and his once black hair was threaded thickly with gray. But she’d learned the hard way that loyalty was more valuable than looks.

  “No,” she said. Normally, she took his opinions very seriously. But she’d been waiting for this moment for a long time, and she intended to have her proper revenge.

  “Are you sure? If we kill Christopher cleanly,” he continued, “then you could take Luciana at your leisure. Without Christopher, she’ll be an easy target.”

  “I didn’t chase that bastard for more than a decade to kill him quickly.” She unbuttoned her coat. “Don’t worry. He’ll die. But before he goes to his special hell, I want him to know I took Luciana. I want to look him in the eyes when he realizes that I took away the one thing he values most in this world and that all his scheming and running and hiding were a waste. We’ll follow through with our original plan.”

  He frowned. He was a good man. He’d never had a taste for torture. It was a good thing that she didn’t have that problem. Step two of the plan would be all hers. She couldn’t wait to force Christopher to his knees, to make him pay for what he’d done.

  “It’s your decision,” he said.

  “He brought this on himself.” Rage and excitement heated her skin. She lowered the window an inch. Cool, damp air rushed into the vehicle. “Do you think he’s gone soft?”

  Her sightings of him had been from a distance. One couldn’t be too careful when tracking a killer.

  “I suppose we’re going to find out.” He turned onto a rural highway and drove away from town.

  She breathed more easily when they were removed from the intimate setting and all its quaintness. The wholesome little town that Christopher had chosen grated on her nerve endings. How dare he carve out such a pleasant life for himself.

  Her driver dialed a number on his cell phone and gave the order. He lowered the phone and looked at her. “And now we wait.”

  They wouldn’t have to wonder about Christopher’s prowess for long. She was certain of only one thing: Christopher—or Cristan, as he now called himself—would die. But before his end, he would suffer. In order to understand what he’d done, he had to lose everything. And she had to be the one to extract retribution. The anniversary of the Vargas massacre approached. One week from today, Cristan would suffer the appropriate consequences.

  CHAPTER THREE

  How could such a good life be built on a foundation of lies?

  A lone snowflake drifted onto the windshield as Cristan steered his sedan toward his daughter’s school. Another afternoon. Another pickup. Never once did he fail to appreciate the quiet, ordinary life he and Lucia were blessed to lead. After twelve long years, his beautiful life still felt stolen.

  He slowed his sedan. Cars crowded the entrance, and the parking lot overflowed. Minivans and SUVs lined the side street as well. There were way too many vehicles for a normal afternoon dismissal.

  Had he missed something?

  He skirted an illegally parked SUV and drove to the pickup zone. Angling the Mercedes to the curb, he scanned the sidewalk for his daughter. The school yard also seemed more crowded than usual. Parents teemed on the sidewalk. Had he forgotten some sort of event? He reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. There were no school activities on his calendar.

  Children emerged from the building. Despite the cold, they milled on the salt-dusted concrete and snow-patched grass. Their high-pitched chatter penetrated the closed windows of his car. Some headed for the line of yellow buses on the adjacent curb. Younger children met parents on the sidewalk. Older kids searched the line of arriving cars for their rides or started walking home.

  Though the second week of March had arrived, winter wasn’t quite finished with the northeastern mountains of Pennsylvania. Likewise, the darkness still had a grip on Cristan. He had to get through the next few weeks before the tension and sorrow would release him. He kept expecting this anniversary to get easier, but each year, he spent the final days of winter mired in the dark memories of his past.

  Next to his car, two women, a blond and a brunette, stood on the pavement and talked as they waited for their children. The blond woman was the mother of Jenna Pratt, a coltish blond girl in Lucia’s class who’d been to the house a few times recently. Jenna seemed prone to giggling.

  Cristan looked away too late. Jenna’s mother caught his gaze. With a short wave, she stepped closer to the car. Brushing a hand over her hair, she bent at the waist to look inside his vehicle. The brunette hovered just behind her.

  With a reluctant sigh, Cristan lowered the passenger window and leaned over the console just enough to make eye contact. The brunette shot him a polite smile, but the predatory gleam in the blond’s eyes gave him pause. When he’d picked this rural community for their new home, he hadn’t anticipated the popularity of his widower status among the single-mother population. More mothers approached his car, gathering next to his Mercedes like hungry lionesses circling a safari Jeep filled with juicy tourists.

  Cristan struggled to remember the blond woman’s given name. Failing, he defaulted to formality, which was likely the best option in any case. Lucia had made friends in town, but he needed to keep his distance. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Pratt.”

  From the instant grimace on the brunette’s face, Cristan sensed his choice was a serious faux pas.

  Irritation flickered like frost in the blond’s eyes. “It’s Harper. After my divorce, I went back to my maiden name, but please, call me Vivienne.”

  “My apologies.” Cristan scanned the crowd for his daughter. He had no interest in becoming better acquainted with Ms. Harper. Two years ago, he thought this small town would be a good place to stay. Perhaps he’d been wrong. The close-knit community demanded a level of intimacy he hadn’t expected.

  Ms. Harper wasn’t put off that easily. She stepped closer to the car, her posture aggressive. She placed a hand on the vehicle door as if staking her claim. “Congratulations. You must be so proud of Lucia.”

  What did she mean? Confused, Cristan opened his mouth to ask when he spotted his daughter exiting the building with a thin blond girl at her side. He recognized Jenna. As if sensing his presence, Lucia swiveled her head toward him and tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder. He caught his breath. So like Eva. One week from today would mark twelve years since his wife and her family had been executed. In all that time, he hadn’t allowed himself any attachments, except to Lucia. But his aloofness was getting harder to maintain the longer he stayed in this community. Instead of his loneliness abating, the emptiness ate at him.

  “Don’t ruin the surprise,” the brunette admonished.

  Ms. Harper’s smile went cold. “You’re right. I’m sure Lucia wants to tell you herself.”

  Cristan’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t like surprises.

  Lucia turned to her friend, her gestures animated, her body language excited. Laughter and voices drifted through the open car window. Thir
teen-year-old girls were always excited, it seemed. Lucia left Jenna and bounded toward him, her dark eyes sparkling. In slim jeans, short sheepskin boots, and a bright, puffy jacket, she looked like every other child leaving the school. She was one of them, he realized with a small shock. Why hadn’t he seen it this clearly before?

  She opened the passenger door, dropped her backpack, and slid into the seat. The cold wind had reddened her nose, but her eyes and smile were bright.

  “Don’t forget I’m going to Sarah’s house to babysit.” She opened the front pouch on her backpack, pulled her cell phone from a zippered compartment, and turned it on. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to have a phone in school, but Cristan’s safety concerns trumped any school policy. In case of emergency, he needed to know Lucia could reach him at any time, and he refused to relinquish his ability to locate her via the GPS in her phone.

  “I remember.” Cristan wouldn’t forget a chance to see Sarah Mitchell. Before he met her, he hadn’t minded being alone. “She needs you Thursday as well, correct?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He waited for the click of her seat belt before pulling away from the curb. “How was your day?”

  “Promise not to freak out?”

  “I do not freak out.” Indignation suppressed his apprehension.

  She rolled her eyes. “You do so.”

  Turning out of the parking lot, Cristan peeled his cramped fingers off the wheel and flexed his knuckles. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Today was the spelling bee.” Radiating excitement, she bounced on the leather seat. “I won. Not just my school. Today’s competition was regional and included kids from four surrounding schools who made the final round.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Perhaps. Pride mixed with unease. The competition explained why so many parents were gathered at the school. Why hadn’t she invited him? “Is that why you’ve been spending so much time on your homework?”

  “Yes. Last month, I advanced to the final round, and I’ve been studying hard since.”