Page 22 of Bitter Truth
But that’s exactly it. I’ve done my best to make it clear that I’m okay with however he chooses to deal with the family strife he’s dealing with. And yet, he’s snuck around behind my back, hiding his interactions with them both.
It feels like a betrayal.
I’m not sure what to believe, think, do. And this whole not trusting my own instincts thing is tying me up in knots.
I want to talk to him about it. Give him an opportunity to explain. But I’m afraid. What if he denies it, or tells me it’s none of my business, or any of the dozens of other responses that would feel like a dagger to my heart? I’m the person he’s supposed to discuss these things with, yet it seems I’m the only one he’s not confiding in right now.
My phone rings and I jerk, startled, dropping the onion again and almost stabbing myself with the knife I was using to chop it. Cursing, I set the blade down and snatch the bulb from the floor. Rinse it under the tap as I answer my cell.
“Hello?”
“Agent Knox, hey. Is everything all right?”
Agent Gellar’s voice makes those knots inside me draw just a teeny bit tighter.
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know. You sound tense.”
I force a laugh. It sounds as fake as it feels. “I just dropped dinner.”
“Oh no. Should I let you go?”
“No. I need a break. What’s up?”
I take a seat. My legs bounce so violently that the table’s at risk of being knocked across the room.
“They identified the sniper who tried to shoot you.”
A burning sensation starts in my chest, a bubble of acid lodging under my sternum. I rub at it absently.
“Who was he?”
“His name was Don Farris. Claimed to be a handyman, filed as an independent contractor on his taxes, though I don’t think the kind of odd jobs he undertook are what the IRS had in mind.”
Thinking of the weapon he’d used, the Mil-Spec modifications that had been made to it, I ask, “Military background?”
“Surprisingly, no.”
“Are they able to tie him to Bianchi?”
“Not directly, but they run in the same circles. Given that the man’s been known to perform dirty work for several of the larger drug traffickers in South Florida, it seems likely that Bianchi’s the one who ordered the hit.”
It’s nothing I didn’t expect, but for some reason, having it confirmed makes me feel a million times worse.
“So what do we do now?”
“That’s what I’m calling to discuss. I’m planning to request that they increase their surveillance of him at the prison where he’s being held. And that they also restrict his communication, but…”
My breath comes quicker. “But what?”
“But I wanted to speak to you first. His legal team is sure to fight against it. They’ll claim there’s no proof that he’s the one who ordered the attack on you. And they’re right.”
“Which means he’s free to keep soliciting killers.” My vision tunnels, a red tinge clouding the edges.
Agent Gellar neither confirms nor denies my statement, but she doesn’t need to. We both know it’s true.
“Listen, Cassidy… Have you considered witness protection?”
