“Nick researched you but didn’t update it,” he says. “Me, I just learned your name, so I did my due diligence and read all about the recent discovery of Vicky Lanier from Fairmont, West Virginia, who disappeared in 2003. Maybe I should’ve told him, but Nick, he was so hell-bent on his plan, I figured it was worth a shot. But I thought you might fuck him over, too. And look at that, you did.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. Ever since the real Vicky Lanier’s body was found, I worried this day might come.

I have to get away from Gavin. Just get out of here alive—

“You’re a smart lady, Vicky,” he says in a harsh whisper. “Nick’s dead, Simon’s going to be under investigation for the murder of Lauren Betancourt, probably sitting in jail without bond for murder, and when the moment is right, you’re going to run off with all the money. Am I right?”

He knows about the trust. He knows about Simon. He knows everything.

Well, not everything.

I didn’t close the blinds upstairs before I killed Nick. I meant to. My nerves got the better of me. Gavin must have been watching across the street, whatever he was able to see through the open blinds. He knows I killed his friend.

Don’t answer him. Don’t say anything. Just—

He shoves the gun harder under my chin, pushing the top of my head into the wired fence. “Am I right?” he repeats.

“Yes, you’re right,” I say. Pulse pounding, thinking fast, coming up with nothing but Get away from him.

“I wonder how Simon would take all this,” he says. “He thinks he married someone named Vicky Lanier, with a nice, clean background. I’m guessing you had some reason to use a fake name. A criminal record, maybe? Prostitution? Maybe something worse? A wealthy guy like Simon’s not gonna go for some street whore like you. So you cleaned yourself up and gave yourself a nice, new identity with a spotless background.”

“Yes,” I say, because my head can’t be pushed any harder into this wired fence.

There’s nothing I can do. I don’t have any leverage to fight back, try to break away, while pinned against this fence with a gun under my chin. Anything I try will probably make that gun go off.

“Tell me your real name, Vicky,” he says.

Oh, thank God—he doesn’t know my real name. He didn’t get that far. He doesn’t have my fingerprints.

I can’t let that happen. I can’t ever let Gavin know my real identity. I’ll die right here before I let that happen.

“Tell me, you stupid twat.” He removes the gun from under my chin and smacks me across the cheek with his other hand. Then he pushes me back against the fence and presses the gun against my forehead. “Tell me right now or you’re—”

“Never,” I say. “Shoot me if you want.”

He watches me a moment, considers that. But he doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s not here to kill me. If he was, he’d have already done it.

“Well, now, that’s interesting,” he says. “But you know what? I don’t care what your real name is. Let’s just cut to the chase, Vicky. Your marriage is a fraud. You got married under a stolen identity. And if that little nugget of information were to come out, you don’t get a dime of that money.”

My legs start to give out.

“So I want half,” he says. “Or you get nothing. November third. That’s the date you get your hands on the money, right?”

I can’t speak. I try to nod, but the gun is basically imprinted on my forehead.

“November third,” he says. “I come to you. And you transfer half to me. Ten million dollars. We’ll keep it a nice, round number.”

“How—how?” I whisper.

“Don’t worry about how. I’ll handle how. So between now and November third, Vicky, you be awfully nice to that husband of yours. That’s just two days. Keep him happy. Spread your legs nice and wide for him. You have a lot of practice doing that, right?”

He shoves me hard, the fence contracting with my weight. I fall to the ground, on my hands and knees, next to some old moving box and a bag of fast food.

“If you run, Vicky, or fuck with me in any way, I’ll tell Simon everything. All those ten years you’ve worked for this money will be down the toilet. And don’t even think about doing to me what you did to Nick. Nick didn’t see you coming. I do.”

“It’ll look . . . suspicious,” I say. “Three days after she’s dead, I transfer ten million dollars to an anonymous account.”

He kicks me in the ribs. I buckle under the pain, landing face-first into the dingy alley.

“I don’t give a fuck what looks suspicious,” he says. “That’s your problem. You can decide, Vicky. What do you prefer, a little suspicion? Or never seeing one nickel of that money? That’s not a hard choice. You’ll think of something. Oh,” he says as he walks away, “and Happy Halloween.”

84

Simon