The Cursed

“Get in there when they’re gone. Find the key.”

Find the key? Search an entire house in a few hours and find something as small as a key?

“It’s not going to be easy.”

“Of course it won’t. Someone would have found it by now if it were obvious. Check the attic. It’s probably up there somewhere.”

“I can’t promise—”

“Oh, yes, you can. The place is empty. No guests. Stay in there until you get me that key.”

“But she could catch me!”

“I doubt she wanders around her attic at night, but if she does catch you,” the Wolf said softly, “you know what to do.”

Machete had never argued with the Wolf before. Never questioned him. Until now.

“I think going in now is a mistake. The key will still be there, and she’s not a threat to us. She knows nothing. She saw nothing. She came out when it was over. But if something happens to this woman now, when the police are already looking for a killer, they will rip the city apart—and we’ll never get in there to find the key.”

There was silence at the other end of the line. Machete didn’t dare breathe. The Wolf had eyes everywhere, and he had assassins everywhere, too. Machete didn’t know who the Wolf was—no one did. And no one who didn’t need to know had any idea of Machete’s real name, either. Everything in Los Lobos was on a need-to-know basis.

Most of all, no one argued with the Wolf.

But the thought of killing her...

For a moment, Machete thought his infatuation with Hannah O’Brien might have been his undoing. He wished he could take back his words. The silence from the other end of the line stretched for what seemed like hours.

“I just don’t want to lose this opportunity,” he finally said quickly—desperately. “It could take time for me to find the key, and if something happens to her before I do, it would draw attention to the house. The Siren of the Sea could be closed down, and it would certainly be swarming with police. I would never be able to get inside then. I need to be able to go in and out safely until I find what we’re looking for.”

Again his words were met with silence. He felt sweat bead his brow and drench his shirt.

At last the Wolf spoke.

“Get in and get out, then. But remember, you’re on your own. And remember, too, if that woman finds you and you don’t do what’s necessary, I will.”

The phone went dead.

Machete stood there shaking and hot with sweat.

Finally the breeze began to cool his skin as he waited for the Fed to leave.

Except...

He didn’t leave.

The sweat on Machete’s skin began to turn to ice. He didn’t want to make another call.

What the hell was he going to do if the agent never left?

Or, worse, if Hannah O’Brien didn’t leave, either?

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