Dirty Little Lies by Julie Leto Page B

prescription-drug proposal. I’ll keep checking with my police sources, but in the meantime, we need to come up with a list of probable suspects and start checking them out.”
    “We should start with Leo Devlin,” Marisela said.
    Max typed the name into the computer. “He certainly has a reason to want the congressman out of the way. I’ll put a few agents on him. I want the two of you exclusively on the Manning murder.”
    “What about Bennett’s friends? Aren’t they in danger, too?” Marisela asked.
    “Good chance,” Max answered. “If the assassin can’t get at Bennett while we’re protecting him, she might move on to the others, if revenge is truly her motive and if the note is connected to her.”
    “It is,” Marisela insisted.
    She described the flower on the note and the possible resemblance to the tattoo the assassin had on her wrist.
    Max nodded. “I’m sending a message to the office right now. I’ll put agents on scoping out the locations of the Hightower boys. In the meantime, let’s look at who we have right here in Boston.”
    Marisela scanned the news article Max had transferred to their screens. “Parker Manning.”
    “Victim’s father?” Frankie asked.
    “Victim’s brother,” she replied. “Father’s dead. The brother lives here, in Boston. He’s a reporter. Declined to comment for this article about the case, though.”
    Frankie flipped the lid closed on his computer and turned Marisela’s laptop toward him. “A reporter declining to comment?”
    “That’s weird, I think,” Marisela decided.
    Max’s grin implied that he agreed. “Seems like a good place to start. Frankie, take the other car and head back to the office. Find this Manning guy. Ian ordered both of you to get some rest, but tomorrow, you can pay Mr. Manning a visit, see if you can change his mind about the no-comment thing. Marisela, check in with Ian. I’ll be right behind you.”
    Frankie and Marisela exited the car. She headed to the hospital door, but Frankie grabbed her hand. “Meet me at the office?”
    “What office?” she said with a chortle. “I flew in, went shopping, got dressed, and then went to the party. The only place I’m going is to my hotel room.”
    Frankie eased closer so the rough texture of his slim beard sparked against the skin on her cheek. “I’ll meet you there, then.”
    Tempting as the offer was, Marisela wasn’t in the mood for sex. Her muscles protested every step she took and between jet lag and exhaustion and the beating she’d endured, all she wanted to do was sleep.
    Well, it wasn’t all she wanted to do. But it was clearly priority one. However, she could be convinced. By the right guy.
    “We’ll see,” she replied, then entered the hospital without looking back.
    * * *
    Perfect timing.
    Yizenia stored the flip chart in the case outside a patient’s door and checked to make sure that the badge she’d created was clipped in plain view. She patted her auburn hair and blinked rapidly, ensuring that her hazel contact lenses were in place beneath her glasses. The sweatbands she’d used to cover her tattoo were snuggly in place beneath her long-sleeved scrubs, bubble-gum pink with cupids on the pants. Thankfully, American hospital workers reveled in the tacky. Patterns like this grabbed attention. If anyone needed to describe her later, they’d likely say the redhead in the Valentine’s Day pants. Which, of course, would no longer describe her once she left and ditched the disguise in the nearby trash bin.
    But until then, she had information to gather—and the perfect source just a few steps away.
    “Excuse me.”
    Yizenia affected her best Southern accent, one of her favorites to emulate, with the twangs and elongated vowels oddly similar to a British accent, but with more rhythm.
    From her perch leaning against a stark white wall, arms crossed, Marisela Morales stood out like a splash of color. Her dark hair, eyes, and skin contrasted against the purple