“A grandstander,” Wells finishes, leisurely swirling his scotch, like a man in charge. “We might not knowwhohe is, but what we do know is that he wants to be noticed.”
A chill washes over me. That’s eerie. “Why would he want to be noticed?”
Wells deliberates on his phrasing for a minute, his emerald gaze bouncing off all of us before landing on me. “Most people who are involved in something like this hope they won’t get caught. They’re often panicked, going to great lengths to conceal any evidence or trail leading to them. Ninety-nine percent of people fall into that category.”
My heartbeat hammers my sternum as a question I’d probably rather not know begs to be answered. “And the other one percent?”
“Far more dangerous.” He swills the final sip of his scotch, setting the tumbler aside and digging a candy bag out of his suit jacket pocket. “There is no plausible reason to be taunting you. All signs suggest that whoever was on the phone is unknown to you. Dalton was convicted and is now gone. The average person would celebrate that their involvement would never be unveiled. But a grandstander is insulted.”
I met Wells a while back, once or twice before he and Ty came to the hospital to erase me. He was more than a La Lune Noire guest. He was a close friend of Axel’s. But I must have missed his penchant for sugar. I am wholly enamored by this formidable man, whom the others refer to as Chief, sifting through his Sour Skittles as if there were a treasure inside.
Flicking my attention to Ryker, I cock an eyebrow with an amused gape, to which he laughs and smooths his hand over my thigh. Hard liquor to a Halloween treat in seconds.
“Insulted?” I eventually manage.
Wells keeps on sifting. “They don’t appreciate being ignored or undervalued. They’re often harder to catch at first because they don’t panic and make mistakes. They’re skilled chess players, sitting back and watching the destruction. But they willeventually reveal themselves because their deepest desire is to be seen. To matter.”
“And how long would you expect that to take? For them to show themselves?” I peer at Remy, ensuring he’s occupied and not paying any attention to us over here, relieved when Ivy nonchalantly sweeps her ginger locks into a ponytail and flashes an affirming smile at me.
She’s just as dynamic—sweet and fierce and intuitive—as she was on our phone calls while I was Alice.
When I twist back, Wells is winking at his girls.
“It’s hard to say,” Ty replies, his soft brown curls lending him a boyish charm. “They’ve already made two clear moves. The email and sending the photograph, which had to have been retrieved at the time of the incident.”
Axel expands on that, his own drink in hand. “They’re hiding behind Monroe, aware that, as Dalton’s father, he’d be the most likely to be involved, to have access to the photograph, to be someone Dalton would reach out to for help. Whoever it is, they knew Ryker would follow up with Monroe.”
“Exactly,” Wells agrees. “Which also means they wanted Ryker to realize Monroe wasn’t responsible. They likely enjoyed watching him chase a lead and slam into a wall.”
Ryker scratches his dark two-day stubble, sweeping his thumb back and forth on my thigh. “Any progress on who could have sent that email?”
“No,” Wells sighs. “Those are hard to track if they mask the signal and bounce it enough. Liam narrowed it down to an area, but it’s not precise enough to indicate identity.”
Across the room, there are howls of upset and of celebration. Cash growls, insisting he’s been taking it easy on Celeste.
Liam cackles in response, his rebuttal colorful. “Your ass hurts. Ace could bury you with her eyes closed.”
If her nickname is Ace, that might hold some merit. She’s gorgeous, with an always-the-winner air. But Maddox and Cash exchange a look that leads me to believe they will be playing dirty from here on out. Liam and Celeste miss that because Ivy is admonishing Liam for his language before hurling an apologetic wave in my direction.
That is an example of another thing lost to that horrible night and this mysterious asshole intent on keeping it present. I don’t want to be in a corner, discussing how to thwart him. I want to be over there, laughing and living.
My hope that this will end soon is dwindling, but I submit my query to Wells and Ty anyway. “And the forensics on the photograph and packaging?”
Ty shakes his head, noting my defeat. “The outside packaging was handled by many. No one of glaring interest. Only prints on the portrait are you and Dalton.”
I’m frustrated. This is scary, but I refuse to let all the progress I’ve fought for since I came back be wasted. “Back to my original question, how long would you guesstimate it will be until they show themselves?”
Wells rubs his jaw, his own frustration shining through. He doesn’t appear to be a man who appreciates not having all the answers. “Could be tomorrow. Could be a year from now. They seem invested in involving Ryker, but didn’t make a move while you were gone. Then two moves about a week apart. There’s also the seemingly connected issue of Theo Trafton’s death, so the escalation suggests it will come to a head soon, but that’s never a sure thing. We’re dealing with a similar unknown, so I empathize.”
“Speaking of Trafton,” Axel begins, pouring himself and Wells a bit more scotch, “we aren’t finding anything out of the ordinary with the people Mercy has had contact with since she’s returned. Any luck with the list we provided?”
“Unfortunately, everyone here is mixed up in shady shit.” Ty checks his phone in the middle of his response, smiling to himself before tucking it away, which leads me to believe his wife is finally on her way up. “And half of New Orleans has some connection to Dalton. He was well known in the community, so that’s a challenging factor to isolate. The suspect list is larger than we’d like, but we’ll get there.”
“Then we carry on as usual.” I rise, resolved to embrace another day, which will start by visiting with Rena and getting to know her new family. “Remy won’t leave the resort, and I won’t leave often. But I’m not going to play dead for another three years while some psychopath waits me out.”
Before Ryker can object, I fling my arm toward their private garage. “You had ten guards on me when we left last time. That should be good. Bryce seemed like he knew something about Trafton, so this might uncover information like you originally thought. You already managed to get the case with Judge Nicholson, and the proceedings are closed, so we know it will be quick and easy, and Hadyn can come as co-counsel. And I’m not going to miss out on Emma’s dress shopping or lock myself up when Christmas in the French Quarter is going on ten minutes away. I’ll wear a tracker—”
“You already are.” Ryker is pissed, so that response is smug as he casually rolls his odd-shaped dice around his palm.
