“So the whole ‘leave a note under the church brick’ is a thing?”
“Yep.”
“How do you monitor it?”
“Technology.”
Ansel’s eyes flick up to mine. “I guess that makes sense. You don’t just sit there and watch people like a hawk.”
“No, we get an alert, and one of us goes down and retrieves it.”
“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?”
“No. And if we were, well, that person wouldn’t last long.”
“You mean you’d kill them.”
I shrug, not wanting him to see me in a bad light. Instead, I step up to him, set the book down, and pull him into me.
He doesn’t shove me away, so I take that as a good sign. “I suspect some must know. It’s partially why I insisted we send my selfie. I knew that if they’d made the connection between the Buckinghams and The Firm, they’d back off.”
“And they did.” Ansel chews on his lip. “Aren’t you worried that they know your true identity?”
“Nah. Wylder worries about that stuff. I just do what I’m told.” I kiss along his neck. “I’m going to need some names though, butterfly. Details. That sort of thing.”
He sucks in a breath. “Why do you need to know? They’ve backed off.”
“But they might come back.” I don’t add that it doesn’t matter even if they leave him alone forever.
They’ve already signed their death warrants as far as I’m concerned.
Ansel’s gone deathly pale. He lifts a hand to touch his temple as his breath quickens. “I don’t… I can’t… Cade, please.”
Alarmed, I hold him closer. Now clearly isn’t the time to be discussing this. I can’t upset Ansel while he’s recovering. “Come on, let’s stop talking about The Firm. It’s boring. Let me show you my favorite room in the house instead.”
He’s still too pale, but his breathing slows. “What room is that?”
“The weaponry. If Wylder got his libraries, I wanted one with my own collection.”
“Of course it’s weapons.”
“Well, I couldn’t collect actual stars, and taxidermy isn’t my thing.”
“Thank god,” he murmurs as he follows me around a corner to a single door. I unlock it and step inside, flicking the lights on and letting Ansel appreciate it in all its glory.
Weapons of all shapes and sizes hang on the wall.
“Where did you get all of these?”
“Auctions. And I usually rent these out to museums.”
Ansel turns on the spot, taking it all in. “Which one is your favorite?”
I move toward a three-foot object on the wall. It’s thick and flat, with obsidian pieces along both edges. “It’s a macuahuitl from the Aztec Empire. Some would consider it primeval, but I think it’s fascinating. It’s so sharp that it’s capable of decapitation. Tried it once. It worked.”
“Oh my god,” Ansel murmurs with a flinch, and I realize I’ve said too much.
“Never mind that. All you need to know is that the man deserved it. Most do, you know.”
