That’s when I reach for my phone.
I don’t need more information on Elliott. John can dig up anything on paper—timelines, photos, money trails. What I need now is someone who can watch him. Quietly. Someone whose presence won’t ever circle back to me.
Someone I trust.
The call connects on the third ring.
“Blackwell,” Liam answers, voice calm, amused. “You don’t call unless something’s on fire.”
I lean back in my chair. “I need a favor.”
There’s a pause. “Go on.”
“I need someone to trail a man. Name’s Elliott Cavanaugh. I don’t want him touched. I don’t want him scared. I just want eyes on him.”
“Anyone I know?” Liam asks.
“He’s been sniffing around my wife.”
That earns me a low laugh. “Ah. That changes things.”
“Don’t make it dramatic,” I say dryly.
“I’ll put Cross on it,” Liam replies without hesitation.
I bark out a laugh. “I want him followed, not buried.”
“You should hear yourself,” Liam says. “Relax. Cross can walk and chew gum without breaking bones.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
There’s a beat, then his tone shifts—businesslike, sharp. “You’ll have updates by the end of the week.”
“Good.”
I hesitate, then add, “I’ve got another ask.”
“Of course you do.”
“I need a lawyer to look over paperwork. Nonprofit formation. Clean. Separate from my business. I don’t want it touching my family or my name.”
“Who’s it for?”
“My wife.”
That pause is longer.
“Say no more,” Liam says finally. “You want Callum?”
“Yes. Tomorrow, if he’s free.”
“He’ll be there.”
“Thanks.”
“You owe me,” Liam says lightly. “And if this guy crosses a line—”
“I know,” I interrupt.
