I freeze.
“…you owe a debt in blood.”
Then he goes still. Just like that. No last gasp. No plea.
He’s dead.
Fuck. I stare at him. He received a quick death. He got lucky. I would’ve made it nice and slow, taken my time for what he did to Astrid.
Alexei walks over, blood on his sleeve. “Looks like we just kicked the hornet’s nest.”
“And now I’m going to burn it to the ground.”
Alexei curses beside me, his phone lighting up. “It’s Elena,” he says, eyes scanning the screen. “CPD’s en route. Someone must’ve heard the gunfire.”
I grit my teeth. “How long?”
“Three minutes, max.”
Damn it.
I glance at the table. I’ve managed to slip a few financial statements into my coat but not nearly enough.
“We need to move,” I say.
We head out the way we came in, boots silent over the cracked floor. The air outside feels colder, heavier. The rain keeps coming, sheeting down as we slip back into the SUV. I shut the door as Alexei dials.
“Put her on speaker.”
A beat later, Elena’s voice crackles through the system, sharp and amused. “I warned you boys not to play too loud.”
“You tracking us?” I ask.
“Always,” she says, a smile in her voice. “Cop cars are coming in from Ashland and 38th. You’ve got thirty seconds to cut down Maple and hang a left in the alley behind the laundromat.”
Alexei punches the gas, and we’re flying through narrow streets, water hissing beneath the tires. Sure enough, two black-and-whites speed past the next block, sirens silent but lights flashing.
“You owe me coffee for this.”
“Coffee. Is that what you call that battery acid you drink?” Alexei asks, flipping the wipers to full speed.
We cut across Cicero and finally ease back into the flow of traffic. I reach into my coat and pull out the folded documents,thumbing through the rain-speckled pages. Half of it’s in code, but a few names stand out.
One in particular makes my stomach tighten.
“Daniel Riggs,” I mutter.
Alexei glances over. “That supposed to mean something?”
I nod once, slow and grim. “It’s Spalding. That’s the alias he uses when he doesn’t want Bureau oversight. I’ve seen it before—buried in old offshore account logs tied to some of the shell companies we flagged last year.”
Alexei exhales through his nose. “So he’s not just circling. He’s in it.”
“Neck-deep,” I say, folding the papers again. “Which changes everything. Looks like he’s been receiving regular wire transfers from a shell company connected to Velásquez’s front.”
Alexei swears under his breath. “He’s on the take.”
“Makes sense. He was too eager. Too well-timed. That raid was a warning shot, not a real move.”
