“There is no reason he’d do that.” Shane doesn’t look up from his laptop. “We’re family.”
“Youare his family, Shane,” Trace counters. “Not Rhys and me.”
Shane’s eyes pop up, and he stares at Trace, then me. “Have either of you crossed him in any way?”
“No,” I answer, tired of being quiet. “He contacted me.”
Shane leans back in his chair. “Word on the street is, a powerful security broker named Elias Black is creating an army with a ring of soldiers.”
Black…Ares mentioned black to his assistant. But he could have meant anything, or anyone.
“Soldiers for what?” Trace asks.
“Anything. Hits. Heists. Drug couriers.” Shane rubs his temple, looking stressed. “He won’t bend the knee to anyone. Wants to stay independent.”
Christ.Murderers for hire with no soul.
Trace’s eyes narrow. “Ever hear the name before?”
“No.” Shane’s tone sharpens. “But he’s organized. The blood sample from the guy you killed, Rhys, came back from the lab. I’m running a DNA match now. Nothing iscoming up, except…”
A ripple of unease runs down my spine. “Except?”
“The familial strain application I used to find Raina’s father is sharpening.” Shane prompts the screen behind him paired with his laptop. “I flagged a hit on an old autopsy. A Mark Sinclair. He died a few years ago here in Manhattan. Suspected terrorist, so they catalogued his DNA. Mark has a brother, David Sinclair. And Ares Zervas has an assistant named Lourdes Sinclair.”
Ms. Sinclair. The assistant.
“Not their sister?” I clarify.
“Nope. Wife. Married to David.”
I get to my feet. “Zervas had me kill his secretary’s husband?”
“I bet he’s sleeping with her,” Trace grumbles.
“If she is his mistress, I wouldn’t put it past him,” Shane says, leaning back in his chair.
I shake my head. “I heard Ares mention to his assistant to contact someone named Black.”
“I bet it’s the same guy,” Trace adds.
“Where is this broker operating out of?” I see dots all over the place on Shane’s screen. “There are a lot of hits on that tower north of here.”
Shaking his head, Shane says, “Not sure yet. Too scattered. Not tight enough.”
The fine hairs on my neck stand up. Trace can tell my blood just started whooshing in the wrong direction.
Before I can speak, my phone buzzes with a text. Then buzzes again. And again. By the fifth vibration, Shane raises an eyebrow.
“You gonna check who that is?” he asks as if it’s something empire-related.
I glance down and see texts from Fallon.
Several.
Long ones.
My screen is a scrolling novella.
