My anger drains, replaced by something colder and far more useful.
Methodically, I gather the photos and slide them back into the envelope. Coco was right. These were the key.
And now I know exactly what door they open.
I lieon the bed in the bunker, the low hum of the systems buried beneath the walls steady and familiar. I’ve been staying here exclusively, now, because if I want to be with Coco, I want to make sure she’s safe. It’s the only place I can lock down completely.
Coco’s breathing brushes warm against my skin, slow and even, her head resting on my chest as the last of the tension drains out of both of us.
The sheets are twisted around our legs, evidence of what just happened, but the room itself is calm. Settled. The kind of quiet that only comes after bodies have burned through everything they were holding back.
These nights aren’t occasional anymore. They’ve started fitting into the gaps of my schedule like they were always there.
I know Laurent’s routine now better than my own. I know when he’s distracted, when he’s unreachable, when this place is quiet enough for us to exist here.
He finally agreed to let Coco return to her own house, which makes it all easier for us, but has me more on guard, making sure she’s safe.
This city is full of people who would use her if they realized what she means to me.
She shifts slightly, her cheek pressing closer, fingers idly tracing the lines of my ribs. The silence stretches,unforced. I don’t feel the need to fill it, and neither does she. That alone feels dangerous.
For the first time in weeks, I’m not bracing for the next hit.
Mostly because I already know where the next one is going to land.
She tilts her head up, green eyes finding mine. “How did it go with Iggy?” she asks, voice soft but direct. “I forgot to ask you the other day. You were… distracting.”
There’s a hint of a smirk there. I feel it anyway, low and sharp in my chest.
I’ve been expecting the question. Still, it tightens something I haven’t figured out how to loosen. I told myself I wouldn’t pull her deeper into this. That I’d keep her insulated from the worst of it.
That’s getting harder to do every day.
“It was useful,” I say. My hand moves absently over her shoulder, grounding myself in the reality of her there. “You were right to push for it. He gave me names. Dane and Ronnie. Said they were outside the warehouse that night.”
Her brow furrows. “Did he say why?”
“Not exactly.” I shake my head. “But he knows enough to know they were part of it. He connected things that didn’t make sense before.”
She nods slowly, fingers stilling. “So what happens now?”
I stare up at the ceiling for a moment before answering. I’m not sure how much I want to tell her. Not because I don’t trust her, but because I don’t want her any more involved than she has to be.
“I met with Vin last night.” The words carry weight, even now. “I showed him the photos. The ones you didn’t want me to see.”
Her eyes sharpen, attention fully on me. “And?”
“He had an explanation,” I say. “The photos were from a meeting last year. Duvall’s people tried to negotiate a shipping lane deal with my father that he didn’t go for. He had a feeling they were up to something, so he had the meeting documented anonymously.”
I swallow, jaw tightening. “Turns out it was insurance. Just not the kind he expected to need.”
“It sounds like you’ve figured out who was behind this,” she says carefully.
“I think we have,” I agree. “Thanks to you. Iggy’s timeline lines up. Everything points back to Duvall.”
She studies me. “But…”
“But one of the men who used to work for your father was there the night he was killed,” I say, rubbing my temples. “Not working for Duvall, but clearly not acting alone. He framed your father. I know Boudreaux didn’t do it, but I don’t fully understand why that man did.”
