Tristan floundered for other options, but finding none, decided he'd wait till the house was quiet, then implement that plan, flimsy as it was.
As he sat there, exhausted and aching, his thoughts wandered to Natalie yet again. He tried to remember her face the last time he saw her, when she said she was going to a friend's and he hadn't paid much attention, figuring he'd see her again in a fewhours.
God, what he wouldn't give to go back to that moment, to tell her to stay home, to bribe her with pizza or her favorite movie, anything to prevent her from leaving, from triggering this series of horrific events.
A slamming door interrupted his thoughts, and then an unfamiliar voice from the house reached him.
"What's up, boss?"
Tristan latched onto the word 'boss' and wondered how high up Pearface was in the organization. Could he even be the Handler Annabeth and Cade were looking for?
"I found the red-headed reporter at the Gamma location. He was waiting in the car while a team went in to get his sister. I can't reach anyone there. I think they took the gems, maybe killed our guys."
"Fuck, that's bad."
"He says they got all our houses. No one is picking up at any of them."
"Are you fucking kidding me? What do you want to do?"
"Send out scouts to each location. I want visual confirmation within the hour."
"I'm on it."
For a while after that, only the sounds of footsteps came from the house. Tristan didn't know how much time had passed, but he guessed maybe an hour.
In the silence, Tristan let his head hang to his chest and thought of Cade, wondering what he was doing, how he was feeling, if he'd thought about the possibility of them being together. It gutted Tristan to think he might survive this only to have his heart broken, but he forced himself to set that aside, to have faith.
Instead, he listened to sounds from the house, and eventually the second voice said, "It's confirmed. The gems are gone from allten houses, there's no sign of our guys, and the sites have been scrubbed."
Tristan heard Pearface curse, "Son of a bitch."
"Now what?"
Tristan strained his ears, listening for the rest. After several beats, he heard Pearface tell the other guy, "The bidders won't lose any money if we call the auction off now, but the real problem is the other clients who already paid for product we can't deliver."
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know yet. We have access to some of the client info and bank accounts, but our complete financial records are on the Broker's laptop. For now, send out a mass communication that the auction is canceled, and we're shutting the whole operation down."
"Understood."
"Now," Pearface said menacingly, "That reporter is gonna tell us where that laptop is."
Tristan's heart stuttered and galloped as it occurred to him that they might kill him if he didn't give up that info. But how could he put Cade and Annabeth in danger, and as a result, Natalie? It was out of the question.
But dying was not exactly an appealing alternative.
As he furiously clicked through plausible lies in his head, Pearface reentered the garage, his expression hard and angry. Fear zipped up Tristan's spine as he watched the man resume his place in the chair, weapon already pointed.
"Where's the laptop?"
"I don't have it," Tristan hedged.
"Don't fuck with me," Pearface snarled, lifting his gun arm. "Tell me who has it, or your brains are gonna paint these walls."
Gulping, Tristan stuttered a story he hoped could buy him some time. "My friend... John," he supplied, choosing the most generic name he could think of.
"What's his last name? Where does he live?"
