Trafficking - Firearms (International)
Blackmail - Senator Wendi Voria
Death - Officer Jeremy Grith
Death - Agent Ora Tuvi
Kit clicked on one of the death folders, nerves buzzing with dread. Thankfully there were no photos. Just a summary, supported by saved documents and audio files Kit did not intend to click, of James’s mom asking Felicity to kill someone.
The next folder was the same.
“Fuck,” Darius muttered.
Pulse pounding, Kit set the laptop on the coffee table. This was something he never wanted to share with James—a parent responsible for dozens of murders. Even if Evelyn didn’t pull the trigger herself, her fingerprints were clear.
Kit remembered the razor-sharp betrayal. The realization Dad had never been the person Kit thought he was. Their happy family life was just a fresh coat of paint, hiding the rotten core.
Forget responsibility. Kit’s cowardice jumped into control. “Maybe we should make Bishop tell James about this.”
“Tell James about what?” Bishop asked from behind them.
Kit craned around. Bishop’s sleeves were rolled up, his strong hands pink and freshly washed. Must be taking a break from identifying bodies.
“Come and look,” Kit said, reluctantly grabbing the laptop again.
He intended to hand it over to Bishop, but before he could, Bishop leaned over his shoulder. Aftershave and disinfectant spun dizzyingly through Kit’s brain. He barely processed anything as Bishop scanned over the open document.
Kit clung to the physical distraction. Better than sinking into dark memories. Months ago, the thoughts would have left him numb or panicking. No in-between. Now, he could just think, then let go. He could be normal.
Bishop reached past Kit to scroll down, arm brushing Kit’s shoulder.
“That’s troubling,” Bishop commented, his breath stirring Kit’s hair. “Not surprising, but troubling.” He straightened up, which gave Kit room to think properly—until Bishop squeezed his shoulder in a comforting way. “You’re right. I should tell him about this.”
“You’re a saint,” Kit said, and hoped neither Bishop nor Darius could see Kit’s insides turning to goo. There was just something so invasively nice about Bishop’s firm touch.
“Where’s Holden?” Darius asked, sounding amused. Damn him.
“Probably not dismembering anyone,” Bishop said, finally letting go of Kit. He took the laptop away, then moved to the chair across from the coffee table. “We finished identifying everyone. Most of them didn’t have any record of working here, so we can stage out of town for authorities to find. Their familieswill get closure, if not answers. Two of them had known ties to Felicity, so we’ll process them more thoroughly.”
“Lucky Holden,” Kit commented, stomach turning.
He grabbed the next burner phone in the pile, helpfully unlocked by James the day before. The proof of teamwork was weirdly sweet and reassuring. Kit’s mood lifted, until he reached the latest message on the phone.
“What’s wrong?” Bishop asked sharply, before Kit even noticed himself freezing.
Kit’s instinct was to say nothing was wrong. But Bishop wouldn’t believe that. Neither would Darius. And there was no reason to hide this, besides Kit’s deeply ingrained patterns of secrecy.
“You guys said the Viper hasn’t been active in years,” Kit said, scrolling up the message thread for context. Nothing clear. Just more ominous hints. “But Felicity had someone looking into him.”
Kit handed the phone to Darius, who frowned at the latest message too.
Unknown:You were right. We found the Viper’s weakness.
32
“Feral animals need enrichment.”
Beer in hand, Bishop settled on the porch steps. Sunset swept orange across the spacious patio and yard. His friends’ new place was nice. Bishop wouldn’t mind a piece of land like this, more room to stretch out than his pocket of suburbia.
