“You’re planning something,” Holden said.
“Maybe,” James said, still fidgeting with the plastic case.
That was a yes. “I’m happy to help, on one condition.”
“What’s that?” James asked.
Holden propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Don’t call me normal again.”
Laughter glinted in James’s eyes. “Deal.”
One last sweep of Felicity Carrow’s house. Darius was glad to be rid of the place soon. He’d hired a covert cleaning crew to fully sanitize the place—using Felicity’s own tech to hire them. Her money, too.
By next week, there would be no traces of human DNA on the property. Whoever discovered the empty house was in for a hell of a mystery.
First, Darius and Bishop needed to make sure they’d taken everything of value.
“What are the odds SCPD hires you to help out with this place?” Darius asked, opening each kitchen cupboard with gloved hands.
“I’d say low.” Bishop looked through each drawer in the island. “The Rat Kings had enough police contacts. They’ll want to bury everything as missing-person cold cases.”
“Malicious or lazy?” Darius asked.
“Both,” Bishop answered immediately.
News about Nazario Bradach had already dwindled. No primetime press conferences. Just online conspiracy theories.Nothing would link him to the kitchen table where James tortured him to death. Felicity’s disappearance hadn’t even broken yet.
Darius himself was distracted by issues closer to home. “Been meaning to ask you something,” he said as they moved to the living room.
Bishop paused, clearly not fooled by Darius’s casual tone. “Yeah?”
Not like Darius intended to be casual. “Is something up with Kit?”
Bishop wasn’t usually easy to read, but surprise flashed through his eyes. “You’re closer to him.”
“That’s the problem.” Darius glanced at the couch, where he’d shot Felicity. The coffee table, where he’d moved her body so the blood would be easier to clean. Darius would be hypocritical to fault Kit for acting alone. “He’s not used to being close to people, and he’s scared of fucking us up. If something’s wrong, he’s more likely to tell you.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Bishop said. “He doesn’t like me digging.”
Time to be hypocritical. “Have you been digging?”
Bishop’s hesitation was answer enough. There was no reassurance in his grim-set brow. “I asked a friend to run his DNA for a familial match.”
Darius already had unwelcome hypotheses. “What did you find?”
“Nothing,” Bishop said, still grim. “That’s the problem.”
There were plenty of reasons someone’s DNA might be in the database. Plenty of relatives who might come up on a search.
“What did you expect to find?” Darius asked.
Bishop was silent for longer this time. He always got that faraway look in his eyes when he was torn between principles. That was the trouble with trying to be a good man. Sometimes the moral compass pointed in two directions.
Or just kept spinning.
Bishop’s gaze snapped up, sharp with decision. “Has Kit told you anything about his dad?”
Darius’s stomach dropped. “I’m guessing it isn’t good.”
