Henrik had better be here. I don’t have time for this shit.
After entering the dark room, I immediately see a dancer suspended twenty feet in the air on long strips of fabric and nothing else. It’s a mesmerizing show, but I’m worried she could plunge to her death at any moment.
Knowing Henrik, he’s at a VIP table on the balcony. I ascend the stairs, avoiding several hungry gazes of females before spotting a table surrounded by six-foot-tall models. In the center of the fray is my brother, sporting his dark hair and electric smile. He sees me, standing up to gesture me over and wave off the security detail keeping the strays out.
He knows better than to yell my name and get attention, but as I make my way over, the women with him turn toward me with sultry smiles.
“Ladies, ladies, this gentleman here is a rare breed. What do you make, Lynx—a few mil a week?” He winks at me, the use of my old nickname from our days on the SEAL Team pulling a smirk from me.
“Only in a recession.”
He slaps his knee, shaking his head as the girls visibly migrate closer to me.
Thanks a lot, asshole.
He shifts out from around the table to pull me into a bro hug, motioning a waitress over.
“What are you drinking?” he asks.
“Bourbon, neat.”
She blinks her fake lashes at me before disintegrating into the moving crowd.
“So, you don’t usually crawl out of your green paper hole, even for a piece of California ass. What’s up?”
“I want to go after Lion.”
The girls look innocent enough with their pink drinks, but I’m never too careful.
His smile fades at my words. He knows exactly who I’m referring to. Henrik has never agreed with me about Garrison’s guilt. He didn’t see what I saw, and the idea of one of our own turning on us doesn’t sit well with him. None of us wanted to believe there was a mole on the team. Garrison was the planner, the one who could lie and wait an eternity for the right moment to attack. He was also our leader—hence his codename.
Henrik’s grave expression is unmistakable for disapproval. “You ever gonna give it up, Lynx? Someone else shot Reid. None of us did it. The FBI is going to give it up because they won’t find proof that isn’t there.”
“He did it, and he won’t get away with it.”
He shakes his head, downing the liquid in his glass. “You’re a paranoid bastard. You need to enjoy the civilian life. Shit’s not that bad. Beats running from bullets and chasing Russian bastards with branding irons.”
Henrik had a brush with death when he was captured by the enemy and tortured for a day and a half. I know he has scars, but I’ve never seen them.
I think of Kate and the potential of pursuing a relationship with her.
How will I ever feel peace with the volatility of my sister’s husband and his Russian allies?
This is the only way.
“I need your help. I’ve been searching for proof for two years, but I need an ally and a solid plan. They came after me and my assistant.” The FBI claims it was a revenge scheme, but I don’t buy it.
His brows scrunch up at the mention of Kate. “Your assistant?”
He saw clearly at the wedding how I feel about Kate.
“Never mind. I have a plan to flush out Lion once and for all.”
A redhead with unnaturally puffy lips slips under his arm. I refuse the blonde who attempts to sneak into mine.
“What does this have to do with me?” he asks.
“I need a brother, an accomplice. You were there. You’re the one who reads people.” He was the infiltrator, the Snake. “Come with me to confront him and convince him to leave Fallon.”
