“No. It’s not you. It’s Alex. François. Oliver. Hell, evenme. I had two families and lost them both. Maybe I’m meant to be alone.”
It’s not a question, and my heart aches to comfort her. To sayanythingthat will ease her pain. “Or maybe you needed one more chance.” Turning her around, my lips a hair’s breath from her ear, I slide my hands around her waist and cross them over her heart. “You can find a family here, luv. With me. With Second Sight.” She stiffens, but I don’t let her pull away. “There are days I think there’s somethin’ in the office water. Dax, Ford, Trevor, Wren…hell, Ripper, Graham, West…I could go on. They all found their forevers in the last few years, and no matter how big our family gets, there’s always room for one more.”
“They’ll never accept me,” she says, wriggling free. “I’m an assassin, remember? And if that’s not enough, the cartel’s price on my head will be.”
Before I can say another word, she steps out of the shower, wraps herself in a towel, and stalks out of the room.
Damn it. How many more times can I screw up before she walks away for good?
* * *
Dax expects me at four,which leaves us six hours to find something more concrete than the altered case files to prove Zephyr’s innocence.
“Oliver’s on his phone again,” she says, and angles her laptop screen toward me.
Oliver: Got a lead on Martín. Forged a warrant and talked to the bank manager. They don’t have a physical address for him. Just a PO Box. Going there now to see what I can find.
“Whose number is he texting?” I ask.
“Not positive, but my gut says it’s François.”
Picking up my tablet, I tap the screen to launch a chat window. “Let me see if Wren can trace either mobile and get us a location.”
Zephyr’s eyes widen. “No. It’s too dangerous. What if she…?”
“Luv, I ask her for traces every case. There’s no way she’ll knowyougave me these numbers. Relax. I won’t doanythin’that would lead Dax or anyone else to you. I’m with you. Til the end.”
For several long moments, she stares at me. The doubt in her eyes cuts deep, but then it gives way to another emotion I think might be the early stirrings of love.
“I don’t like it, but getting closer to Martín is worth any risk. They’ll kill him just as easily and painfully as they’ll kill me.”
Before I send the message, I let Zephyr read it. Whatever she needs to believe me, to trust that I won’t let her down or compromise her safety, she’ll have.
Not more than twenty minutes later, Wren responds.“The first number is pinging off a cell tower between Roxbury and the South End. The second is either off or they’re blocking me somehow. Got an ultrasound scheduled for this afternoon, so I’m handing this off to Ripper. If he finds anything more definitive, he’ll let you know.”
“She’s pregnant?” Zephyr asks.
“Five months. Ryker—that’s her husband—is threatenin’ to bubble wrap their entire condo. He’s former Special Forces and the biggest arse on the planet. But accordin’ to Dax, he’s scared shitless over the idea of a baby.”
Zephyr cracks a weak, sad smile. “Oliver and Jessica wanted kids. I was looking forward to being an aunt.”
“You still could be,” I say. “In four more months. Though you’ll be competin’ with at least five other women. That kid is goin’ to want for nothin’.”
With a shake of her head, she locks her laptop, leaving the facial recognition program running. It’s been going for more than twelve hours now, and still no matches to DMV photos from the greater Boston area for the two pictures Zephyr has of Martín. But they’re a good seven years old, and the scanner is a dark web unknown.
Zephyr passes me my coat. “We need to go. If Oliver does get Martín’s address, we can’t be far behind.”
* * *
Zephyr
The PO Box is in one of the worst neighborhoods in Boston—according to Ronan. The area between Roxbury and the South End is known as Mass and Cass, a haven for drug dealers, addicts, and the homeless.
I bristle at the notion that those without a roof over their heads are somehow…evil…until Ronan reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We’ve a fair number of people livin’ on the streets in the city. The real problem in this neighborhood is roundin’ up the dealers and gettin’ help to those who need it. Second Sight hired a whole mess of Rent-a-Cops to accompany social workers down there this past September. We got a couple hundred people into shelters, treatment centers, or at least to better, safer encampments. It’s not enough, but we’ll do it again in the spring.”
“Some of the places we lived—before Papa disappeared—were horrible,” I admit. “But most were filled with good people in a bad way.” The prospect of running into Oliver has my nerves on overdrive, and I twist the tiger’s eye ring around and around on my thumb until Ronan notices.
“You’ve not worn that before.”
