“Bueno… Nice work, Yari.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and my gaze narrows.
“Did you want me or Kent to… get them for you?”
“Nice try,” I grunt, and he huffs into the phone.
“I’m sorry, I’m justdyingto meet the famous Angel,” he sort of squeals.
I chuckle, but force an immediate scowl and clear my throat. “That’s enough. Don’t make me cut off your cell service.”
“Lo siento! Sorry sorry,” he rushes. “That won’t be necessary, sir. Just let me know if you need anything else.”
“Yea, send Kent up here, please,” I command.
“Ten-four.”
Only ten minutes later, there’s a knock at my door, indicative of my right-hand man.
“Come in.”
Kent stalks inside, posting up in front of my desk.
I do love this guy. Such a pro.
Leaning back in my chair, I ask, “What do you have for me?”
“We have a few leads on Dascha, but still nothing concrete,” he tells me. “My guys at border control are confident—”
“Confidence hasn’t done jack shit for me up to this point,” I grunt. “What else?”
“Russo has some campaigning to do, so he’ll be busy for at least a week.”
I nod.
“That footage you were asking about is secure,” he adds firmly, and my eyes jump.
“Good…”
“Should anything…happenwith Russo, it’ll be sent out to the appropriate parties.”
My lips twitch, but I control it. “Perfect.” I cock a brow. “And The Carver?”
He makes a face I can read as severe annoyance, though it’s barely anything. “He’s a fucking phantom. Seriously, it’s baffling.”
A small puff of amusement breaks from my lips. “A truly dangerous person has no concern for their own life, but will stop at nothing to stay alive for someone else.”
These words swirl in my mind for a moment, while I imagine little Felix Darcey, out there in the forest…waiting.
“The kid is dedicated, I’ll give him that,” I sigh, shaking it off. “Find him. If not, then we lure him out.”
Kent’s head tilts in question.
“I have a plan that might draw him out of hiding. It’ll involve Johansson and Hassan, so make sure they have everything they’ll need to set up a makeshift East Wing in the tombs.”
He nods. “Speaking of, 62 and 102 seem to have moved again…” My gaze narrows. “They’re staying in the third-floor living room now.”
I scoff. “Yea, I assume 62 is feeling pretty glum after his meeting at the prison. More or less exactly what I expected…”
