“That part I knew.”
I pulled out of the airport lane. Eamon waited for an extended briefing.
“It’s a layered threat pattern,” I said. “Single shot through the French doors on day one. High placement. Meant to send a message, not kill. It came with a minor-key arrangement of ‘Saints’ placed inside the house before the shot. Later, they replaced his baton and stopped his watch at the timestamp of the Jackson Square video. We have likely internal access, possibly more than one vector.”
Eamon nodded once. “And the characters involved?”
“Henri Fontenot is our strongest historical grievance, but Bridget Marchand has one too. There are other possibilities.”
“Mm.”
That was shorthand for “Continue.”
“Luca Moreau, Dominic’s personal assistant, is essential,” I said. “He sees patterns I don’t.”
Eamon looked out the window. “Does that conclude the official briefing?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He said nothing else for the rest of the drive while I shared more details, including the podium shift, the woman outside the café, and Celeste’s dinner visit.
When we reached the house, the gas lanterns were still burning. Luca opened the door before we reached it, which meant he’d been watching for us. He stepped back to let us in.
Eamon held out his hand. “I’ve heard good things.”
“Have you?” Luca glanced at me. I looked up at the ceiling fan.
Dominic was in the kitchen, finishing a plate of eggs and boudin. He looked at Eamon as if he had arrived for a board interview.
“Mr. Price,” Dominic said.
“Mr. St. Clair.”
Dominic gestured toward a chair. “Sit. Luca, bring the man an iced tea. Sweet or unsweet?”
“Unsweet.”
Dominic continued, “I could offer you Armagnac, but it’s early, and I assume you don’t indulge on duty.”
“I don’t.”
“Sensible,” Dominic said. “The Armagnac is for sentiment, not sobriety.”
Luca set a glass in front of Eamon. I watched Dominic watching him, and then Eamon did something I didn’t expect. He didn’t study the windows or the doors. He studied Dominic.
Luca remained standing at the sink with one hand on the counter. Dominic sat at the table with all the composure in the world and asked Eamon whether the sun ever shone in Seattle.
The conversation appeared social, but it wasn’t. They were each sizing up the latest seismic shifts in Dominic’s household.
After another few minutes, Dominic rose. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I trust you’ll continue being industrious while I continue being old.”
“You aren’t—“ Luca didn’t complete the thought.
Dominic ignored him and went upstairs.
Eamon waited until his footsteps faded. “He knows more about the threat than he’s told you,” he said quietly.
