“The cameras?” I asked Will.
“Wiped. Remotely. Whoever did this had access to the security network or knew somebody who did. The system shows a twenty-two minute gap between the cameras going dark andthe first sign of fire. That’s a professional window. That ain’t a crackhead with a lighter.”
I stood there and watched my building burn. Thousands of barrels of bourbon that my grandparents’ recipes had perfected over decades. Product that had our family name on every label. Gone.
And then I saw him.
Movement to my left, behind the ambulance parked on the south side of the building. A motorcycle that was black, no plates that I could see was pulling away from the curb. The rider was small. Young, from the way he moved. Helmet on, visor down, face completely hidden. He was trying to leave quiet, keeping the engine low, easing out like he didn’t want to attract attention.
But I’m the wrong person to try and sneak past because I notice everything. It’s a gift and a curse and right now it was a gift.
He pulled on the throttle and as his right hand gripped the handlebar I saw it. There was a tattoo on the back of his hand that was visible between the glove and the jacket sleeve. It was of a snake that was coiled, detailed, wrapping from his wrist down to his knuckles.
I memorized it in two seconds. He had a snake tattoo on his right hand, a small build, and he was young from what I could tell. The motorcycle was black with no plates and his helmet had a dark visor that covered his whole face.
Every instinct in my body told me to move. To get in the Maybach and follow him. To run him off the road and drag him off that bike and find out who sent him and why. I could feel the impulse in my legs, in my hands, in the part of my brain that had been solving problems with violence since I was nineteen years old.
But there were six cop cars within fifty feet of me. A fire marshal who’d just taken my name. Two ambulances. A dozenfirefighters. And Justice, who was watching me watch the motorcycle and already shaking his head.
“Don’t,” he said, low enough that only I could hear.
The bike hit the end of the block, took a hard right, and disappeared.
I exhaled through my nose. Unclenched my jaw. Let him go. For now.
Justice pulled out his phone and stepped away. That was the thing about my brother. I never had to explain the urgency. He just moved.
I stood there for another hour while the firefighters worked. Answered more questions from Whelan’s team. Gave a brief statement to a patrol officer. Called our head of operations and told him to start rerouting shipments through the Bowie warehouse, which was smaller but functional. Called two of our biggest distributors personally to get ahead of the news and assure them that Banks Reserve would fulfill every contract on schedule. I didn’t know if that was true yet, but confidence was half the battle in business. You could figure out the logistics later as long as nobody panicked first.
By midnight the fire was mostly contained. The east section was a total loss, and the west was standing but gutted. The fire marshal’s team would be back at dawn to begin their investigation. Our insurance broker was already drafting the claim. And somewhere in this city, a kid on a motorcycle with a snake tattoo was probably reporting back to whoever paid him to burn down my family’s legacy.
Justice and I got back in the Maybach. The car smelled like smoke now. My suit smelled like smoke. My lungs felt heavy with it. I sat there for a minute with my hands on the wheel, engine idling, staring at the smoldering remains through the windshield.
“First the truck,” Justice said quietly. “Now the warehouse.”
“I know.”
“This is coordinated, Quest. Somebody’s testing us. Poking holes. Seeing how we respond.”
“I know.”
“What do you want to do?”
I thought about Dimonte on his knees this afternoon. I should’ve pressed him harder to find out who he coordinated the robbery with. That was the last mistake I would make.
“I want to find out who’s coming for us,” I said. “And I want to end it before it gets to the people I love.”
Justice nodded. “Yeah, we’ll get to it.”
I put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. In the rearview mirror, the warehouse was still glowing. Embers and smoke and twenty years of work turned to ash.
Whoever did this thought they could rattle me. Thought they could burn down a building and watch me scramble. Thought they could hit Banks Reserve and I’d be too busy putting out fires—literally—to hit back.
They thought wrong.
I was already thinking three moves ahead. I always was.
5
