I pop one eye open, daring to glimpse a shred of hope. “Convince Dad to send someone else. There’s time.”
Tripp shakes his head, veering into the airfield parking lot. “He’ll never go for it. He trusts you more than anyone, and this is … there’s a lot riding on this, Zar.”
He sounds panicked, frustrated, and exasperated, all at once, even though I always show up to save his ass when he fumbles a job.
But I refuse to let him off the hook this time. “A lot riding for him. And for me.”
He lets that sink in, and the sight of his wheels turning is the equivalent of a Ferris wheel ride. Whimsy with butterflies and a sliver of peril. My heart pounds against my sternum.
I need this.
“Okay, let me think.” The car stops with a jolt, and he scrubs his hands over his face.
Tripp notoriously thinks slow, which is why he has me on speed dial, so I close my eyes again and wait until his movement rattles my seat.
“I have an idea. It will piss him off, but once you’re in, he won’t risk pulling you. It’s too important to him.”
I bolt upright, thrill rushing in my veins. “Where?”
He plops a beefy file into my lap, tapping the manila folder. “Louisiana.”
I’ll need to save this light reading for the plane ride, but I’m too impatient not to get some answers. “How long?”
“No idea. As long as it takes.” He arches a brow in warning not to complain, and, yeah, that’s fair. “There are layers upon layers for this one. I’m not even done with research and discovery. We still need pattern of life. You’ll have to do some of it while you’re there if we’re going to outrun Dad.”
Outrun Dad.
I adore my father. He’s what myths and fables are made of. Intuitive and superior. He has strength and prowess that scarcely seem human. He is the best, he trains the best, and he raised the best. I’m twenty-nine years old, and I still want him to be proud of me. It’s more than the pride of a father. It’s the pride of a warrior. Maybe I can nail this, and he’ll forgive me for stiffing him on the other job.
If he shoves aside his disappointment, he’ll see how many of his lessons pertain to this very situation.
Plans change. Adaptability is key.
Calm and calculated are the only emotions that apply.
Our mentality must always be mission first.
Perhaps adapting to a new assignment is what’s best for everyone.
“Well, it’s warm there and in this country, so I’m already leaning toward yes. How many marks are you anticipating?”
“None of that has been decided.” Tripp pauses. It’s laden, a caution sign that what he’s about to share is heavy. “It’s at La Lune Noire.”
“The establishment for the connected,” I answer on autopilot.
This is huge then, arguably bigger than my current orders. Tripp’s motivation for bringing me in against my father’s wishes is clearer too. This isn’t something he can fuck up.
Everyone in our line of work is familiar with La Lune Noire. They provide a haven for the corrupt—Mafias, secret societies, dirty politicians, assassins. For most, the Noires are the ally you can’t live without. We have our reasons for believing otherwise. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued by the prospect of an up-close view though. For the clientele, their services, and the Prohibition-inspired glitz and glamour. It’s legendary.
He scoffs a sardonic chuckle. “That’s the one. So, the risk is … steep.”
Steep and satisfying.
We’ve never spoken about it, but I don’t really need to garner the confirmation for what I know to be true. My father forbade any discussion regarding the Noires. Tripp and I understood why. We were young, but not that young.
Still, this seems like a good time to ensure clarity on the matter. “They’re the family that killed Mom?”
His jaw tenses. “That’s the one.”
