“I was a SEAL first and foremost,” he tells me. “Turns out, I can still swim a good fifty meters.”
He leaves me with that puzzle and the information he’s compiled and then he walks out the door. It takes me a few minutes to realize exactly what the fuck I’m looking at.
It’s Royce’s ugly mug.
One of the five.
The leader, and her tormentor. Her obsessive stalker that I never fucking knew she had. I would kill him myself if the fucker wasn’t already dead.
The official report states that he drowned when his car plunged into the Charles River. Witnesses reported that the car was driving recklessly and well over the speed limit when the tragedy occurred, and further tests indicated that he had been drinking.
There are also statements by some of his colleagues who report that he had been acting erratically as of late.
And I have to hand it to the fucker, Booker is solid.
A man of honor.
He did this. A fucking fed.
And that isn’t all.
He’s given me a treasure map.
Details about the private jet that Quinn uses to fly around the globe. Bank account names and numbers.
There’s an itinerary, and invitations to a party two nights from now.
Which doesn’t leave me a lot of time.
I pick up my phone and video call Alexei. His wife Talia answers and says he’s been expecting me.
“Well?” he asks when she gives him the phone.
“I need another favor.”
Thirty-Five
Scarlett
Sink or swim, baby.
Booker is back, keys jingling in his pocket.
“What now?” I grumble.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just checking in on you.”
“Everything’s peachy here. Just the way that prison should be.”
He nods and I gesture to the kitchen.
“Carl’s in there, probably eating another goddamn sandwich, if you’re looking for him.”
“The bureau says we can’t spare any more federal resources,” he tells me. “So you are officially free to go.”
“Giving me early release, huh? I knew there was overcrowding in prisons, but not safe houses too.”
“I think you’ll be more comfortable at Rory’s,” he says.
