Chapter Seven
Four months later
The venue tonight was a renovated limestone estate on the west side of Austin, Texas. All arched doorways and iron fixtures and outdoor terraces strung with lights that made everything look like a wedding. The crowd was three hundred deep—tech money, venture capital, a few oil families who’d diversified into philanthropy the way some people diversified into hobbies. A charity auction benefiting arts education.
Isaac adjusted the cuff of his jacket. Different city, different venue, same evening. He could have swapped this crowd for any of the last half-dozen events and nothing would have changed except the accent.
He checked in with his team.
“Zone Three, status on the north terrace.”
The reply came through his earpiece. “Quiet. A couple of smokers, no movement toward the restricted corridor.”
“Copy. Primary, how’s the package?”
“Southeast corner, second drink, talking to the host. Relaxed. No concerns.”
The package was David Endicott, CEO of a biotech startup that had gone public six months ago and made a lot of people very rich and a few people very angry. One of the angry ones had sent three emails to Endicott’s office describing, in creative detail, what he planned to do with a hunting knife. Endicott’s board had hired Zodiac Tactical, and Isaac had flown in five days ago to run the detail.
Five days was enough to get a read on the client. Endicott was cooperative. His wife was nervous. The emails were credible and escalating—each one more specific than the last, with references to Endicott’s home address, his gym, his travel schedule.
Whoever was sending them hadn’t made a move yet, but the pattern was trending in a direction that would keep Zodiac on the detail for the foreseeable future. Isaac’s job tonight was to make sure Endicott enjoyed his evening without a stalker deciding this was the night to stop writing and start showing up.
He moved through the main hall, scanning. Three operatives on the floor, two at entry points, one on close protection. Everybody where they should be.
“Zone One, you’ve got a gap forming at the west service entrance. The catering staff keeps propping that door. Get it closed and keep it closed.”
“Copy, closing it now.”
Isaac circled the perimeter of the room. The crowd was louder than Boston crowds. Less polished, more performative. New money that hadn’t learned to whisper yet. He nodded at guests who made eye contact, sidestepped a waiter carrying a tray of something architectural involving tuna.
“Zone Three, I’ve got a sight line issue on the south terrace. The floral arrangement by the cocktail tables is blocking the camera angle. Shift position ten feet east and confirm you still have coverage.”
“Moving.” A pause. “Full sight line restored.”
“Good. Hold there.”
He’d been in Austin about a week. Before that, assignments that blurred together. Ian kept him moving: events, intake assessments, the high-society security work that required someone who could wear a tuxedo without looking like he was in costume. Isaac was good at it. He’d always been good at it.
The restlessness had settled into something duller over the past few months. Less an itch and more a low hum, constant and ignorable, the background noise of a life that functioned perfectly well without ever surprising him.
For a brief stretch in Boston, something had cut through. Made the work feel sharp, made him feel awake. Two galas, a fire, a hotel room, and a woman who’d disappeared before dawn.
That stretch was over.
Now it was another event, another room, another night in a suit managing a situation that his team could probably handle without him.
“Primary, status check.”
“Package hasn’t moved. Third drink now. Wife joined him.”
Good. Isaac completed his circuit and found a position near the main bar with a sight line to the south terrace and the primary exit. He didn’t order a drink. He was working.
The room moved around him in its expensive, predictable rhythm. He let his gaze sweep the crowd, section by section, the way he always did. East wall, bar, dance floor, auction tables, south terrace entrance?—
He stopped and did a double take.
Fallon.
