“I’ve seen your kind before.”
I shouldn’t be intrigued. I may have given him a slice of my history, but he owes me nothing in return. Certainly not his childhood story that clearly didn’t involve a cute puppy or surprise trip to Disney.
I can relate.
Snuffing my curiosity, I get to the point. “Then you understand the importance of my mission. Whoever this saboteur is that Vlad had been working with, they must be stopped before innocents are caught in this war.”
Brontë inclines his head. “How can I help?”
The ultimate question I’ve been mulling over for weeks. I straighten, folding my legs beneath me and linking my fingers in my lap.
“As a coroner, you have unlimited access to specific databases I don’t. I need you to find out what you can about any casualties within the city, including those brought on my own hand.”
“So we don’t overlook any of your victims who could’ve been connected to this saboteur.”
“Exactly. I don’t care what the cases were closed as. Even if it’s not murder, you and I both know most deaths are covered up by lies and red tape. From this point on, you’re also going to be monitoring future deaths for the same information.”
He nods, catching on quickly. “Find the roots, cut out the cancer.”
“Permanently.”
“What about the remaining Volkovs? How do you plan to assess if they’ve jumped ship like your Brutus lying in my trunk?”
I blow out a long breath, my shoulders falling. “Nik and Kai are my own demons to drown.”
For just a moment, I let myself glimpse that faraway dream of my future as queen of Salem’s underworld. In it, I wouldn’t need to worryabout the Volkovs turning their backs on me. Because I wouldn’t employ people like them to begin with.
I blink the vision away before any traitorous tears can rise to the surface.
Brontë searches my eyes, though what he’s looking for, I don’t know. I’m still shivering. My throat and face have their own separate pulses of raw, aching pain. I’m craving a bath, but I can barely keep my eyelids from drooping. I’m edging dangerously on crabby the longer he sits there and stares at me.
My teeth graze a split in my bottom lip, and I taste blood. “This is the part where you tell me if you’re in or out.”
“No. This is the part where I tell you what I expect in return for accepting this deal after saving your life and owing you nothing.”
Cleverandbeautiful, a dangerous cocktail. Sexy as hell, too. “Name your price. I’ll wire half the funds now, half when we’re done.”
“I don’t want your money, Poppy. I want your hacker.”
“Which one? I have dozens…for now.”
“Not a Morgenstern hacker.” Brontë taps a tattooed knuckle against my desktop screensaver displaying a photo of me and Emi at last year’s Comic Con. “Your freelancing friend.”
My frown furrows years into my skin. “What do you need her to do?”
He unlocks his phone and flashes a photo of a familiar tall blond. She’s a bombshell with chocolate eyes and serpentine curves, absorbing the all-consuming embrace of his twin brother.
“I need her to find Margot. Dantë and I will take care of the rest ourselves.”
Emi’s help is a small price to pay, yet it’s the most he could’ve ever asked of me. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid, isn’t it? Pulling Emi deeper into the abyss? Hacking on her own terms is one thing;but this, searching for someone who may not want to be found, could lead her down a rabbit hole with no escape.
I shake my head. “Emi isn’t on the table.”
“Then find yourself a new coroner willing to play criminal.”
“I could force you to help me. I found your pretty skeletons, remember?”
“Indeed, you did. On camera, might I add. Let’s not stop there, though, because you spent the past hour admitting to me, a public official, that you’re a crime lord’s daughter with an entire necropolis in your own closet. Who will a jury believe, hm? The criminal or the coroner who’s been cleaning up her messes for the last decade?”
