“Marsden said there’s overlap,” I say easily. “You spotted Volkov last night?”
“Yeah,” Jax says, a bit of reluctance in his shoulders, “he looked familiar.” The lie rolls off his tongue like honey. I know exactly who helped him track Junior and it’s a rush. “I had to pull in Sinclair from Redline. Needed her tracker tech. It worked. Pinged back to the Volkov estate.”
I nod and look impressed, like this is news I’m still digesting.
“There’s more.” He turns to Luna. “We picked up a conversation off a West Coast bug. This DeShawn Crown party next week—Sophie’s name came up, which we knew—but they alsomentioned a Michael, and Volkov’s alias is ‘Michael Grant.’ Sounded like they’re arrivingtogether.”
Shit, that’s actually fucking wild.
“Any thoughts on how Volkov has been coming and going all these years undetected?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Not, yet. But now that we have an alias, I’m going to lean on Steele here to do her magic.”
“Well, she’s the one for the job, that’s for sure. The rest of my team and I will support your investigation however we can.”
Jax nods, then walks off, already dialing someone.
Luna is fast on his heels. Ready to use her skills to finally find Sophie—a culmination of meticulous planning and execution. She and her sisters planned for her FBI access to lead her to this one day. Three masterminds who planned so far in advance, no one would ever see them coming.
Not for their own glory. Not only for revenge, either.
No. They’ve worked in the shadows for over a decade because no one was doing a damned thing to stop these predators in power. And they knew no one ever would.
And somewhere between grief and justice, they have ensured that the sins of these pedophiles are collected in full.
TWENTY-NINE
profess
Enzo
Friday Evening, Day 37
Ispent the entire day itching to get back to Pippa. Meetings stretched longer than they needed, fires popped up out of nowhere that only I could put out. Each hour, another small irritation surfaced—another reminder I wasn’t where I wanted to be.
As I enter Pippa’s apartment, I breathe deeply. It smells like tea and clean laundry and something baked. Vanilla, maybe?
Comfort, distilled.
She is curled up on the couch in leggings and an oversized sweater, cozy socks, hair loose, cascading down her back. No armor. She’s never looked so at ease.
Beautiful.Bella.
She gave Hudson and me the code to the building and a key each this morning before we left. It feels like coming home. She looks up from the couch, unfazed, a smile on her face.
I’m unable to wait another minute to have her in my arms.After texting her entirely too many times today, I wasn’t sure if she would be annoyed when I arrived, but she rises from the couch and embraces me as enthusiastically as I embrace her.
“You look great,bella.”
“Ifeelgreat,” she whispers.
I pull back and look down at her face. I take her face in my hands, rub my thumb across her cheek, staring into her eyes. She looks rested and content. She reaches up and gives me a soft kiss.
“I made cookies.”
“What kind?”
“Italian lemon cookies,” she says with a mischievous grin.
