Leon O’Reilly is a vain man. A cruel one. Vicious when crossed. But cruelty is not the same as attachment. He didn't keep Erin and Heath close because they were his children. He kept them because Alice was dead, and children make useful locks on dead women’s secrets. If he planned to send them away, he had already decided their presence mattered less than what they might cost him.
The twins were leverage, yes. But leverage only works if the other man cannot afford to lose what you hold.
“Leon may not come for them himself,” I say.
Omar’s jaw tightens. “He will care that someone took them, though.”
“He will care enough to rage. Care enough to send men. Care enough to punish the insult if he finds the hand behind it.” I return to my desk and rest one hand on the chair Maya left crooked. “But would he trade his life for them?”
“No.”
“No,” I agree. “He would not.”
That was always the weakness. The twins could pull Leon’s attention. They could anger him. They could force movement. But they could not guarantee proximity. Leon does not love them enough to make stupid choices for them.
Maya does. Omar follows the thought and dislikes it before I say it aloud.
“She gives us a better hook,” he guesses.
“She gives us several, actually.”
“She also gives him a federal agent if this goes wrong.”
“If this goes wrong, Leon will have more urgent problems than bragging rights.”
“Stefano.” There is a warning in his tone now. Concern. I dislike concern. It makes loyal men talk too much.
“She wants him alive,” he continues.
“I know.”
“You told her she could have him.”
“I told her a good many things, Omar.”
He steps farther into the room. “The Bureau will not let this disappear. If Maya survives and returns to them with proof you had her, proof you had the children, proof you used her to reach Leon?—”
“She will not return with proof unless I allow it.”
“She is not one of your men. You can’t manipulate her like one.”
“No. She is far more interesting, actually.”
His expression goes flat. “That, that right there, is exactly the problem. You're enjoying this.”
I smile.
Omar does not.
A pity. He has always had a limited sense of humor when the threat is inside the house.
“She has access we don’t,” I say. “To the investigation. To Raven West. To the holes in the case. To Alice O’Reilly before Leon buried her under his name.”
“We have files on all of them.”
“Our files tell us how Leon moves money. They tell us where he launders, who he pays, which ports he touches, and which shell companies breathe differently than they should. They tell us logistics. But they don’t tell us what grief and reflection can.”
Omar studies me. “Grief is not intelligence.”
