"Bale Security?"
"They're more serious than I thought."
"How serious?"
"High-end. Most ex-mil, some ex-Agency. They don't play for trophies, they play for keeps. You got lucky with the lobby slugger."
"Didn't feel like luck," I said. My abdomen stung as I shifted my weight. The healing cut under my ribs tightened. The compound doc praised my stapler job when I'd returned from Kimmy's. He'd given me a week's worth of antibiotics and said I could have been a surgeon in another life.
"You get that checked regularly?" Viper asked as if he'd just read my mind.
"Doc looked at it. Said it was fine."
"Fuck, boss, you know how many weird bugs you can get from a dirty knife?"
"Stop mothering me."
He let it go. "Anyway, I traced Bale's contract work. Your friend Valmont has been their biggest client the last three years. They do more for him than they do for anyone else."
"Piece of shit is cleaning up after himself to prepare for his political stage."
"Ditto."
"Be careful, Seven."
"Can you forward me all the info on Bale Security?"
"Already sending."
"Thanks. Talk later."
I disconnected and watched the target pace, asking myself why I'd just thanked Viper. He was doing his job. We didn't really thank each other. Ever.
The city bled out below, all glass and smears of neon, the skyline pulsing like an arrhythmic heartbeat. In the penthouse, Valmont took a seat at the table, poured more from the decanter, and continued with his call.
The burner phone in my pocket vibrated. Not the regular Bureau line. The spare that connected me to the one I'd given Kimmy.
I thumbed it open and answered without thinking. "Hey."
The word just hung there. Not the standard question but a human greeting. Like we were buddies or something.
"Seven?" Her voice sounded ragged at the edges. "Can you talk?"
I kept the scope trained on Valmont's head, but my pulse shifted, an extra spike for every syllable she spoke. "Yes."
She exhaled, shaky. "I need to ask for a favor…" Pause. "I'll pay if it's necessary."
I took a moment to process. Then realized I didn't really care about the money. "What is it?" I asked.
"It's my mom. She's in a bind."
"I'm listening."
"She was in a car accident," Kimmy explained, the words coming fast.
"Is she okay?"
"It was minor. She has a scratch is all. Nobody else was hurt. But the insurance is refusing to pay. They say the policy lapsed even though she never missed a payment. The police treated her like a criminal. Breathalyzed her twice, made her sign something she couldn't read without her glasses. Refused to let me take her to see a doctor. They didn't even call an ambulance at the scene." Another pause. "She says the other driver hit the brakes on purpose. Like it was staged. She didn't even have time to react. And now… now the police are saying she was intoxicated, which is impossible."
