Page 13 of Antonio Miles

“Cleaner?” Antonio’s voice was soft. “What does that mean?”

“He didn’t want the girls looking ‘used.’ Said it hurt resale.” The memory hit me so hard I broke out in a sweat. I hugged myself tightly, trying to catch my breath. “I didn’t know what he meant then, but I found out later.”

Antonio didn’t move, but the way his hands curled on the table told me everything. “Do you need a break?”

I shook my head and returned to the table to sit. Then I plowed on. Every line in the file felt worse than the last. Denton had enough money to make people disappear. There were receipts for hundreds of thousands spent on “charity.” Then a line item for “consulting,” paid out to a firm in Miami that Knight had already flagged as a cover for a private security and investigative company.

“You see this?” Antonio pointed to the payment record. “This is the firm that did the last surveillance run on Haven. They knew the layout, knew where the cameras were. They paid top dollar to get the information they needed to hit Haven.”

I wanted to vomit. Instead, I kept going deeper into the file. Knight had a whole section labeled “Narrative Management.” I opened it, expecting more payments. Instead, I got a list of media contacts, local reporters, PR agencies, and something called Lattice Partners.

Antonio leaned in. “That’s a crisis management firm. Denton owns it, through two layers of shell companies.”

It hit me what that meant. “He writes the story before the news happens.”

“Exactly. Knight found three separate drafts for the Haven attack. They were going to call it a drug raid gone wrong and blame the women while painting Kiss of Death as armed thugs.”

I looked at the booklet again. “So even if we died, it would have been our fault.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he watched me. I forced myself to keep reading. The next few files were technical, too dense for me to follow. Then there was a folder of emails. I opened the most recent. It was from Denton to someone called “Crandall.” The tone was businesslike, but final. “Complete the job, then lose the asset.” The date was three days ago.

I read it three times. “He wants me dead,” I said.

Antonio didn’t argue. “He wants any loose ends gone. The only reason you’re still here is because you fought, and because the men in Kiss of Death aren’t exactly what they seem.”

I looked back at the photo of Denton at Éclipse and the biggest wave of hate and disgust washed through me. It felt like an oily slime coating my skin from the inside out.

A crash from the hallway made me jump. The door banged open, and Darby walked in like she owned the place. “Did you find it?” she asked. She wore ripped jeans and a black thermal, with her braid over one shoulder. She went right to the minifridge, pulled out a can of something, and popped the tab.

“We found a name,” I said. “Dominic Denton.”

Darby’s eyes went sharp. “That fucker.” She dropped into a chair and leaned back, putting her booted feet on the table, even though it made Antonio twitch.

“You know him?” I asked.

She nodded. “He’s been in the club scene forever. He runs parties, buys out whole clubs for ‘events.’ Always brings his own security. I kind of figured he was sketchy, but not this level of evil.”

Antonio studied Darby. “You ever work for him?”

She snorted. “He doesn’t hire people like me. He finds compliant, timid people.” She narrowed her gaze at me. “Which is surprising because you don’t seem like the blindly compliant sort of person.” She pointed at the file. “I recognized another name, too. Rourke. Cade Rourke.”

The file there listed him as a party broker. He ran a fleet of black SUVs for VIPs. His last payment had been logged two days ago.

“Cade’s not as slick as Denton,” Darby said. “He’s a heavy drinker and frequents several bars in the local area. More importantly, he talks. If you want to get at Denton, Cade’s the way in.”

Antonio absorbed that, slow and deliberate. “Is he reliable?”

Darby shrugged. “Motivated’s better than reliable. He’s greedy, and he hates Denton. He’ll talk if you squeeze him right.”

Antonio picked up his own phone and tapped a few times. Then he looked at the man standing in the doorway. “Find Rourke. You know where to take him. Keep Kass informed.” The man nodded and vanished.

Darby whistled. “Someone’s not fucking around.”

Antonio ignored her, turning back to me. “You did good, Tessa. Most people would have quit halfway down that file.”

“I don’t have the luxury,” I said. “Not if I want to live.”

“Is this helping clear some of the haze around your memory?” he asked. He looked closely at me and waited for an answer.