Page 55 of Only the Hunter

I swipe and read the message from Quinn.

Quinn

Hey Gabe—I’ve been working with Daisy, and we’ve got an update on Evie’s case. Closed DOJ case metadata was accessed again—multiple times. Queries routed through US government-masked IPs, then bounced offshore. Resolution nodes point to Switzerland. This doesn’t look like curiosity. It looks like laundering attention.

I scan the message once. Then again.

“Someone else is checking your case,” I say.

Her fingers still. “Who?”

“Doesn’t matter yet. What matters is how.”

I turn the phone so she can see. “They’re using US government-masked IPs, then bouncing offshore. Switzerland.” I say it plainly, but the short version is someone with serious resources is hiding their tracks—using tools that aren’t available to the average person poking around online.

Evie scoops up a couple more fries while she reads.

“Quinn sent that,” I add. “She’s our tech lead. If she’s flagging it, it’s real.”

“I’m leaning toward someone making sure all loose ends are closed.”

“That’s why Switzerland matters.” She looks up, and I expand. “You don’t move a witness here for convenience. You move her here because money disappears quietly, jurisdictions overlap, and accountability blurs.”

“Who’s Daisy?”

“She works with Rhodes over at ARGUS.”

“That’s right. He mentioned her. So she has access to his surveillance tool.”

“Daisy and Quinn are working together. My point is—you’re not the only one following up on this case.”

“Maybe.” She chews the corner of her lip. A tell I first observed when she was a teen. “But I don’t think any of this is passive. Someone wants silence, and anyone following up on the case likely wants the same.”

I type a response to Quinn.

Me

Can you check any financial or shell-company overlap tied to Arturo Menendez?

Evie reads the message before I can lower the phone. Her gaze lifts to mine. “He’s known for insulation. Not violence.” She says it like she’s thinking out loud. “He doesn’t get his own hands dirty—layers of people between him and anything illegal, plausible deniability built into every transaction. You think he’s involved?”

“I don’t know much about the cartel leader, but your assessment tracks with what I know of modern-day cartel leaders who interface with legitimate businesses. Regardless, if it’s not him, it’s someone like him,” I say. “Connected. Untouchable. Close enough to legitimate that no one wants to look too hard.”

Her phone vibrates. Not her DOJ-issued phone—the personal one, smaller and worn, with a tortoise sticker on the case. She glances at the screen and her whole body shifts—the relaxed curve of her shoulders tensing, her expression sharpening into prosecutor mode.

“What is it?”

“A contact. He wants to talk. He’s downstairs.”

“You told him where you’re staying?”

“We were supposed to meet tomorrow. Something spooked him.” She’s already moving toward the bedroom. “I need to change.”

“I’m coming with you.”

She doesn’t argue and disappears into the bedroom.

I grab my jacket, check my phone—nothing new from Quinn—and position myself where I can see both the suite entrance and the bedroom door.