Page 69

“The Hendersons are in Florida.” Ashford’s grip on the doorframe tightened. “They won’t be back until next week.”

“Then we were right to be concerned.” Ethan tilted his head slightly. “You’re City Councilman Ashford, aren’t you? I recognize you from the Garrison Theater’s board meetings. I used to work there.”

The admission didn’t help Ashford relax. If anything, he looked ready to bolt. “The theater. Yes. I’m on so many committees, it’s difficult to keep track at times. I wasn’t aware anyone had organized a neighborhood watch in this district.”

“Moving now,” Silas’s whisper came through their earpieces.

“It’s relatively new,” Ethan said smoothly. “Several residents expressed concern about property crime given how many families travel during the fall. We’re just trying to keep an eye on things.” He glanced past Ashford toward the study. “Is everything all right? We noticed your lights were on quite late, and isn’t that smoke I can smell?”

“I’ve been working from home.” Ashford moved to block the view. “Council business, you understand.”

“At two in the morning? That’s dedicated.” Ethan’s tone remained friendly, curious, the kind of boring small talk that wealthy neighbors expected from each other. “I thought you’d be at the gala the council is hosting this evening, but then I guess it finished early?”

“It did.” Ashford’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.” Ethan smiled. “But it’s Ethan Park. This is my partner, Rook.”

It was a struggle - his shadows were not amused - but Rook worked to keep his expression neutral, that kind of forgettable face people dismissed immediately. He wasn’t sure how successful he was as his shadows disagreed with the approach, wanting to explode outward and paint Ashford’s pristine doorstep with what was left of him when they’d finished.

Rook caught the scent of smoke again - burning paper and melting plastic. Not the sort of fuel a person would typically use in a fireplace. Standing taller than Ethan, he could see more scattered documents, a filing cabinet standing open.

“Basement entry clear,” Silas’s voice whispered. “Server room access in three minutes.”

Ashford’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and a range of expressions crossed his face in a matter of seconds - panic, then rage, then cold calculation.

“I need to take this,” Ashford said. “Thank you for checking on the neighborhood. I’ll keep an eye out.”

He moved to close the door, but Ethan shifted his weight forward slightly, still friendly but occupying the space in a way that would make slamming the door physically awkward.

“Of course,” Ethan said. “I understand you’re busy. Just one more thing. We’re organizing a meeting next week to discuss additional security measures. Given your position on the council, your input would be valuable. Would you be interested in attending?”

Ashford’s phone kept ringing, and he answered it instead of responding to Ethan.

“Yes?” His voice was clipped. Then he frowned as whoever was on the other end spoke. “What do you mean, detained? When did…” He listened for another moment, his face going pale, then looked directly at Ethan. “Who authorized…”

Understanding flooded Ashford’s features, and his eyes widened. His hand moved toward his jacket pocket, and Rook tensed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ashford’s body language changed. The shift was subtle - shoulders squaring, weight redistributing forward, hand moving with purpose - but Ethan’s earlier years meant he noted threat patterns the way other people recognized faces.

“Down!” Rook barked.

Ethan dropped. The tile was really hard on his knees, but he stayed low as Ashford’s hand emerged from his jacket with a compact nine-millimeter pistol. A pistol that never got the chance to be fired.

Rook’s shadows detonated outward like a bomb made of midnight, tearing through the doorway and wrapping around Ashford’s wrist with enough force to snap bone. The councilman screamed as the weapon clattered across the expensive hardwood. More shadows lifted him up and slammed him against the foyer wall. The plaster cracked in a spiderweb pattern, and a framed photograph of Ashford shaking hands with an official fell and shattered.

“You have no idea what you’ve done!” Ashford’s face twisted with rage and pain. “I have insurance. Documentation. Evidence of what you are. Everything gets released if I don’t check in every six hours. The world will know about the monsters hiding in Madison. The federal government will hunt you down like the abominations you are!”

Ethan got up, brushing dust from his jacket. “Your dead man’s switch was disabled four minutes ago. Your server is currently being downloaded by someone with considerably more technical expertise than whoever installed your firewall. Detective Sarah Rowsell is en route with federal agents based on an anonymous tip regarding human trafficking operations connected to city council business.”

“You’re lying.” But Ashford’s voice cracked. “There’s no way you could do that. You have to be lying.”

“Server access complete,” Silas’s voice came through their earpieces. “Downloading now. I have client lists, financial records going back twelve years, communication logs with Sebastian Pope, routing information for the Milwaukee and Green Bay facilities, and a very interesting folder labeled ‘Guardian Research’ that contains Pope’s suppression ward designs and testing notes on captive subjects.”

Ethan pulled out his phone and tapped into the cameras they were using to record the facility breaches. “Would you like to watch your organization collapse in real time? Because we’re about to extract victims from two of your facilities simultaneously.”

“Green light confirmed,” Thorn’s voice cut through. “Kenosha team moving in.”