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That sends me scurrying down a labyrinth of rabbit holes that turn up nothing regarding the Skulls. Before I call Axel to see what he can offer, I decide to get a handle on the family tree, so whatever the Noires share makes more sense. Nothing points directly to the Noire family from what I can tell. Pruitt’s parents, Mark and Tilly Lancaster, have been married for thirty-five years. He has a deceased older brother. Mother’s maiden name is Welch. That freezes me because I did an in-depth ancestry on Welches yesterday. Couldn’t be the same ones.
I pull up that comprehensive inspection of the Jensen family tree, my spine tingling with anticipation. I’m onto something here. I can feel it. Once I set both family trees up on my side-by-side screens, it takes only seconds to see the connection.
Tilly Lancaster is the daughter of Sean and Glenda Welch. Sean has a sister, Maeve Welch, and guess who she birthed. Oliver Jensen, presidential candidate. That boils down to Pruitt’s mother and Oliver Jensen being first cousins. I can’t ascertain why it matters that these fuckers intersect, but this is too coincidental to ignore.
Oddly, I can find absolutely no relation to the Noires. Axel said Pruitt was a distant relative. Must be very distant.
After calling Wells in to see what I’ve uncovered, which is essentially nothing more than a stale breadcrumb, we decide to call Axel.
Wells sets his phone on my desk, the trilling ring reverberating in the room.
“Miss me already?” Axel chimes.
“Don’t go getting your dick hard,” Wells quips. “Liam is on with us. We need more info on the interaction with Pruitt.”
Axel balks. “No can do, brother. Certainly not over the phone. What’s your interest with it anyway?”
“Something was off with that motherfucker,” Wells hisses.
He wouldn’t characterize himself like Ivy as far as gut feelings, but enough years in our line of work, and sensing a reprobate is second nature. And with Pruitt, we all felt it.
“That’s fair, but again, what’s it to you?” Axel harps over the bells and pings of the casino floor.
I pull out my Zippo, snicking it open and closed. This could take a hot minute. The Noires hold everything close to the vest. Can’t fault them for it. Defending their house and giving little away are occupational hazards.
Wells yanks a fun-size bag of Sour Skittles out of his pocket, tearing it open as his jaw pulsates. “He took a keen interest in Ivy and Celeste. We’d like to rule out a security issue.”
Axel hums, which gradually builds to a chuckle. “Wells, I think you’re about to combust because your wife is two weeks out from having a baby. Take some breaths, man. He was here regarding a family matter, like I said. Nothing to do with your girls other than catching up.”
“Except there’s zero relation between you and Pruitt Lancaster,” I counter, letting the clink-clank of the lighter soothe my nerves. Snick. Flick. Flame. “I’ve researched extensively and turned up no common lineage.”
The line stays silent for a good minute following that little bomb—aside from the din of La Lune Noire activity. This is where the rule of silence wins—a time-tested method used by therapists, interrogators, and enforcers. The average person can’t stay quiet. It’s why most people fail to observe their right to remain silent. It’s fucking hard. There’s solace in the sound of their own familiar voice breaking through their wild thoughts. Slicing the guilt or whatever the hell they’re hiding.
So, if you let them squirm in the deafening quietude, they often hang themselves. Axel’s too smart for that, but he’s sweating this moment all the same.
“Sounds about right,” Axel grits out.
That admission to no common lineage unhinges Wells. “So, what the hell was the distant relative bullshit, Axel?”
“It’s complicated. I’m not discussing it any further right now. It’s my family’s matter. Not yours.” Axel’s agitation rises at the mention of his family, so I poke the bear.
“Specifically Jax and Rena, right?”
Again. Nothing.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Clink-clank. Clink-clank.
Snick. Flick. Flame.
Wells’s eyes meet mine with confidence as he inhales a handful of his candy. We’ve hit a nerve, but won’t likely know which one during this conversation. Soon, Axel will come to the conclusion that we can either rip into whatever mess they’ve found themselves in, concerning Jax and Rena, or he can bring us in. The Noires are extremely protective of their family, which we understand and respect. But it seems some aspect of this extends to our family too. So, one way or another, we’ll be involved. Like it or not.
“Give me a week. We’ll come to you.”
And there’s our deal.
“Great,” Wells says, much calmer. “We’ll expect you by Friday.”
