“Marshall Dade can wait a few hours for his paperwork to go through.” His eyes lock with mine and I stay silent. “We should go.”
It was a flex, Rook admitting that he knew who I was meeting with, and I have to keep my nerves in check because this can only go one way.
“I really don’t have time today.”
Behind Rook, the driver circles the front and it’s none other than Sammy Pawson. His suit jacket opens to give me a not-so-subtle flash of the gun tucked into his waistband.
“What’s going on?”
“Lorenzo wants to talk.”
I glance back at the parking garage, weighing my options, and sigh. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
Pawson eyes my bag of food, and I shake my head and just hand it to him before I slide into the back seat, Rook behind me.
The ride is silent except for Pawson’s noisy enjoyment of my steak sandwich. No one talks. No music. Just the low hum of tires on pavement as Rook stares out the window like this is some kind of scenic drive.
If I’m headed to an early grave, I might as well dig for intel. “Is this about the auction?”
Rook doesn’t blink.
“If Mr. Ramirez is still looking for interested investors, I might have a few clients with money to spend.”
Nothing. I’ve got to hand it to Rook—this is the quietest he’s ever been. No conversational narcissism. Normally, someone like Rookwouldn’t bother me, but today? By the time we pull through a chain-link gate and up to a half-finished construction site, my nerves are fried.
Dust swirls through the afternoon sunlight, scaffolding clings to skeletal concrete walls, and a metal crane looms overhead like a guillotine waiting to drop. Rebar juts from unfinished flat work and pallets of lumber are lined up like a dangerous maze.
Rook gets out, sharp and composed. Sammy trails behind me, but some of the color has drained from his face, and that “I don’t need a weapon, I am one”swagger is noticeably gone. Either the plan is going to work or this is the part where I disappear quietly.
I walk with Rook toward a trailer where I notice a single security camera mounted. I have no expectation that it works or, if it does, that it’ll have any record of this visit.
Lorenzo Ramirez steps out of the jobsite trailer, every inch the man pulling the strings. His dark eyes scan me like I’m a spreadsheet with too many inconsistencies. He walks over and I reach out my hand to him. He shakes it, but his grip is tight.
“Glad you could meet me on such short notice.”
I flash a look at Rook like I had any choice in the matter. “I’m here for whatever you need, sir.”
“Good,” Ramirez says, his tone serious. He releases my hand and walks away. “Let’s talk.”
I follow with Rook falling into step behind me. We step deeper into the construction site—sunlight catching on exposed steel, the air thick with dust. There’s a sign reminding workers this is a hard hat area, but the way Ramirez strolls ahead says that he’s not concerned about OSHA fining him. Or safety.
“I’m afraid I don’t have my laptop with me, but if there’s anything you need me to have ready before the auction tomorrow, I can—”
We round a corner and my words dry up on my tongue when I see them.
Cybil’s eyes lock with mine. Barely a flicker of recognition. She’s standing stiffly beside Mr. Edmond and Sebastian. In front of them is a table where Ramirez’s laptop is open, the screen angled just enoughto catch the light—and my attention. Rook walks over to it and gives Ramirez a nod.
Ramirez sweeps his gaze across all four of us—slow, deliberate, like he’s choosing which fuse to light first.
Then he says it.
Calm. Cold. Deadly.
“One of you has been playing me. And it’s time to find out who.”
Chapter 39
