Dallas, Texas
Saturday night
The Bureau drilled it into us from day one—always have a way out. Always know your exits, your alibis, your cover stories. Have contingencies stacked like poker chips in case the house burns down.
But no one ever talks about the moment before it all implodes—the half second when you realize it’s already too late.
“That broker Ramirez asked you about—Samuel Baird?” Ruby’s voice comes through my comms, low but sharp. “He’s bad news. Really bad.”
Around me firefighters move in controlled chaos, barking orders, their gear clanking as they move in and out of the restaurant to put out the kitchen fire I started. Condo residents linger in the parking lot, griping about the disruption to their evening, while others hold up their phones, recording.
I slow my pace through the parking lot, my jaw tightening. “Definebad.”
“Oh, you know, just your everyday black-market facilitator, mostly arms and high-tech material sales with a stellar client list ranging from terrorist organizations to enemy states. The kind of guy who doesn’t do business unless it comes with a body count.”
I stop midstep, my blood running cold—a suffocating contrast to the stifling Texas heat clinging to my skin despite the late hour. My mind races, recalibrating. “Why would someone like that be interested in Ramirez’s deal?”
Ruby snorts. “Maybe Ramirez is hoping for Businessman of the Year in the ‘Most Likely to Start an International Incident’ category.”
Ruby’s dry wit lands like a gut punch. If Ramirez wants to open the deal to someone like Baird, then the stakes just skyrocketed. Up until now, my focus wasn’t on the deal Ramirez was putting together with Earl Edmond. Shadow Broker’s mission focused on the financials of the deal—tracking the transactions, gaining access to his accounts, and gathering enough RICO evidence to lock up Ramirez.
But this? If Ramirez wants to work with Baird, then whatever he’s auctioning off isn’t just valuable—it poses a possible direct threat to national security.
And that would guarantee a life sentence.
“I need to talk to Katherine,” I say. “If Baird’s involved, we need to reassess.”
Crossing through the parking lot, I get to the street and begin walking down the block to where the surveillance van is parked. Traffic is slow as drivers rubberneck the scene, their headlights fighting with the red lights still flashing from the fire trucks. I loosen my tie and lengthen my stride until I turn the corner and the van comes into view.
“You’re sure that’s the only thing you need to reassess?”
Something in her tone puts me on edge. I don’t think I need to ask what she means, but I do anyway. “Meaning?”
“Yourfriend.”
My body goes rigid, but I’m unsure if it’s because I feel called out or because I immediately want to defend Cybil as more than just my friend—which is probably the last thing I need to be admitting to anyone, including myself, considering I set a small kitchen fire to protect her.
I get to the van, step inside, and shut the door behind me, cutting off the noise from the street. The dim glow of the monitors greets me, the only light in the cramped space. Ruby puts down her cell phone andswivels in her chair to face me, her expression telling me she’s waiting for an answer.
I rake a hand through my hair and collapse on the bench seat at the back of the van. “You don’t just decide to spy on a crime boss like Ramirez, Ruby.”
“That’s my point,” she says. “You think she’s just some innocent girl in over her head?”
Innocence is not what I saw in Cybil’s eyes when I caught her in the hallway, but am I ready to admit she’s tangled up in a mess that now might have international terror implications? No.
“I don’t think—”
“Hold that thought.” Ruby swivels to face the screens. She looks at her phone again and then sets it down to begin typing on the keyboard. “I was running facial recognition on the guests at the cocktail party tonight with anyone who attended the museum gala fundraiser a few weeks ago. Ramirez thinks someone is going behind his back to get access to his deal, and since you had a little run-in with someone trying to break into the museum library, I thought maybe they might be here too.”
I sit forward. “That’s smart. Anyone attend both events?”
“Yes.” Ruby continues typing and shifts so I can see the monitor. It’s divided into a grid with faces on it. “The images on the right are from the museum. Left is from tonight.”
I stand to look over her shoulder. My gaze immediately goes to Cybil, and the shock of seeing her that night rushes through me all over again.What are you doing, Cybil?
“Aside from the usual suspects like Ramirez, his attorney Rook, Earl and Sebastian Edmond, and Cybil Langford, you’ve got a handful of crossovers.” She taps different faces on the screen. “Elena Cross, wealthy philanthropist and real estate investor. Adrian Whitmore, media mogul in music and television. Quentin Hayes, former tech entrepreneur turned financier. All shady.”
I study each one, trying to imagine them as the figure in black trying to break into the library. Adrian Whitmore has the kind of broad shouldersI’d recognize even in the shadows. He’s not my guy. Which leaves Elena and Quentin. “It could be either of them.”
