“Ferro’s map had red pins roughly where each of the murders happened. It also had some yellow pins. What does yellow stand for?”
He had to be careful about giving away anything civilian Crescents shouldn’t know. “Could be a number of things, including possible targets. Years ago, we worked a serial killer case, a Deuce who was targeting flim-flam psychics. We mapped out the victims with red pins and every Mundane psychic in Miami who might be a potential victim with a yellow pin. Then we looked for a pattern.”
She stared at the map, chewing the tip of her finger. “If that’s what your commander is doing, then he is on the case. Which should make me feel better.” She turned to him. “But it doesn’t. Granted, I’m not a commander of the Guard, but if I had someone in my office who could offer me more information—inside information—I wouldn’t dismiss her. Or suggest, of all stupid things, that it’s the solar storm disruptions. I’d listen.”
Yeah, that’s what bugged him too. Not to mention the inexplicable command to take said source of more information out of the picture. “Agreed. But I’ve learned over the years that things aren’t always what they seem. You have to trust the establishment.”
Damn, that sounded so rote. Probably because it was drilled into them throughout training.
“He inspired exactly zero trust for me.” She turned back to the map. “Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see his map long enough to imprint where the yellow pins were.”
“Imprint?”
“Photographic memory.” She tapped the upper right territory. “I think there was one in August land. Which makes sense, if he guesses that the Spearses would suspect the Augusts in Bobby’s death. But here’s the other strange thing. Okay, maybe there’s trouble between the clans. But look how many clans are involved. Trouble between two or three clans, maybe, but not all of them at once.”
She narrowed her eyes, studying the map. “I think there was a yellow pin here, in Slade territory. Why would Ferro consider them a potential target? Though I think all the clans have had beefs with one another at one time or another, there’s no reason for him to think the Slades will be targeted by any of the families already involved.” She turned to Kade. “Unless he knows something.”
Ferro knew something all right. “You’re speculating that someone is purposely stirring up the clans. Inciting a war. Let’s look at possible motives.”
Kade saw something flicker in her eyes. Hope? Relief that someone was taking her seriously? The more she told him, the more he was taking it seriously. The details didn’t add up. His gut didn’t like the tidiness of “population control” and “Fringer” lawlessness. More importantly, he didn’t see how assassinating this woman would prevent additional murders.
It seemed to take some effort for her to pull her gaze from his and turn back to the map. “The victims are being Breathed,” she said. “It could be to gain power, plain and simple. But why target Fringe clans rather than the more anonymous Miami Crescent population? That would be stupid. And despite popular opinion, we’re not stupid. If it were one of the clans here, getting rid of the competition business-wise could be a motive. Or maybe it’s a need for conflict. Some Fringers crave that. They grew up during a time of conflict, and some of them miss it—my brothers included. But they’d never incite war. They’re all too aware of how many innocent people die in the crossfire. Children,” she added with shadows in her eyes. She turned to him. “Do I have a case?”
“Definitely. I’m going back to find out what’s going on.”
“I don’t want you to think that what happened outside was some kind of persuasion technique for your help.” She cleared her throat. “Just in case you wondered.”
“You didn’t need to persuade me,” he said, letting her know with his steady gaze that he meant that both ways. “But it was very unprofessional of me to, uh, indulge in that kind of behavior. Which I have never done before. Just in case you wondered.”
Her mouth started to curve into a smile, but she stopped it. “Good to know. And we’re clear that it cannot happen again.”
“Perfectly.” Hell, this was complicated enough without his raging libido. He turned and headed down her hallway, a plan formulating in his mind that would salvage his career and keep Violet alive. Kade would convince Ferro that this woman had nothing to do with the murders.
“Vee!” a man’s voice called from outside. “We’re coming in.”
Hands shoved Kade from behind into the room on the right. She closed the door on him just as the front door opened.
“What’s up, brothers?” Violet asked, letting Kade know who was there.
If they knew he was in there, they’d go after him. Not that Kade could blame them. There were guys he would want to kill if he caught them in his sister’s house. He rubbed his fingers together. He might have one more taser in him, but not two.
“That’s what we came here to ask,” one of the men said.
“You said you’d give me two days.”
“I said one day,” the same man said. “You said two days, and I didn’t disagree. But knowing that son of a bitch who killed Arlo is out there burns my ass.”
“Mine too, but we don’t know for sure who killed him. That’s what I’m trying to find out. Someone’s trying to incite the clan wars again. Come here.”
Kade heard their footsteps going down the hall to the office. He pictured the layout of the house and hallway. If he slipped out, there was a chance he’d get caught. He peered out the window. A truck sat outside, someone inside it. Okay, he’d wait it out.
He looked around her bedroom, more feminine than the rest of the house. It reminded him of a margarita, crisp with light yellow walls and dark wood beam ceilings. Yeah, a margarita sounded real good right about now. While on his boat. Far away. With Violet in a bikini stretched out on the deck.
He took in the green spread adorning her bed, covered with an assortment of yellow pillows. Ah, this wasn’t such a bad place to be. Other than the murderous Dragons down the hall. Chiding himself for being nosy—no, he was investigating—he continued to peruse her room.
She had an assortment of framed pictures on her long dresser, mostly her family. He picked up one of Violet with her parents. He knew her father had been killed, and it hit him that both their fathers had died under mysterious circumstances. Hers had been on Garza property, though he didn’t appear to be poaching or doing anything wrong. Fringe-style, he’d been gunned down by a paranoid Garza. That spurred the Castanegas to go on a rampage, wiping out what was left of the clan.
He opened her drawers, finding one filled with panties made of strings and bras of various colors. He felt beneath the lace and silk but found no incriminating evidence. He closed it, trying not to imagine her wearing them. On his boat. Or not wearing them. On his boat. He already knew what her body looked like, felt like. How her eyes flashed when she came apart. Shit.
