The music cut out. "This is Greg. How can I help you today?"
I ran through the story again, more clipped this time. "I saw the transaction.It cleared on her bank app, and now you're telling me the coverage lapsed before the crash?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Greg said, a shade softer than the first guy. Perhaps, he was a better actor. "If you'd like, I can email you a copy of the notification schedule and the policy documents."
"Will it help to cover the damages?" I asked.
He paused. "I'm afraid not."
I wanted to scream. Instead, I said, "Thank you," and hung up.
I set the phone on the windowsill, stared at it for a second, then turned, crossed the living room, and dropped to a squat in front of the couch.
"Any luck?" Margaret asked, her voice almost normal.
I shook my head. "They're lying. I'll get it sorted."
She covered my hand with hers. Her palm was warm, dry, marred by tiny scars from years of gardening and home repairs. "I'm old," she said. "What can they do to me? I don't have much."
"Don't give up and don't say that you're old." I paused for a second and ran the details through my head again. Something was off. I felt it. "I'll look into this some more, Mom," I said. "There has been some sort of mistake."
I hoped she believed me. I hoped she'd hold on for a little while longer while I dug into this deeper.
32 seven
The roof was still damp from a late afternoon rain, and the chill crept up through the concrete until it settled in the bones of my ankles. My left foot was asleep, but I didn't move it. Didn't dare break the silhouette I'd assumed in the shadow between two battered HVAC units. This was the perfect line of sight across the alley to the glass-walled penthouse that belonged to the last target.
From here, I could watch the target at work, at rest, at war with himself, if he was the type. I dialed the monocular scope until the figure pacing the living room came into focus—Caius Valmont himself, restless as always, shirt sleeves rolled up, glass of something neat in his left hand. His phone was glued to his ear, mouth tight as a fist.
Viper's voice was in my left ear, low and needling. "How's our target today, boss?"
"He's alone."
A little stutter of keyboard clacks on Viper's end. "Probably getting the silent treatment again."
"Were you able to confirm if the wife knows about his late-night hobbies?"
"Not yet. You're hoping she doesn't?"
"That would be extra insurance."
He was silent for a few minutes while I continued to watch the target. Asshole was careful not to leave any traces of his indiscretions. He was hard to crack. Hard to get on the hook. And proactive. And thatriled me up, which was a brand-new feeling. I didn't like it, but I'd promised Kimmy to take care of Valmont.
Fuck.
I caught myself on the thought that somehow I'd started using their names. These people weren't faceless jobs anymore. They were real, and that frustrated me even more.
Besides, this was careless and dangerous. So far, I'd been doing this in my head, but if it ever spilled into my communication with Viper or anyone else and someone smart enough would intercept it, the Bureau would crumble like a house of cards.
Get your shit together, Seven.
The redhead was my only hope to get to the third target quick, but I needed to approach her elsewhere. The apartment complex had been compromised.
Viper cleared his throat. "You there, boss?"
"Yes."
"I did more digging on those motherfuckers that are on your ass."
