Page 36 of No Lies No Promises

Sitting back down, her fingers fly over her keyboard. “All we have to do is find every high-end property they’ve renovated.”

We work until mid-afternoon, pausing when her phone chimes.

“What the…” Her body trembles as she turns the screen toward me.

Unknown: Back off. You’ve been warned.

The message disappears, replaced by a live video feed from the local senior center. Grams, wearing a purple turban, waves a small plastic figure through the candle smoke. Sitting beside her, Becks pinches her nose while trying not to laugh.

Window reflections blur the image, but not the red laser dot drifting from one woman’s chest to the other.

Fuck. “Sniper!”

“Jesus.” Lillian jabs a number. Once the ringtone stops, she shouts into the cell. “Rebecca! Get everyone down. There’s a shooter!”

Through the app’s distorted fisheye lens, seniors struggle to the floor. Those in wheelchairs roll out of view. As a bearded man in his thirties yanks on the red fire alarm, Becca closes the blinds, cutting off our view.

Seven cardiac-stopping minutes later, she returns to the phone. “What the hell is going on?”

“Tell everyone to stay put.” My volume rises over the horn, blaring in the background. “No one goes outside.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you. I’ll have to call you back.” When Rebecca hangs up, I call Dante to bring him up to speed.

As I’m about to finish, he cuts me off. “Tell them to wait in the lobby. Mason will pick them up. You two. My office. Now. Pack a bag.”

At the door, Lillian lets out a sharp breath. “Wait. What about Buddy?”

In a tight crouch, my little pal glares down from the top of the fridge as I pour his kibble and fill his water bowl.

“We’ll call a pet service. You stay here. I’ll get the car. Don’t come out until I say so.”

Soon, she sits in the passenger seat, glancing out the back window, biting her lower lip. “We must’ve hit a nerve.”

“Agreed.” Nodding, one eye glued to the rearview mirror, I zig-zag through Queens.

At the next stoplight, a text notification pings. “It’s Dante,” Lil says. “We’re to use the south entrance.”

I don’t let down my guard until we’re parked beneath the street in the private garage.

Upstairs, we wait in a massive, bulletproof-window conference room. In less than half an hour, Grams and Becks arrive. As the women embrace, we stand nearby, coffee mugs in hand, faces grim.

Once we’re all seated, the boss steeples his fingers beneath his lips. “We think it’s best if everyone stays here for a bit, pending neutralizing the threat.”

No one agrees or disagrees, but Grams has always had problems with authority.

In the silence, I hold my breath, praying she’ll listen to logic.

Smiling, Becca plucks a chocolate chip cookie from the plate. “Does this have something to do with Dad?”

Lillian follows suit, choosing oatmeal raisin. “At first, we thought he might be linked to this one company, but he’s not.”

“Money laundering?” Becks takes a slow, seductive bite, Mace in her sights.

She chews. He sweats.

Meanwhile, Lil breaks off a piece of hers, dunking it in her coffee like a donut.

I grin—quite the show.