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All manly stoicism and strength is forgotten as Maddox begins to cry out and thrash against his bindings. I let him work out his last fight, tiring himself. We all deserve a good fight against fate in the end.
When he’s panting and drenched with sweat, panic ebbing from his body, I place my hand against his cheek. “Quite frankly, Ryland, I’m tired of cleaning up after your messes. I need a more disciplined disciple.”
I drive the blade into his stomach.
He gags and sputters, vomit erupts and dribbles down his chin. His eyes latch on to mine through the blur of fear, and I meet that spark—that divine knowledge that can only be glimpsed in someone’s last moments.
His lips move, his voice struggling to break through the gurgling death rattle. I move closer to hear his whispered words. “I took a note from Larkin’s book.” He coughs. “I implemented a failsafe in the event of my death.”
Anger grips my senses, and I dig the blade deeper, twisting up and slicing into his sternum. “What did you do?”
His laugh gives way to another coughing fit, and I wrench the blade free. His wail vibrates the room. I feel it in my bones. I grip his chin, digging my fingers into the caves of his cheeks.
“What did you do?” I ask, hating to repeat myself.
Gaze glassing over, he refuses to talk.
I snatch pliers from the tray and push into his mouth. I pull his tongue out, my blade held over his most favored body part, the slimy lawyer. “You’re already dead. But I can make your final moments last a long, long time.”
He groans and shakes his head. I release his tongue. “If I don’t check into a program on my computer every day,” he says, breathing hard. “Then an email is sent. Everything I know will be delivered to…”
Tension mounting, I roll my head side to side and crack my neck. “To whom?”
His laugh is laced with a hack. “Fuck you.”
A smile twists my lips. I cram the pliers into his mouth again, and this time when I raise the blade, I let it drop. The blade slices through his meaty flesh like butter. He chokes on his own blood, and I let him taste his death before I run the blade across his neck.
His head hangs. His body sags.
I hand off the blade to Micah, who cleans the blood away. Then I turn to him. “You did search his office while there? Gathered his files?”
He nods. “Everything is in place, and I found nothing incriminating.”
I stare at Maddox’s limp body. The lawyer wasn’t the wisest of my investments, but still, I’ve underestimated people before.
“The search of Lark and Gannet is already underway,” I say, wiping my hands off. “I’ll have his computer searched. If there’s such a program, I’ll find it. Right now, I want all of Maddox’s files scoured.” This could be a bluff—a bluff meant to rattle me and trip me up. I smile; the sadistic shit may get a last laugh, after all.
Impressive. I wish the lawyer would’ve shown this kind of initiative beforehand.
But I still only have one mission in mind. One clear directive.
One. We only get one in the end.
Best to make it count.
5
Outlier
Quinn
Rebuilding a case is never easy. Rebuilding a case on the sly…damn near impossible.
When ferreting out a fresh lead, sometimes you have to start in the middle in order to establish the beginning. That always comes across confusing to the rookies, and maybe it’s because I’m not explaining it right. These days, I don’t exactly have the patience to teach new detectives twenty years’ worth of experience, the skills I’ve developed over that time.
But that’s exactly what I’m doing as I sweep Lark and Gannet. Hitting the middle in search of a start. Looking for the thread that will lead me to the first domino. Or some shit like that. Mixing metaphors is probably why none of the rooks understand what the fuck I’m talking about.
I send them off with one of the veteran detectives as I head toward Chase Larkin’s office. My starting point.
