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I trail the others, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Caleb lags, eying me warily. “Gotta say, Gabe, I’m not used to being the rational one here. We’re gonna get out of this but you’ve gotta start using your head.”
“If I was up here and not babysitting your ass downstairs to keep you from gambling our lives away, Bane wouldn’t have gotten his hands on her.”
“We both know that’s not true.” He scowls. “And stop acting cagey, like you got something to hide. Get your shit together before you give this agent a reason to haul us in.”
The chill of the air conditioning engulfs my body as we step inside and head for the penthouse entrance.
“You.” Caleb points to Michelle. “Sip your drink and keep your mouth shut. If you tip this agent off in any way, your friend’s death is on your head, you got that?”
Michelle sucks back a gulp of her martini in answer.
The elevator dings and I brace myself for the performance of a lifetime.
A woman with tawny skin and black curls steps out of the elevator with her chin raised a notch too high. Her dark brown eyes flitter over the penthouse, doing a cursory search. They stall on Michelle, sitting on the couch next to a pale Moe, and her chest sinks with a barely noticeable sigh. Of relief, likely. Caleb was right. It’s the only sign of vulnerability in that shield of confidence.
“Gabriel and Caleb Easton,” she declares. “I’ve heard so many things. How nice to meet you both.” At least she doesn’t insult our intelligence by coupling that lie with a smile. She takes another step in.
“I’m a little rusty with protocol, but isn’t this the part where you introduce yourself and hand us a warrant?” Caleb moves in to block her, his arms folded across his chest.
“Special Agent Kennedy Lewis. This is Special Agent Brock Williams.” She waves her hand at the tall, lanky suit behind her. “And, yes, if we were here to search the premises. Is there a reason for us to search your rooms?” Her easy tone matches his.
“Nah. We’re just a couple of guys enjoying what Vegas has to offer.” His eyes rake over her body. She has the kind of curves that my brother tends to admire—ample. A full grip when he’s driving in from behind.
Please don’t hit on the FBI agent who wants to put us in jail, you neanderthal.
If she senses where his thoughts are going, she doesn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable by it. “I’m no expert, but I believe Vegas has more to offer if you leave your room.” She shifts her focus to the bar. Her perfectly drawn eyebrow arches. “Vince and Merrick Perri. Funny seeing you two here. I thought your families didn’t get along.”
She thought, my ass. She’s read every file about the decades-long Perri and Easton feud backward, forward, and upside down. She knows exactly what happened—what Uncle Peter did to Nonna Perri, and the retaliatory hit that left our mother’s body in a ditch. She and every other fed on the case knows it, but no one can prove it.
And I’m guessing she’s wearing a wire, given she’s making a point of naming all of us as her male partner stands by silently, taking visual inventory of all he can see.
Caleb folds his arms across his chest. “The older generation had some bones to pick, but we’ve made peace and here we are now, holding hands and singing kumbaya.”
“You drove all the way to another state because you have information on who blew up our plane?” I’m unable to muster a leisurely tone. Besides, I’m tired of this act. It’s a waste of valuable time that I could be using to search for Mercy. “Is that typical?”
“We do what we must to get to the truth.” Her penetrating eyes graze over Michelle again—I’ll give Mercy’s friend credit, she’s playing her part well, keeping her focus glued to the drink in her hand. “You’re all in such fine spirits. Seems odd, given someone tried to kill you two nights ago, and you two—” Her eyes flip to Vince and Perri— “are waiting to hear if the bodies our forensic team is analyzing are those belonging to your father and brothers. Is that typical?”
“What can we say? We’ve learned to take these things in stride,” Merrick retorts calmly.
“Maybe we’re just in denial,” Vince adds, stone-faced.
“What do you want, Special Agent Lewis?” Normally I’m a master at easy-go-lucky with the authorities but there’s nothing easy about this inner turmoil swirling inside me. I feel Caleb’s warning glare burning into the side of my face, but I ignore it. This agent tried to turn Mercy against me. She cornered her, terrified her, threatened her.
I know she’s only doing her job, yet my fists curl at my thighs, my rage percolating with every second I focus on that.
