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But aside from identifying his now grief-stricken parents—who hadnothingto say to me—I’d gotten pretty much nowhere.
Frustrated, I called Raj.
“Hart. What can I do for you?” He sounded tired. No, exhausted. I was glad he was at least talking to me today. That was a positive change.
“I need a full background on Vito Landa,” I told him. “Family, friends, everything.”
Raj sighed, and I could imagine him running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t do that, Hart,” he replied.
“The hell you can’t. Youwon’t.”
“Because it’s illegal,” he snapped. “You aren’t a cop anymore, Hart, and a civilian can’t just request a full background check. You want this to get done, the RPD has to send me the request.”
“You and I both know that’s not going to happen, no matter how much it fucking should,” I retorted, already annoyed and getting moreso every second that Raj continued to stonewall me.
“I’m sorry, Hart. But you and I both know that I can’t justify it.”
“Cut the bullshit, Raj. What you and I both know is that you have ways of fucking doing it that you aren’t willing to do for me. And I want to know why the fuck not.”
I heard him sigh angrily. “Because you don’t have the fucking clearance is why, Hart. I’ll tell you what I can, when I can. But I can’t start pulling files for you just because you want them.”
I actually growled at him over the phone, then hung up, even more pissed off and frustrated than when I’d called him.
“God-fucking-damnit,” I muttered.
I spent another forty-five minutes beating myself against various digital walls trying to find connections between Landa and literally anyone at all in the Ordo, the MFM, or the Culhua other than Vidal.
And then I got an email from Andrew Shao. Frowning, I clicked on it.
Hart,
I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion with Raj and thought you might be interested in this.
Drew
P.S. derringer
Attachedto the email was a zip file. I had no idea what the fuck ‘derringer’ meant, at least until I clicked on the zip file and it asked me for a password—and ‘derringer’ opened it up.
Drew had sent me Vito Landa’s FBI file. All of it. Unredacted. Encrypted and password-locked, but still.
I started reading.
And literally whooped out loud when I found the part where Landa’sfather’scompany, Athos Inc., had a contract with Deepwater-Hephaestus. Daddy dearest was retired now, but I’d have bet anything that Daddy had gotten him the job with Vidal, which meant Daddy might well also have a link to the Culhua.
I also liked both Vidal and Garcia for the Culhua—they’d employed Bazan, and Bazan had been targeted by the Ordo. And if Landa had a familial connection to the Culhua, as well, then it was pretty fucking clear to me that Landa or, more likely, Daddy Landa was a part of the same goddamn feud that had offed Whitehead and Bazan.
I was after the Ordo, yes, but that didn’t mean I wanted to get all cozy with the Culhua. I wasn’t interested in playing enemy-of-my-enemy, although it was frustrating as hell that all I seemed to be capable of doing was making an even longer list of enemies. The Ordo, the MFM, and now the Culhua.
I needed to start taking some of themoffthe list, not putting more on. The last thing I needed was more people who might want me dead.
On the other hand, if they were going to take each other out, maybe I should just stand on the sidelines and wait for them to finish each other off…
I shook my head. That was honestly a terrible idea, especially because of the significant number of innocent people—shifters especially—who kept getting caught in the middle.
I wasn’t entirely certain where to go with this, though.
Raj clearly wasn’t interested in helping, although it was somewhat comforting that Drew was. And confusing, to be honest. Because whatever rules Raj was claiming stopped him should also have stopped Drew.
