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The security around Danvers’home was easy to work around, sloppy almost. It took me a few moments to get inside, maybe a couple of minutes to scan the two-bedroom property from top to bottom, only hesitating at the photos on the staircase wall. Pride of place went to any image that captured Danvers in uniform from when he was a cop, to some awards he’d received—earned off my team’s back. There were no family photos, nor was there much in the way of personal touches, but he was likely here about as much as I was back in my old apartment. After I’d done all the reconnoitering I needed, I deliberately tripped the silent alarm, and then there was nothing else to do but wait.
Danvers arrived twenty minutes after the alarm—alone—entering his property with his gun drawn, scoping the vicinity, until at last he stepped into his front room. I’d left the small lamp on next to me, my gun in my lap, and his instincts kicked in as he leveled his weapon in a head shot.
“Ethan,” he said in an even tone.
I took it as a win that he didn’t shoot me in the head.
“Danvers.”
He didn’t lower his weapon, but I stayed absolutely still as he watched me, and I saw the moment he relaxed, and he realized I wasn’t reaching for my gun, still he didn’t lower his.
“What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“The amount of money you’re pulling from your connection with Rouxier, and how I get a slice.”
“Where’s Josh?”
“Out of my reach with Sanctuary.”
“And the kid?”
“Same.”
He stared at me for a moment. “Holster your gun,” he ordered.
I did as was instructed, and then after a pause he followed suit.
Game on.
If there was one thing I’d learned in my career, it was that trust was hard-earned and easy to lose. There was a handful of people Ireallytrusted—my team—Ryder, Luca, plus Ali. And of course, Josh.
Danvers wasn’t stupid enough to trust me, and I didn’t trust Danvers, so I guess we were even.
“Stand up.” Danvers gestured for me to stand.
I did, all the time keeping my hands in sight with every move. To make this work, I had to appear reluctant, angry, thinking about money and nothing else.
“Take off your shirt.”
I slipped off my holster and laid it on the side table, aware of how quickly I could get to the gun if I needed, and then unbuttoned and removed my shirt.
“Turn around,” he snapped.
As much as I hated having my back to Danvers, I had to play this game, and I turned a full three-sixty with my hands at my sides, showing him that I had no wires.
“Pants, shoes. All of it.”
“What? No dinner first,” I deadpanned, as I removed my belt, took off my jeans and boots, and stood in my jersey boxers. He watched me in silence, asked me to circle, and then gestured at my junk.
“All of it.”
I had to fight the ants crawling under my skin at the thought of being exposed in front of him, but I shoved my boxers down to the top of my thighs and then turned in another circle. When I reached the front again he was right up in my space, and he had a wand to check for bugs and electrical devices which he waved it from my head to my toes and back again on the other side before doing the same to my discarded clothes.
