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“Are you pouting?” Peyton asked.
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
Sebastian sliced the chicken into neat strips. “Prove it.”
“The protection question?” Jericho asked. “I did answer it.”
“Spouting song lyrics at me is not answering it.”
“Did we confirm if it’s actually a song?” Will asked. He opened a small tub of cream, sniffed it, shrugged, and poured it in a mixing bowl. Jericho was unsure if that was reassuring or not. Did a shrug mean it was okay, or it was goodenough, which was not a statement that should be made in terms of cream.
“The person crossed out,” Peyton said. “They’re dead?”
Jericho nodded. “Yes.”
“One of them was in prison,” Quinn said. “It’s been marked as a suicide. We’re following it up since it’s highly unlikely that’s the case.”
“How did they manage that?” Peyton asked.
“It’s not that hard to get connections on the inside,” Jericho answered. He and Hunter had a few themselves. “The place is ripe with people willing to let go of their own personal morals for money.”
“It’s also full of innocents,” Sebastian said quietly, stopping with his knife halfway through another chicken breast.
“That too.” Jericho wasn’t going to disagree with him there. The justice system wasn’t anywhere near as perfect as the government liked to think it was. Jericho and Hunter, and the rest of their team, existed for a reason.
“No,” Quinn agreed. “But this… killer who’s picking off their targets isn’t local.”
Jericho knew that, but the fact that Quinn had deduced it as well was interesting. “What makes you say that?”
“They’re clearly professionals, but they’re hiring amateurs to search for something for them. They aren’t aware that Howell and Derrick are dead, which implies they weren’t in contact. So where are they coming from, and what do they want?”
“I know someone inside,” Sebastian said, still quiet. “I could get a meeting with him, see if he knows anything?”
“You mean your pet project?” Jericho asked.
There was steel in Sebastian’s voice when he said, “Don’t call him that.”
“Apologies,” Jericho said, meaning it. He knew how hard Sebastian had fought that case, how much it had taken from him. Hunter had brought it to the team years ago, and they’d tried every avenue they could find, but there had been nothingtofind. They weren’t into fabricating evidence even if they would have been perfectly justified in that case. Sebastian had given everything, and he’d still lost.
Jericho knew exactly how much time he’d logged since then, visiting the prison. He also knew that Sebastian still spent time looking for anything he could use to put through an appeal and get the decision overturned. It was a ghost hunt, and Jericho doubted he’d ever stop until he found a way, or one of them died. He didn’t have the heart to tell Sebastian which outcome was more likely.
“If he knows something, he’ll help,” Sebastian said, not acknowledging Jericho’s apology.
Quinn glanced between them curiously. “Okay,” he said, not pushing. “Can you make an appointment for me?”
“No. He won’t speak to a cop.” Sebastian steadied his grip on the knife and kept cutting. “But I’ll go see him and ask and let you know what I find.”
“All right.”
“Who is he?” Peyton asked.
“A regret.” Jericho could hear the weight of every single failure in Sebastian’s voice.
“What kind of regret?” Peyton followed up cautiously.
Sebastian put his knife down and let out a breath. “Not that kind of regret. A case I lost that I should have won. He doesn’t deserve to be where he is.”
