“I’ve packed your electronics.”
My husband waved at a black plastic case that looked more like carry-on luggage than a spy kit. I flipped back the lid and took an inventory. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him—if I needed it, it would be there—but more that he’d spent nearly two decades drilling the importance of checking my own equipment into me. Cameras, burner phones, night-vision goggles, a nifty little device the size of a cigarette lighter that could download the entire contents of a smartphone in less than a minute…
“How many people are you expecting me to bug? We’re trying to retrieve a painting, not discover state secrets.”
“Yes, about that…”
Uh-oh. I knew that tone. I hated that tone.
“I’m just gonna back away slowly.”
“Kyla Devane.”
Shit.
I’d thought it was odd Black hadn’t tried to stop me from going to Kentucky with Alaric. Arranged a meeting or a training exercise or a last-minute assassination, that sort of thing.
“She can’t be allowed to win this election,” he continued. “This government’s got too much left to do to risk having progress derailed by some crank and her self-serving agenda.”
“And by government, you mean James?”
Black just smiled. That didn’t surprise me—he’d invested a considerable amount in James’s campaign, and he wanted to get his money’s worth.
“Businessman first, friend second?”
“Husband first, patriot second. Friendship and business come lower down the list. James needs to finish what he started, which means fixing what the last asshole broke, then winning a second term. America can’t afford another four years of political infighting, which means he needs a clear path to do his job without being blocked by a woman more interested in sound bites and photo ops than global stability and a healthy economy.”
Quite the little speech from a man as economical with his words as politicians were with the truth. But no matter how much I wanted a quick, no-nonsense trip to Kentucky, I couldn’t pretend he was wrong.
“I’ll take a look into what’s going on.”
“Give me a few days to get my current project sorted out, and I’ll lend a hand if you need it.”
Alaric and Black both in Kentucky? Brilliant.
“I’ll keep you updated. Nate’s already started researching Devane and Carnes.” Nate was one of our business partners. “Check your messages.”
Black handed me a suppressed Smith & Wesson .22. “Don’t forget this.”
I took my previous “shit” and raised it to a “fuck.” If Black wanted me to take that weapon, it meant wetwork was on the cards, and I wouldn’t get much sleep until the job was over. So much for a fun road trip.
CHAPTER 5 - ALARIC
“THERE HE IS,” Emmy murmured. “Smile, honey.”
She raised a camera, and Alaric plastered on a cheesy grin and mugged for the lens. It could have been any old tourist photo in small-town Kentucky, but this one just happened to catch Stéphane Hegler as he paused to stub out a cigarette. A moment later, the man darted into a café.
Thankfully, all four members of the crew had made it to Kentucky in one piece. The trip wasn’t so much of a problem in the drama-free tranquility of the Ford Explorer—Beth and Alaric had agreed on a radio station, shared the driving, and stopped twice for snacks on the way. The dream team of Emmy and Dan? Alaric’s vehicle had passed the Range Rover fifty miles out of Richmond, pulled over at the side of the road in front of a state trooper. Two hours after that, following a brief period with no phone signal, he’d picked up a garbled voicemail from Dan. Apparently, she’d hit a guy, his dog was injured, and they were going to the veterinarian. Beth had gasped at the thought of a hurt animal, and Alaric had nearly bitten through his bottom lip as he watched her tearing up in the passenger seat.
He wanted to hit the brakes and give her a hug, but he didn’t dare. Fucking Dan.
And then things got worse.
Somehow—somehow—the pair of crazies beat Beth and him to Kentucky, and the true horror of the situation became clear. Miracle of miracles, Dan hadn’t had yet another fender bender. No, she and Emmy had stopped for their junk food fix at some diner in the middle of nowhere, and there they’d seen ol’ Joe Bob booting his mangy old mutt across the parking lot. Emmy, of course, had asked him to stop, and when he gave her a mouthful in return, Dan had punched him in the face while Emmy slashed the tyres on his pickup. Then they’d stolen the damn dog and driven it to Lexington for a check-up. And now? Now Beth was feeding the skinny pooch cocktail sausages in their rented house while Alaric and Emmy tracked Irvine Carnes’s assistant.
“Coffee?” Alaric asked after Emmy finished taking pictures.
He’d deal with Fido later. Right now, there were more important things to worry about.
“We’ve known each other for fourteen years, and you still feel the need to ask that question?”
Fair point. An old-fashioned bell jingled as he held the door to the café open for her, although the rest of the decor looked reasonably modern. A dozen tables were scattered haphazardly in a space large enough for twice that number—good if you wanted a private conversation, not so great if you wanted to listen in on somebody else’s. Hegler ordered a chai latte and took a seat beside the window, paying more attention to his phone than the surroundings.
Alaric had learned his lesson. “One light coffee, one black coffee, and a chocolate muffin for the lady.”
Emmy nodded approvingly. Some girls liked diamonds and pearls. She preferred caffeine and carbs.
They left a table
