The car door slammed as Hoagland got in the passenger side. Captain Romano got behind the driver’s seat, and Axtell, Diana and Amber got in the other car—Diana deciding to stay in the backseat by the files.
“He’s a real charmer,” Diana murmured when they were in the safety of the car. She leaned forward to Axtell. “He knows you’re the one in line for that position, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “He doesn’t care what I think.”
“He doesn’t care what anyone thinks,” Amber piped up.
Hoagland was overwhelmingly ignorant. Soldiers like him were the whole reason that the Readers did what they did—that traditional toxic attitude of military men doing what they were told just because they signed a piece of paper. And there was a brief moment where Diana understood what the Readers were doing and what they were trying to change. And that moment led to a certain complacency because Diana realized that men like Hoagland deserved to have their power stripped—their money drained from their accounts. Even if it wasn’t her responsibility to do so, they deserved to be punished.
Chapter 20
Cameron Snowman
Washington DC
The only thing that had gone off without a hitch so far had been the visit to Laird. Everything else, everyone else, was one step behind. David and Zabójca had once again failed at killing a fifty-something-year-old man. Though, they didn’t really need to anymore. They’d gotten what they needed in Korea. It still would have felt so satisfying to see at least a picture of a bullet in that guy’s head.
They hadn’t announced the official chosen candidate for the VBA position, so Cameron and Asher were sitting ducks, waiting on the edge of their phones and computers, wasting their time.
“Carson?” Cameron asked.
“Dead.”
“Winslow?”
“Dead.”
“Who did we not try from that squad? Branscomb?” Cameron looked up from his laptop. Asher looked at him, giving a slight smile and a shake of his head. “Yeah, you’re right. That guy will never turn.”
Standing up from the desk, Cameron rounded the small apartment. They were just outside of DC, an apartment they’d rented for cheap when they needed a place to kill time. There was a cot in one corner, and three mismatched desks lined up in somewhat of a triangle in the middle of it. There were papers scattered, some taped lazily to the wall—maps of Vauxhall Court and Kushkin’s territory. The itinerary for Ratanake’s funeral. Messages from Amita Voss, pleading for something. She was always asking for something. That was a woman that Cameron had no trust in. But there seemed to be this odd faith between her and Zabójca. Maybe it was an age thing but every time he’d had an opportunity to kill her, he hadn’t even tried to take it.
Cameron picked up a pen, clicking it under his thumb as he paced around the room.
“What are you going to do with your share?” he asked, circling around the desk that Asher was leaning on, one headphone in his ear. There was the light thumping of EDM coming out of the one hanging on his torso.
“...of the money,” Cameron explained even though he didn’t need to. He just had to fill in Asher’s silence sometimes to stop himself from going stir crazy. But Asher just watched him walk back and forth, clicking the pen.
Cameron went on. “I think I’ll buy a place by the ocean, a sea-view place on the Georgian coast. Closer to my roots but not right in it, you know? I know some guys in Atlanta that do these graffiti murals and man, are they dope. I’ll get them to do like the whole back of the house so the fishes got something to look at.”
Despite the small size of the apartment, the windows were large and there were no coverings, the afternoon sun illuminating everything including the roll of Asher’s eyes.
“It’ll be nice to be rich at twenty-five,” Cameron continued. “Or in your case… twenty-three? You can’t be older than me, can you?”
Asher stared at him.
Frustration welled in Cameron’s throat.
“Mind you, maybe you’re older than that considering the early onset balding.”
With two steps forward, Cameron dropped the pen on the desk Asher was leaning on and flicked off his baseball cap. His head was shaved, the hairline far back. At first, Cameron thought maybe Asher was actually going to do something—punch him in the face or kick him in the crotch. He certainly wanted to. There was a seething anger behind his light eyes, but beyond that, absolutely flat. Not even a drop more of anger as he bent down by Cameron’s boots, picked up his hat and pulled it back onto his head.
Asher gave him a slight smirk.
The tension between them was cut with a phone call, Cameron’s pocket vibrating. He took a step back, shaking his head. Asher was not his first or second choice for a partner. At least with Park he had been fun to hang out with, always angry and emotional. Meanwhile, you could shoot a fresh, fluffy puppy in front of Asher, and he would barely flinch. Neither of them great conversationalists. They had that in common.
“Yeah?” Cameron snapped.
“It’s done,” Zabójca said. His accent was slight after all these years. Apparently he knew over half a dozen languages, but you would never be able to tell.
“Eagle’s dead?” Cameron asked.
“No,” Zabójca replied. “They announced it. Skeleton’s taking it. They’ll swear her in on the 18th. Two days. Tell your hire.”
The line went dead. Cameron had been eager to keep him on, just to talk, but he didn’t even get the chance. He sighed and shoved his phone back in his pocket.
“Marianna Axtell,” Cameron said to Asher, walking around the room and sitting down at the desk. “That’s who they’re going with.”
“Are you telling Laird?” Asher asked, also rounding the desk opposite Cameron to sit down.
“Would you like to?” Cameron raised his eyebrows. Peeking around the dual monitors, he checked Asher for a change in his face
