empire.
“Not yet. Cam thinks he knows someone who can trace the account, but for now, we’re still trying to sniff him out the hard way. Any idea why someone might want Shen dead? Something to do with his work, maybe?”
Anne spoke again, and I nodded through the window to one of Tower’s men on the street, his four rust-colored chain lengths showing beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his T-shirt. He nodded back, then glanced at Liv in my passenger’s seat. If he recognized her I saw no sign, but being seen with her was good enough. It was proof that I wasn’t trying to hide anything. And that she wasn’t, either.
“Okay, just let us know if you think of anything,” Liv said, and a second later, she flipped her phone closed.
“How is she?” I asked, cruising slowly down the street toward the next checkpoint four blocks away. Tower’s eyes were everywhere, and hiding from them would look like guilt.
Liv shrugged and brushed long brown hair off her shoulder. “Fine, considering. I think Hadley was in the room though, ‘cause she didn’t say very much. It’s like she doesn’t have the luxury of truly mourning, with the kid around.”
“She sounds like a good mother.” Though it was hard for me to picture Annika as anything other than the twenty-two-year-old small-town free spirit she’d been when I’d met her. Back then, she’d been more committed to vegetarianism than to any man she’d ever met—holding on to a relationship must have been hard for someone who could taste every lie—but I hadn’t seen her since the night Liv dumped me. In the middle of that damned party. It’s amazing how much can change in six years.
And how much stays the same.
“How did she get in touch with you?” Liv asked, sliding her phone into her pocket. “If she couldn’t find me, how did she find you?”
I exhaled slowly. “I still have the same phone number.” Because I wanted it to be easy for Olivia to get in touch with me, should she ever decide to.
Liv suddenly gripped the armrest built into the passenger’s side door, as if she hadn’t even heard me.
“Is this Third Street?”
“Yeah. You still like Greek? There’s this great gyro stand on the corner, about a mile—”
Her gaze hardened. “You’re headed west. Deeper into Tower’s side of town.”
“That’s where the gyro stand is….” I began, but she wasn’t buying it. And she didn’t miss my nod to the next sentinel, on the corner.
“You’re parading me down the fucking gauntlet.”
“I’m taking preemptive measures,” I insisted. “If they think I’m hiding you, they’ll assume you have something to hide, and you’re going to be checked for a mark by every initiate we run into.” And if we ran into anyone with more than three chain links, I wouldn’t be able to prevent a more thorough search, and we both knew Liv wasn’t going to simply submit to one, either. Her trigger finger was looking a little twitchy.
“Which is why we should be heading to the south fork,” she said. Toward the only neutral-controlled part of town. Which was where she both lived and worked, in spite of the higher rent.
“Olivia, Hunter lives on the west side, and so does my computer guru. I don’t think any of the leads are going to pull us toward the south today,” I said, but she looked unconvinced. “What’s the big deal? You’re unbound, and you must’ve done work on this side before.”
“Yeah, back when I worked for Rawlinson, but I haven’t been here since … Since I quit.”
“Well, that’s too bad, ‘cause the gyros are awesome.” I pulled into the last available spot at the curb and shifted into Park. “Let’s just relax and have some lunch while I track Van down.”
“Fine,” she said, one hand on the door handle. “But you owe me some answers, and unless you want to give them here, we need to find someplace more private to eat.”
I couldn’t argue with that, so I texted Van from the line in front of the gyro cart: Got a minute? I need some help.
The response came a minute later, as Liv stepped up to the cart to order: Yr place, 1 hr.
Fifteen minutes later, I parked in a covered space in front of my apartment building and snatched the bulging white paper sack from Liv’s lap. She glanced at me in amusement—a good look for her. “What, you don’t trust me with the food?”
“Sorry. I’m starving.”
She laughed. “I couldn’t tell from the four gyros you ordered.”
“Don’t forget the dolmades.” I swung my car door shut and led Liv toward the exterior staircase. “They’re the best in the city. Trucked in daily from some restaurant on the east side.”
“Yeah. Karagas. The owner’s mother makes them every morning. They’re best fresh.”
I tried on a grin as we walked up the stairs. “What, you won’t set foot on the west side, but you’ll have lunch in Cavazos’s backyard? No wonder people are talking.”
Liv scowled. “People are talking because someone’s started a smear campaign. The rumors are malicious, and evidently aimed at the west side of the city. Someone’s put a target on my head. My guess is Travis Spencer. He’s had it out for me ever since I found the governor’s missing mistress.”
I nearly choked on my own surprise. “That was you?” It hadn’t made the local news, of course. Officially, no one was supposed to know that governor was getting some on the side. But Trackers had been rabid over that job, and I’d never heard who finally found the target.
“Yeah. Paid for two whole months’ worth of office space. But evidently it also earned me some enemies. Stupid rumor-spreading bastards.”
“Relax, Liv. It’s just a bunch of idiots talking, and all you have to do to prove them wrong is wear short sleeves.” I shrugged. “Besides, I’d go to Karagas for lunch every day if I didn’t value my life just a bit higher than good Greek food.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t signed over your free will in exchange for a paycheck, you could enjoy both your life and your lunch wherever the hell you want. Then you could be a part of the solution, rather than the problem. Wasn’t that the plan?”
“Plans change.” I kicked the door closed and dropped my keys on the coffee table, and when I met Liv’s gaze, I was almost bowled over by the pain and power of my own memories. This part of her hadn’t changed—this fiery temper threaded with innate goodwill. She would have been one hell of a lawyer, or a child advocate, or a … superhero.
“What happened to the FBI, Cam?” She took the bag from me and pulled out two cartons of dolmades.
I shrugged and took two plates down from the cabinet over the bar, avoiding her gaze. “Last I heard, they’re still out there fighting crime. Catching murderers and foiling terrorists.”
“And you’re here, wasting a degree in criminal justice so you can track losers for a Mafia boss.”
“Yeah,
