“Good morning.” Laurel leaned across Nathan and handed her laminated ID over to the guard at the gate of the Crowder Correctional Facility. She tucked the shoulder-length blond curls behind her ear as she smiled at the uniformed officer. “Heather Richards, Richards Insurance Investigations. I believe Warden Harris is expecting us.”
Nathan took a deep breath, filling his lungs with chilled morning air tinged with Laurel’s perfume. Between the time they’d drunk early-morning coffee and boarded the plane, Laurel’s mussed brown waves and sleepy brown eyes had been replaced by this wig and bright blue contacts. Add a well-placed beauty mark above her lip and a barely made-up face and he wasn’t sure he’d have recognized her. He did, however, know which look he preferred.
“Miss Richards, yes.” The guard scanned his clipboard. “I’ll let the Warden know you’ve arrived. If you’ll head down this road and park in the visitor lot, I’ll have him meet you at the check-in desk.”
“Great, thanks. You heard the man, Roland.” She patted Nathan’s thigh and aimed a sly grin at the guard. “We don’t want to keep the warden waiting.”
Nathan shifted the car into drive, purposely sliding his fingers along the back of her hand. He heard the guard cough before he stepped back into his booth.
“Amazing how easily embarrassed most people are about public displays of affection,” Laurel whispered.
“Do I really look like a Roland to you?” The building at the end of the road looked more like a state-of-the-art office complex rather than a correctional facility. Who put this much time and attention into the surrounding area?
“Count yourself lucky. My first choice was Percy.” She turned off her cell phone before tucking it into her purse and shoving the bag under the passenger seat of their rental car. “Roland Kirkpatrick filled out the website page nicely,” she added. “Kind of rolls off the tongue, don’t you think?”
“I don’t, actually.” When she’d presented him with his fake ID on the plane he’d almost choked on the laugh. She’d Photoshopped his official Tremayne Investments and Securities picture by adding a good ten pounds to his face and thick-rimmed glasses; the same glasses currently perched on his nose that made his eyes itch. “Next time I’d like some say in my identity.”
“Are you always this grouchy in the morning?”
“I’m not grouchy, I’m cautious.” Not to mention a bit jumpy. He’d spent the last two years doing everything he could to stay away from places like this. Walking in voluntarily felt like he’d lit up a Broadway sign daring fate to step in and lock the doors behind them.
“Before today, I wouldn’t have considered private planes and luxury rental cars cautious.” As he parked, Laurel pocketed Heather’s ID and retrieved the manila envelope she’d filled during the flight. “Working with you definitely has its perks.”
“You’ve no idea.” Nathan slipped off his belt.
“Let me do the talking.” Laurel shoved open the door. “You’re my subordinate, remember?”
“Yeah.” Nathan muttered and climbed out. “I definitely want a say next time.”
He caught her amused glance when he pulled open the heavy reinforced door and followed her down the hall. A loud buzz echoed seconds before the click of a door sounded and a middle-aged man with cropped dark hair and equally dark eyes greeted them. He struck Nathan as more college professor or bookworm than prison warden in his tweed jacket and beige slacks. “Miss Richards. Warden Harris. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Warden.” Laurel shook his hand. “I appreciate your time this morning. I know visiting hours don’t start for a few more hours. My partner, Roland Kirkpatrick.”
“I understand you’re under a tight time frame.”
“Yes,” Laurel said. “There’s a statute of limitations issue with one of the crimes Mr. Price is suspected of being involved with. We’re hoping to put it to bed by the end of the week.”
Nathan had to give her credit. The key to a good con was sticking as close to the truth as possible.
“I’m not familiar with Richards Insurance Investigations,” the warden said as he gestured to the desk clerk who set a visitor sign-up sheet on the counter. “Neither was Mac when I asked him about it.”
“So you said on the phone. Which is why I brought this.” Laurel handed over the envelope. “This is a rundown of our case so far and where we suspect Mr. Price fits in. I’m what the industry considers a last-resort option,” she added in a lowered tone. “My clients come to me via word of mouth, not advertising. I’m sure you understand, given some of the people I need to deal with. We’re hoping Mr. Price can point us in the right direction in regard to some fraudulent bonds that have hit the market.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he can,” Warden Harris said. “Mac isn’t normally inclined to meet with people he doesn’t know.” Warden Harris accepted the paperwork but gave no indication he planned to open it. “It surprised me that he agreed, but then again, I think his curiosity got the better of him. He doesn’t get many visitors these days. Anything to add to the day’s excitement is a welcome distraction.”
“So I understand. Did you need me to sign in?” Laurel asked.
“If you wouldn’t mind, yes. Mr. Kirkpatrick, as well, please. And we’ll need to photocopy your IDs.”
“Of course.” Nathan followed Laurel’s lead, handed over his ID, and clicked open a pen to sign below Laurel’s unreadable signature. She had grace under pressure, that’s for sure. He didn’t register a flicker of unease on her face as she accepted their IDs back. All the more reason Nathan preferred the silence—and darkness—of venturing into homes on his own. He’d much rather deal with electrical wiring and burglar alarms than people.
“If you’ll follow me.” The warden said when his desk clerk gave a nod of his head. “I’ll have Mac brought into the visitor area.”
“Thank you, Warden.” Laurel gave Nathan a passing nod before she followed their escort, her practical plain black suit and sensible shoes a stark contrast against the dull white and grays of the walls and linoleum.
“This is a nice facility,” Nathan said as they were led into the visitor room. “It feels more country club than prison.” Definitely not the gloom and doom he’d been expecting given the cement and glass exterior. He found the grounds beyond the windows to be beautifully manicured and kept; the bright white walls and large plate glass—bulletproof no doubt—provided an actual view aside from bars. Mac must have cut one hell of a deal to get himself transferred here.
“Crowder Correctional focuses on rehabilitation over punishment,” Warden Harris said. “I was a psychologist in private practice for a number of years before I was offered this position.”
“Well, I’m sure the inmates appreciate the attention to detail.” Laurel shot Nathan a “shut up already” look as Nathan touched her arm and guided her to the tables and chairs in the center of the room.
“I’m afraid I have meetings for the rest of the morning,” Warden Harris said. “But if I can be of further assistance—”
“You’ve been more than helpful already,” Laurel said as she took a seat. “I’m hoping after today, we’ll put this case to bed once and for all and you’ll never have to see us again.”
Boy was that the truth, Nathan thought.
Once the warden left, Nathan scooted two seats together, then slung an arm over the back of her chair. “At some point will you teach me how you did your IDs?”
“Trade secret.” Laurel crossed her legs, her bouncing foot the first sign of nerves he’d seen today.
“Since when is a portable printer and laminating machine a trade secret?” He leaned over, pressed his lips close to her ear and, smiling as he felt her shiver, whispered, “I have to admit, my curiosity is killing me. Thinking of my father involved with a career criminal isn’t something that’s been easy to get used to.”
“Just proves you never know what secrets people live with.” The arch of Laurel’s brow and questioning look in her oddly blue eyes tied a new knot of unease in Nathan’s gut. Sometimes it felt as if she was dissecting him without him even realizing he was on the table. What did she see when she looked at him? “Then again, it’s not as if you or anyone in your family is some kind of criminal mastermind.”
Nathan bit the inside of his cheek and focused his attention on the door at the end of the room. “I have a feeling the next few minutes are going to shine a light on a lot of things about my father neither one of us could imagine.” Nathan clenched his fist. After the last couple of years as Nemesis, Nathan had gained insights he couldn’t have fathomed before. He should have realized, given how easily Jackson fell into the thieving mindset, something more was going on. As if he could have guessed at his father’s past. Hopefully Mac would fill in some if not most of those blanks Jackson hadn’t seemed inclined to share. No doubt Jackson was hoping for the same thing. Hearing the truth from a more objective third party made the truth a bit more palatable. For all of them.
Nathan angled his gaze up and to the right. “Just remember, this place might be low security, but they still have cameras.”
“I learned my camera lesson years ago.” Laurel turned her face to his. Given their guarded surroundings and pseudo-illegal intentions, the last thing Nathan should be considering at the moment was kissing her again, but the more time he spent with her, the more he thought about it—and more. Laurel was right. Sleeping together would definitely complicate matters, but the more Nathan pondered the idea, the more he realized he would happily “complicate” things between them. Especially if it meant convincing her she wasn’t nearly as alone as she believed.
“Stop looking at me that way,” Laurel whispered with more than a twinkle in her eye. “Work now, play later.”
“You don’t play fair.” He settled for cupping her shoulder in his palm and squeezing.
“No,” Laurel said. “I don’t.”
Given what he’d read about Mac Price, con man extraordinaire, Nathan wasn’t sure what to expect, but the burly man with slicked-back grey hair and a round, welcoming face who walked through the reinforced door wasn’t it. Put him in a suit and stand him beside his father, he’d think this guy had just walked off Wall Street, given the distinguished vibe he was giving off.
He pinned Nathan with a long stare before, after a few moments, Mac held out his thick hand, the wide smile exposing perfectly straight white teeth. “Mr. Kirkpatrick. Miss Richards. Lovely to meet you. Thanks, Jimmy,” Mac said to the guard, a young Hispanic man who looked as if he’d been in a few brawls. “How much time do we have?”
“Thirty minutes give or take. I’ll give you a heads-up.” Mac’s escort left the room and stood on the other side, giving them almost complete privacy. Mac pulled out his chair and lowered his bulk into it. When Laurel opened her mouth, Mac lifted his right index finger barely an inch and shook his head.
Nathan glanced over to see Laurel’s mouth snap shut, then followed Mac’s gaze up to the surveillance camera. The red light blinked off.
“Friends in high places,” Mac said. “Delayed routine maintenance on the camera system. Smart of you to send your pictures to the warden so he’d show them to me.” Mac leaned back and crossed his arms over his expansive chest. “I’d recognize you anywhere, Nathan. How are your sisters doing? Last I heard Sheila got married to that computer guy, what’s his name? Malcolm Oliver?”
“That’s him.” Nathan blinked. Mac’s nonchalant reaction to their visit was clouding his already foggy brain. That said, small talk was part of the game. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t anxious to get things going. All the same, he was willing to follow Mac’s lead. “Morgan’s getting married next year. To a former cop.”
“A cop?” Mac shook his head. “That’s karma for you. Can’t believe I’ve lost almost two years now. Last time I saw all of you was your mama’s funeral.” A slight Southern drawl tinged the edges of his words as he danced between topics. “That Catherine was a lovely woman. Loved your Dad to the end of the earth and back. Absolutely devastated him when you all lost her.”
“You knew my mother?” The fact Mac was at the funeral, now that was something he didn’t expect to hear. What other mysteries of his life was he going to learn about today?
“Son, your Dad and I go back nearly to the cradle. Thick as thieves we were, so to speak, mind you.” He grinned. “But I’m being rude. You are a new face to me, young lady. Heather, isn’t it? Mac Price. Welcome to my humble abode. Such as it is.” He reached out his hand.
“It’s Laurel, actually. Laurel Scott. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Price.” Her voice wobbled just a touch.
“She’s a fan.” Nathan grinned as Laurel kicked him under the table. “The two of you have a lot in common.”
“Do we now?” Mac turned those laser eyes back to Nathan. “And it’s Mac, please. Is what you’ve heard about me the reason for this surprise visit? Not that I mind some visitors now and then, but seeing as I haven’t had anything to do with any bond forgeries lately . . .”
“Jackson mentioned you have a family,” Laurel said before Nathan could respond.
“Four kids.” Pride, along with caution, shone in his eyes. “All adopted. My wife Merry, she passed on about fifteen years ago now, wanted a houseful and when it didn’t happen, she opened the door and in they came.”
“Sounds like Morgan,” Nathan said. “She’s got a full house herself.”
“And this cop of hers is going to marry her?” Admiration shone in his lively eyes. “Huh. Might be able to look past that law enforcement issue after all. Nothing like kids. I got two of each and they’re the lights of my life. Not that I see them much these days. I don’t like exposing them to certain elements, if you get my meaning.”
“I do. Dad said to mention Rylan’s been a great help to him.”
“No one’s more reliable than Rylan. If you see that son of mine, tell him my grandpa clock is ticking big time. About time for him to start thinking about settling down.”
“You need to meet Morgan’s soon-to be mother-in-law,” Laurel said with a low chuckle. “The two of you have a lot in common.”
“Yeah, well, I can say that about my boy. Not to Cat, mind you. That’d be my oldest girl. Attitude and claws to spare, but stuck in my heart the second she landed on my doorstep. It’s interesting. I see the same edge in your eyes Cat has in hers. I’m betting you and she would get along great. She has a penchant for disguises as well.” Laurel’s scowl deepened and Nathan gave Mac credit for sizing Laurel up so well so fast.
“Are they, your kids,” Laurel clarified at Mac’s questioning look. “Are they all okay? Safe?” Comprehension slid over Mac’s face. “Last I heard. I’ll be sure to check in with them at my earliest convenience.”
“Please do,” Laurel said and plunged in before Nathan could broach the subject. “Alastair Manville’s surfaced.”
“Shit.” Mac leaned his forearms on the table as his voice dipped. “I was afraid of that. That cockroach never knew when to stay under his rock. But that explains why it’s you two and not my oldest friend sitting across from me right now. Tell me what you know.”
It didn’t cross Nathan’s mind to lie, or even hesitate. Hearing his father speak about Mac hadn’t convinced Nathan the convicted felon could be trusted, but Nathan’s doubt vanished under the vehemence of Mac’s command.
“Dad’s in trouble.”
“The Crown of Serpia,” Laurel supplied and glanced at Nathan when Mac’s eyes went wide. “Alastair Manville had it stolen in Lantano Valley last month and framed Jackson for it.”
“Sounds like Alastair’s style. He never was one to come at an enemy head-on.” Mac’s gaze went pinprick sharp. “The crown, huh? Makes sense since that’s what put him in prison forty years ago.”
Nathan tapped restless fingers against Laurel’s shoulder as he followed her lead and tried not to move his lips any more than necessary when she spoke. “Dad said Alastair went to prison because of him.”
Mac shook his head. “Alastair went to prison because he was careless, but given your father’s inflated sense of responsibility, it doesn’t surprise me he thinks that.”
“So that’s why Alastair hates him so much,” Laurel said.
“First off, Alastair Manville is bat-crap crazy. If he hadn’t focused on your father, he would have found someone else. Alastair doesn’t like to lose and from the second they met, it was one bet, one competition after another. Who could score the biggest haul, who could sell something for the most money. You get the idea. Alastair was never one for personal growth, but when it came to bragging rights and monetary success, don’t get in his way. Your father, on the other hand.” Mac shrugged. “Let’s just say, unlike most of us, Jackson wasn’t in the game for monetary gain. Not to mention Jackson never sees the bad in people until it’s too late. Case in point.” He held up his hands.
“You all worked together,” Nathan said. “You, Dad, and Manville.”
Mac nodded. “I guess you could say that. But while bringing Alastair into our little enterprise might have been your father’s idea, Alastair found his way to prison all on his own. Your father and Alastair bonded over a mutual love of history and artifacts, but it only ended up fueling Alastair’s animosity. Treasure to me is what you can hold in your hand and sell, not something you dream about owning and keeping to yourself. But let me backtrack. Your father and I had been working together for about six months, redistributing the wealth, if you get my meaning?”
“I do.” Nathan tried to ignore the flash of confusion on Laurel’s face. There were some things he wasn’t willing to come clean with her about just yet, including Nemesis. Not until he was certain she wouldn’t use it against them.
“Well, your father upped the stakes and set his sights on this exhibit at a private museum in San Francisco that was being protested by a group of Native Americans. They claimed the museum’s sponsors and representatives had stolen priceless artifacts from their land and were demanding the entire collection be returned. Beautiful headdresses and masks, jewelry, pottery, you name it, this collection was going to put the museum on the map as far as high-end collectors went. Your Dad investigated and discovered the protestors were right; the pieces had been stolen, but no one outside the reservation was willing to do anything about it; not when that much money was involved. Your dad even went to the police to try to file a complaint, but he had no standing and they booted him out of the station. So”—Mac grinned and his gaze flitted to the camera—“we decided to take care of it ourselves. In doing so, Neme—”
“Wait.” Nathan jumped as Laurel slapped her hands on the table. “Are you talking about the Cassam heist back in ’75?” Nathan could practically hear the wheels grinding in her head. “Those pieces were never found.”
“Sure they were,” Mac said, with the barest hint of offense. “By the people who mattered. Once those items were back on Native American land where they belonged, the museum couldn’t very well say they’d been stolen, especially since they couldn’t prove where they’d come from in the first place. Besides, the tribal elders had no idea who returned them. They just”—Mac snapped his fingers— “appeared.”
“Jackson returned them to the tribe?” Laurel’s expression flashed from confused to surprised to skeptical in the time it took Nathan to count to five. “You didn’t try to sell them?”
“Even if I’d wanted to, Jackson wouldn’t have allowed it. Besides”—Mac sighed—“there wasn’t a high street value and profit wasn’t the point. It was never the point for Jackson. He was always about doing the right thing. Me? I was more of a money man myself, certainly not the avenger his father was, which was why he chose the moniker he did. Until that night, we assumed Alastair was on board with our plans to retrieve the Native American collection, but he was only using us to gain access to the museum so he could get his hands on what he really wanted. A new batch of maps from the Serpian digs.”
“1975,” Laurel said as if the date meant something to her. “That’s about the time the archaeological dig for the Serpians was getting going over in Europe. There were a number of students from the Bay Area involved in the excavation. So these new maps had to do with the Serpian Trail?” Laurel asked.
“That’s what blind faith can do. Make you believe anything and everything that comes out of the ether. Let this be a lesson for you. Spur of the moment bets, ego, and alcohol do not mix. Jackson didn’t take Alastair’s ribbing seriously, but that didn’t stop him from goading Alastair whenever he got the chance. What came naturally for Jackson, Alastair had to work at and it ate at him. As Jackson’s focus shifted to the good we could do, Alastair became more determined to beat him. At everything. The night we, ah, relieved the museum of those aforementioned artifacts, Alastair had other plans. Sorry, Nathan, but your dad was never known for having a light foot. Jackson tripped the alarm sooner than expected and while he and I managed to get out before the police arrived, they caught Alastair breaking out of the map room’s transom. By the time your dad got back from delivering the collection to the tribe, Alastair had pled down and taken ten to fifteen for breaking and entering. Case closed.”
“That seems harsh,” Laurel said.
“Yeah, well, Alastair had himself a bit of a record going back to when he crawled out of the womb, so the judge didn’t take kindly to his gallivanting around a hoity-toity museum in the city by the bay. The city had been trying to build up its reputation for the wealthy art crowd and a break-in and theft, even in the Presidio, certainly wasn’t going to earn them any positive reviews. Alastair was made an example of. In the meantime, I was able to finagle myself into the museum—this was prior to CSI and anything remotely forensic for investigations, mind you—and asked one of the workers if anything had been disturbed. They couldn’t be sure, but a nice young woman told me they’d received a new set of maps the week before, but they hadn’t been catalogued yet. There was a notation in the records that one map was estimated to be from the 1300s with rumored Serpian installments throughout Europe, but they never found one when they searched. From then on, anytime I’ve heard the Serpian collection talked about, the name Alastair Manville hasn’t been far behind, even while he was locked up. He got out of prison in six years, but he built up a reputation in there as a ruthless son of a bitch in the meantime. Rumor has it his obsession with the treasure and especially the crown only got worse. Almost as if putting the collection back together could change what had happened to him. When Alastair got out of prison, he all but vanished and became one of those ghosts you hope you never encounter. By then your father and I had parted ways. Jackson went straight, got married, then you kids starting arriving and well”—Mac shrugged—“I’m guessing all thoughts of Manville and what happened just faded away. Until your mother died. You know what happened then, what your father started up again. Funny how life comes full circle.”
Nathan kept his expression blank as Laurel’s gaze shifted to him. “We think Manville’s in San Francisco. Does that match what you’ve heard?”
Mac nodded. “A couple of years ago, I started hearing Alastair’s name pop up in relation to some expanding company.” Mac tapped the side of his head. “Selective . . . No. SylEctus. Yeah, that’s the name. Apparently he and the CEO are like this.” He crossed two fingers. “But I can see this isn’t news to you.” He waggled a finger between them. “You two need to work on your tells.”
“You’re the second person to tell me that.” Laurel aimed a look at Nathan. “I work for TransUnited, the insurance company that holds the policy on the crown.” Laurel told him.
Mac leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you now? I bet you have all sorts of interesting information at your fingertips.”
“According to their records, SylEctus is the owner of the crown. If what you said before is true, if Alastair isn’t one to come at someone head-on, it would make sense he’d use this group as a buffer, a shield.”
“Doesn’t explain why he set my father up for stealing it,” Nathan said.
“The why is the reason I sent an S.O.S. to your father through Rylan. Listen to me, Nathan.” Now it was Mac who leaned forward, his voice dropping another octave. “All this time, we assumed Alastair’s issues revolved around the crown and taking the fall for Jackson’s planned break-in, but I’ve recently learned otherwise. When Alastair was arrested, he was married with a young son. His son died in a fire a few months before Alastair was released, but his wife committed suicide before he got home; drove herself into a pylon on the freeway on her way home from the cemetery. As far as Alastair is concerned, if it wasn’t for your father, he’d have been around for them and they’d be alive. Therefore . . .”
“This isn’t about the crown at all. Alastair blames Jackson for the loss of his family.” Laurel said. “That certainly explains his obsession. And the photos.”
“What photos?” Mac asked. Even without moving Nathan sensed the tension in the man’s body.
“Jackson started receiving photographs of his kids and grandkids. We, um.” She glanced at Nathan. “We caught a couple of guys taking pictures from a van on Saturday.”
“Laurel scared the shit out of them with a baseball bat.”
Mac’s eyes lit up. “You’re all kinds of surprising, aren’t you?”
“Jackson said something to me about you taking a deal to protect your own family,” Laurel said. “Did that involve Alastair?”
“Nah.” Mac shook his head. “Totally different. I’ve had a Fed climbing up my ass for the better part of a decade. Convinced I stole a set of treasury plates while they were being transported between federal banks. He was in charge of the transfer, so he took a serious career hit. Got so bad, I couldn’t walk out of my house without him being there, following me. I was so distracted by him, I didn’t notice another agent had infiltrated my, well, let’s call them my workforce. I took twenty to life in exchange for immunity for everyone else involved.” He glanced around, a smile stretching his round face. “Not that I plan to serve all that time. Seeing the look on Agent Kolfax’s face that day when I entered my plea without having to admit to anything made it all worth it.”
“Did you say Kolfax?” Laurel grabbed hold of Nathan’s other hand. He squeezed her fingers. “Isn’t he . . .”
“Heard he finally got booted out of the agency,” Mac said. “Guess he stuck his nose into the Nemesis case down in your neck of the woods, Nathan. Don’t suppose you know anything about that?”
“We think Kolfax is working for Manville,” Laurel stated before Nathan could answer.
“Manville has an ex-Fed on his payroll?” Mac shook his head and for an instant, Nathan thought he saw pity in Mac’s eyes. “That’s a pretty far way to fall, even for a parasite like Kolfax. Man makes a change like that, he’s got nothing left to lose. Makes him especially dangerous.”
“It might be time to put a tail on your tail,” Nathan told Laurel. He didn’t like the idea of Kolfax paying such close attention to Laurel.
“I don’t think he hitched a ride on your private plane,” Laurel said. “Unless he hid in the wheel well.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past either Kolfax or Alastair,” Mac said as Jimmy, Mac’s escort guard, moved into sight as if telling them their time was up. “If Agent Kolfax couldn’t get to me directly, I have no trouble believing he’d take the law into his own hands. He knows my history. He knows I’m friends with your father. So yeah, I can see him joining forces with Manville, especially if his career is already over. Convincing him wouldn’t have been difficult. Damn. I might hate the son of a bitch, but I hope he’s smart enough to realize anyone working for Alastair usually ends up dead.”
Nathan felt Laurel’s body tense. He squeezed his hand on her shoulder. “Yeah, we know.” Yet another reason to keep Laurel close. Nathan frowned. Something else Mac said earlier echoed in his thoughts. He didn’t believe in coincidences, not where Alastair was concerned. And Alastair never came at an enemy directly. Nathan’s blood went cold and he had to force himself to concentrate on what Laurel said next, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that another death, another car accident, might not have been an accident after all.
“In the meantime,” Laurel cleared her throat. “I can tell Jackson you and your family are safe, right?”
“You tell Jackson not to worry. I take care of my own. And that includes you two. Give me a few hours to reach out to some friends and see what might be floating around out there. Alastair doesn’t come out until it’s endgame. If he’s shown his hand by taking photos of your family, there’s no predicting what he’ll do next.” Mac got to his feet and offered his hand to Nathan, who cupped the piece of paper from Mac’s palm into his own. “You take him down, Nathan. By any means necessary.”