“Have you ever seen an uglier building?” Laurel tilted her head to the side and peered out the windshield of Nathan’s rented SUV. Grey stone, heavy metal beams, and overabundance of one-way windows made the structure look more like a mutated mausoleum than a recent architectural triumph in the Embarcadero. “I bet they’ve got zombies inside guarding things.”
“Let’s hope not.” Nathan turned off the engine. “I left my zombie-fighting weapons back in Lantano Valley.”
Laurel pursed her lips, smoothing a hand down the side of the short black wig that accompanied heavily lined eyes and bloodred lips. “What do you think?”
“I think you look like Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle. Tall, hot, and sexy.”
“I meant about our chances of finding both the crown and my surveillance footage in there?” But she appreciated the compliment. There was something empowering about playing dress up, especially when the stakes were so high. “Try not to enjoy yourself so much,” she warned. He’d been buzzing around the hotel for most of the morning—excess energy, she supposed. Or he was trying to distract himself while he waited for Cassidy Wells to get back to him? She hoped his head was in the game, otherwise they were screwed before they even stepped inside. She could only imagine his routine before any Nemesis activity. She’d have to look into that and explore a little further. She blew out a long breath. Once this was over and done. “Five years. I’ve been waiting for this chance for five years.”
“I know.” He took hold of her hand and squeezed.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“Of course I am.” He frowned. “What would make you think—”
“You just seemed distracted. Off-kilter. Since this whole thing about your mom came up. I just want to make sure your head’s in the game.”
“This is important to both of us,” he said, but there was a tension in his voice she hadn’t heard before. “We’ll be in and out before you know it. Hopefully with everything we need to get Alastair Manville out of everyone’s lives once and for all.”
“If you’re sure.” She wanted to believe him, but she knew what uncertainty did to someone in high-pressure situations. They didn’t always think, and if there was one thing they needed in the next few minutes, it was focus.
“Remember,” Nathan said as if she hadn’t voiced an iota of uncertainty. “Don’t touch anything without checking first. That security system they’ve got running through the building is way too sophisticated for a building that’s supposedly filled with nothing more than modern-day philosophers.”
“It’s for keeping people out?”
“More like keeping something in. The schematics I found online are a guide, nothing more. Who knows what changes they’ve made since they put the plans on file.”
“And I thought I tended to overthink things.”
“Just as long as you aren’t overthinking what happened last night.
“What?” She blinked faster than a hummingbird’s wings. “Why would I be . . .” She sighed when he grinned, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing the backs of her fingers. “When am I going to stop falling for your distractions?” And here she thought he was the one who needed to focus. Would he ever not make her want to smile? She mock frowned and shook her head. “Although now that you bring it up—”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed.
“Ah, good. I can do it, too.” The tension in her chest popped. She could do this. She could finally take that step and break the chains Alastair locked her in. She could do anything with Nathan on her side. There was no going back now. Whether they succeeded or not, Alastair would know she’d betrayed him. At least she knew Joey was safe and on her way to Tahoe with Poppy and Nathan’s security pals. It would be tough not talking to her for a while, but the less contact she had with her daughter for now the better.
“You ready?”
She nodded then grabbed at his arm when he pushed open his door and got out. “Nathan, wait!”
“We can’t keep putting this off—”
“No, Nathan. Look.” She tugged him back into the car and pointed to the man strolling out of the front door of SylEctus. “There’s Kolfax.”
He closed the door and they watched the middle-aged man pull out a pack of cigarettes and light up, glancing up the street one way, then the other, before crossing over and climbing into an old blue sedan.
“That guy really is the gift that keeps on giving. You got his plate?”
Laurel focused on the back of the car as Nathan pulled out his phone. “At least he got a new suit.”
“Yeah, but not a new car. That clunker’s too old for a GPS tracker.”
“Who are you calling?”
“Rylan Price.”
Laurel’s eyebrows shot up. “Mac’s son? Why—” She glared at him when he waved her quiet and put the phone on speaker.
“Is this Rylan?”
“Depends.” The rugged voice on the other end of the phone made her shiver.
“It’s Nathan Tremayne. Your father gave me your number.”
“He thought you might call. What can I do for you?”
“We just spotted Mac’s old Fed friend Kolfax leaving the SylEctus building.” Nathan shifted in his seat as the sedan turned out of sight. “Thought maybe you’d like to try to pick up his trail? Last we knew he was in Lantano Valley, so he hasn’t been here long.”
“Appreciate the heads-up. What’s his plate?”
Laurel recited it.
“Got it. Where are you staying?”
“At the Fairmont, but we’re headed back to Lantano Valley later this afternoon.”
“I’ll be in touch before you take off. Nice to work with you again. Tell your father thanks again for the job a few weeks back. Got me over a rough spot. You need anything else, you call.”
“Will do, thanks.” Nathan stared down at his disconnected phone. “Weird. Sounds like he thinks we’ve met before.
“You haven’t?”
Nathan shrugged. “It’s possible. You good?”
She was, but she wasn’t.
“Early morning employees are starting to arrive. They make for good cover. Ready to do this without a net?”
She leaned across the console and kissed him, curling her fingers into the front of his shirt. “You are my net.”
***
“Good morning,” Laurel greeted the receptionist behind the glass desk beyond the spinning lobby door with a tight smile. “I’m Holly Devereaux with the Harrington Estate. I have an appointment with Miles L. Trailavan to discuss some new acquisitions for SylEctus.”
“Ms. Devereaux, yes. We weren’t expecting you until later this afternoon.” The bleach blonde’s nasal tone reminded Laurel of a certain nanny from Flushing as she got to her feet.
“Really?” Laurel cast a sidelong look at Nathan, who was doing his best “who me?” impersonation. “And here it is barely after nine. Apparently my assistant hasn’t quite grasped how to work a calendar. If Mr. Trailavan’s not available, I can reschedule. Let’s see.” She pretended to flip through the schedule app on her phone. “I can be back in San Francisco in another two weeks. That’s assuming we haven’t sold the pieces to another interested party by then, of course. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how popular those Roman artifacts are with collectors.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Trailavan is leaving the country next week. Give me a moment, would you?” She gestured toward the leather chairs nearby before she tapped her earpiece and lowered her voice.
Laurel perched on the edge of one of the low seats, keeping a stern watch on Nathan, who was doing his best “I’m trying to fix this” impression as he meandered around the reception desk. He kept his gaze sweeping constantly and she could swear she saw smoke billowing out of his ears as he processed everything around him. His eyes sharpened, as if he didn’t like what he saw. Laurel’s stomach tightened.
The employees milled about the lobby, preoccupied with glugging coffee and finding their way around the myriad escalators and elevators. Her Burberry trench suddenly felt too warm. Lord, but she wanted to be done with this.
“Ms. Devereaux?” The receptionist got to her feet and circled the desk, giving Nathan an unexpected sour look. “Mr. Trailavan is on his way in. He’s requested you wait in his office so as not to disrupt his schedule further.”
“Of course. I appreciate the accommodation,” Laurel lied.
“Eric, Mr. Trailavan’s assistant, will be waiting for you. Please take the private elevator down the hall and to the right.”
“Thank you.” Laurel slipped her phone into her purse as she and Nathan made their way to the elevator. He brushed his fingers ever so lightly against her arm, as if reminding her she wasn’t alone. The doors opened and they stepped inside.
Her pulse jumped. No buttons to push. The elevator shot up.
Before Laurel could speak, Nathan grabbed hold of her waist and drove her into the corner, pressing himself heavily against her as he locked his mouth on the sensitive skin under her ear. “Jesus, Nathan, what the hell?” She flattened her palms against his chest to push him away, but he brushed his lips against her ear and sent her blood to singing. His breath was hot and she closed her eyes, willing herself not to surrender.
“Camera,” he murmured. “Over my shoulder. I’m not in disguise. Don’t look. Focus on me.” He moved his head as if paying extra attention to the other side of her throat as her entire body went tight. As adventurous as she was when it came to exploring Nathan’s body, she didn’t get off on being watched. Then again.
She skimmed her foot along the side of his calf and grinned, taking pleasure as his eyes darkened. Two could definitely play at this game.
“Definitely overkill for a think tank. But I do appreciate the excuse to get busy with you in an elevator,” Laurel said.
“There’s a lovely one at Tremayne Investments and Securities.”
She curled her fingers to scrape her nails into his soft baby blue shirt as his fingers skimmed up under her hem of her skirt and brushed her thigh. Her mind fogged. How was she supposed to keep focused with him touching her? “Shall we add that to my list of things to do when we get back?”
“You started a list?” His eyes narrowed as she resisted the urge to shift against him and end today’s excursion before it got off the ground.
“That plane of yours.” She let out a soft moan that made his brilliant eyes sharpen like brittle glass. “Just how private is it?”
The elevator doors slid open and she pushed him back, making a show of smoothing her hair, her dress, and straightening his tie with a sly smile on her lips.
“Ms. Devereaux?” The overly moussed, towheaded thirtysomething man was waiting down the hall as they approached. His hands flapped in the air like a Muppet tripping on acid. “I’m Eric, Mr. Trailavan’s personal assistant. I am so sorry for the scheduling mix-up. I’m on my way down now to brief Mr. Trailavan on his day. Per his request, I’ve set out coffee service for you at the conference table. Please, make yourself comfortable. He shouldn’t be any more than fifteen minutes.”
“That’s fine, thank you,” Laurel said as he took their place in the elevator. “My, this is lovely.” At some point she was going to be struck dead by lightning for all the lies she was spewing today. Hospital rooms had more personality than this sterile office. Between the smell of new carpet, tobacco, and overused wood polish, she was surprised Eric hadn’t keeled over from toxic poisoning. The entire floor was open like an enormous warehouse with no walls or screens for privacy. Or secrecy. A small square table displayed an ornate chess set in midgame, the queen tipped over. She scanned the ceiling, looking for cameras or surveillance equipment, paying special attention to the far wall in case any were concealed amidst the photographs, awards, and certificates. “I don’t see any cameras,” she whispered as she felt Nathan move in behind her.
“Me, either. Give me a few with the kid’s computer.” He pulled out a small flash drive. “Thanks to one of Malcolm’s programs, I should be able to get beyond their firewall and leave them a few presents. I should know where Manville’s office is in a few.”
“Yeah.” Laurel shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the back of one of the chairs with her purse, wandering the expansive room. She shivered, not liking the feel of this place at all. An obsessively arranged array of framed photographs and maps took up most of the space on either side of a triple-wide bookcase behind an obnoxiously ornate and polished desk. There was nothing personal here, nothing that gave her any insight into Miles Trailavan and how they might deal with him, aside from an ego-sized name plaque sitting on the edge of the desk. The only other thing that caught her attention was a glass case on the corner of his desk housing what looked like three handblown shot glasses. One was upside down as if in surrender, the other had a thin layer of what looked like black carbon dust coating it while the third remained pristine and untouched in the middle.
She didn’t see anything of interest on the shelves of the bookcase, just typical leather bound editions of books that looked to have never been opened. Showpieces, not memories, not favorites. Just . . . cold. And the photographs, most of which were black-and-white, displayed a surprising social life, one he took pride in given the brass plaques beneath each noting dates and names. Dignitaries, Fortune 500 company CEOs, a former governor standing next to . . .
An all too familiar skeletal form that reminded her of the Grim Reaper minus the scythe.
“Nathan?
“Yeah, I’m nearly done downloading. Malcolm’s program will destroy any video anywhere on the network within an hour. I was able to get into the main server and hack into Trailavan’s computer. I can’t find a listing for Alastair’s office, though.”
“Nathan, come here.” That she could sound so calm stunned even her. Her ears roared as she stared into the frames.
“What is it?” He hurried away from the computer to join her at the wall.
She pointed at one of the plaques, her mind puzzling around the words as if she were caught in a whirlwind of letters and confusing information. “That’s Manville.” She tapped a finger against the glass. “Even if I hadn’t met him five years ago, I’d have recognized him from the photo your father gave me.”
“So?” Nathan frowned. “We knew Alastair and Trailavan were connected, remember?”
“No. Nathan, you’re not hearing me.”
The computer beeped. “Download’s done.” He hurried back to Eric’s desk and started pounding on the keyboard while Laurel examined the bookcase more closely, the unease she’d been struggling against expanding into full-fledged panic. She ran her fingers along the edges of the shelf. There, in the middle section, center shelf. She flicked the switch.
And jumped back as the panels separated, exposing a large metal door secured with heavy hinges and an industrial keypad.
“Laurel, what did you—”
“It’s him.” She grabbed the name plaque, knocking over the glass case holding the shot glasses. Three shot glasses . . . three old “friends.” She could barely breathe. “Nathan, there is no Miles L. Trailavan.” She grabbed hold of his arm as he joined her. “It’s an anagram. For Alastair Manville.”
Instead of sharing her panic, a determined light flashed in his eyes. “You mean this is Alastair’s office?”
She nodded. “We need to get out of here.” This was too close to the fire. She wasn’t ready, they weren’t ready to face Alastair head-on, not without a plan.
“We’re not losing this opportunity,” Nathan insisted.
“What opportunity?” Laurel all but shrieked. “Unless you have some psychic insight into what the code to this monstrosity might be—”
“Maybe I do.” He punched in 9-7-7-6. The lock clicked. He pulled down on the lever and wrenched open the door.
Her head went light. Laurel sagged against him. “How did you—”
“Helpful Eric has a password notebook in his top drawer. Almost every listing has those numbers.” He grinned. “I took a chance.”
The small metal-encased room was lined with shelves filled with aged and pristine artifacts, some she recognized from her work with TransUnited. All those pieces that had never been recovered, all the reports she’d been forced to provide. This was what she’d helped to do. She swallowed the nausea in her throat.
Nathan stepped toward the small table in the center of the room and the security coded briefcase on top of it. He reached for the dials.
“Nathan, no.” She grabbed his arms as he walked into the room. “There’s no way it’s this easy.” Alastair wasn’t stupid. He was a chess player. He planned every move ahead.
He’d been planning every move for years. She looked behind her to the chess board.
The tipped-over queen. Laurel dragged her gaze up the wall to the small camera perched in the top corner, red light blinking as the lens focused and whirred toward them. “We have to go. Now.”
“It has to be the crown,” he insisted. “What else would he keep locked up in there?”
“Of course it is, and trust me, this is exactly what Alastair hoped for. Leave it alone!” But it was too late. Nathan grabbed hold of the handle and yanked it off the table.
The alarm that ripped through the air had her covering her ears. Lights inside the vault flashed as the bookcase began to slide closed. She dived back, dragging Nathan with her, but his arm got caught as the vault door was pushed closed. “Drop it!” Laurel yelled, barely able to think above the screaming bells.
He let go and tripped back as she grabbed her purse and jacket and raced toward the fire exit.
***
“How well do you know this security system?” Laurel asked as they plunged down the metal stairs to the lobby floor.
“Well enough that I sent the designers a few emails about its flaws.” Nathan glanced back to see her clutching her shoes, purse, and jacket against her chest. Sixteen floors suddenly felt like six hundred. Damn. He should have listened to her about the crown but he’d just wanted this over. “But it won’t be of much help to us in this instance.”
“We have to find a way out of here.”
“I’m way ahead of you.” An exaggeration. His excursions as Nemesis hadn’t done much to prepare him for escaping a fully occupied, security-enriched fortress of a think-tank conglomerate. They were going to have to wing it.
They slowed down as they reached the lobby floor. He pressed himself against the wall so he could angle a look out the small pane of glass in the stairwell door. Above them the alarm continued to clang as he felt the vibration of a door slamming shut as shouts and orders echoed. He looked at Laurel, huddled behind him, and pressed a finger against his lips. She glared at him like a cranky three-year-old.
He placed his hand on the doorknob, ready to dash through the lobby. Two armed security guards emerged from the office beside the reception desk. He jerked back and stared up at the ceiling.
“Shit.”
“What?” Laurel shoved him aside to see. “Well, hell.” She sagged back against the wall.
“Do you have a lighter in there?” He gestured toward her bag.
“I don’t smoke.”
He stared at her.
“Yeah, yeah. Give me a sec.” She dug into the tote that matched her shoes and pulled out an old-fashioned Bic. “Maybe if I had some hairspray we could blowtorch our way out.”
He pointed at the sprinkler head in the ceiling before he stooped down. “Get on my shoulders.”
“We really need to work on your sense of timing.” She hiked her dress up to her hips, exposing white lace panties underneath. “Head down and focus please.” She shoved his head forward and slid one leg over one shoulder, then the other. She braced her hands on the wall as he pushed himself to his feet. Damn. The muscles in his neck and shoulders protested.
“Aim the flame—”
“Shut up.” She flicked the lighter open, letting out a sharp shriek as water exploded into her face. The electronic blast of the fire alarm battled with the screeching whine of the security system. Nathan felt her slip to the side and dipped down so she could get off him. They watched as the security guards ran past the emergency door toward the main exit.
“I told the company there was a flaw in their system.” Doors slammed open in the stairwell and people scrambled out and down. He could hear feet pounding their way toward them. “All the sprinklers are connected,” he told her. “Set one off, they all go off. I guess they don’t read their email. Take the wig off.” He yanked it off her head and she shoved it in her bag. “You ready?”
“What do you think?”
He looked back and saw she was drenched from head to foot, her dress sticking to her like plastic wrap, water cascading over her bag perched on her head. Damn, even angry and soaking wet she was beautiful. As screwed as they were at this moment, he hadn’t felt this alive in years.
He reached behind him, held out his hand, and waited until he saw the flood of employees arcing around the stairs. He pulled open the door and let some of them through before dragging Laurel behind him into the crowd that would carry them out the emergency side exit. By the time they hit fresh air, a good fifty people broke ranks and emerged from SylEctus with a cavalcade of protests and cries of disbelief.
Nathan led Laurel down the side path and behind a cement pillar just as a black stretch limo pulled into the red zone in front of the building. “That has to be Manville,” Nathan whispered as Eric dived to open the door. Laurel wedged herself between him and the pillar to look at the man who stepped out of the back of the car.
Tall and on the too-lean side, Alastair Manville reminded Nathan of a monster movie scientist on the verge of madness, shock of white hair included. The fact that Manville shoved Eric aside and plunged into the building with a manic expression on his tight face told Nathan one thing.
There was something inside SylEctus Manville wanted.
“Let’s watch from the car,” Nathan said, taking Laurel’s hand tightly in his.
“What? Shouldn’t we be getting out of here?”
“Not yet. There’s something I want to see first.”
***
It took seventeen minutes from the time Alastair Manville walked into the flooding SylEctus building until he walked out again, the oversized metal briefcase clutched in one hand as he climbed back into his limo and drove away.
Nathan took a deep breath. “Well, that’s one problem solved.”
Laurel shifted in the passenger seat to face him “What problem would that be?”
“The evidence Manville has against you. That surveillance footage he’s been holding over you has been scrubbed.”
“We don’t know that.” Could she sound any more disbelieving? Where was her faith in him? Okay, yeah, he should have left the case alone. But still.
“If the video isn’t destroyed yet, it will be the second Manville tries to view it on any networked device. That virus Malcolm wrote destroys all video code. By the time they figure out what’s infected the system, the statute of limitations will have expired.” One small victory.
But they still didn’t have the crown.
“You were careless,” she accused. “And sloppy. And Joey—” Her voice broke.
“We were running out of time and I made a split-second decision.” He didn’t need reminding he could very well have put her daughter in danger. “It could have gone either way.”
“If this is how Nemesis operates I can’t believe you guys haven’t been caught. There was a camera in that vault, Nathan! Nothing you say can fix what happened in there. Nothing you do—”
“Want to bet?” He reached across the console and grabbed the back of her neck, hauling her against him and kissing her as if his life depended on it. It took some coaxing, and more than a few well-placed touches of his free hand, but she softened in his arms even as her hands fisted in his shirt.
“You scared me, Nathan,” she whispered.
“Sorry.” He brushed his lips against hers, wishing she’d understand, believe, how much he cared about her. And Joey. “But I bet I can scare you again.”
She closed her eyes and dropped her head forward. “I don’t think my heart can take it.”
“I think it can.” He tilted her chin up and smiled into those amazing, accusing, frustrated brown eyes of hers. “I love you, Laurel.”
“You—what?” She blinked.
“You heard me. And it’s important you realize and understand that because we are in this together from here on. Yes, I screwed up, but we’re going to fix it. All of us. Understand me?”
He loved her? What on earth was wrong with the man? Her cell phone droned in her purse. “That’s Manville,” she whispered with enough awe in her voice to kick his ego up a notch.
“The man has a horrendous sense of timing. Go on.” He gestured to her bag. “Might as well get this over with.”
She pulled out her phone. He saw her hand tremble as she clicked the speaker on. “Yes, Alastair?”
“Checkmate, Miss Scott.”
And he hung up.
***
“Good thing I got us a late checkout,” Nathan said as they squished their way through the lobby of the Fairmont, ducking past the registration desk in the hopes of staving off curious looks. He glanced at his watch. “It’s going to take me a couple of hours to thaw out in the shower. We need to hurry up and get back to Lantano Valley. The plane will be ready for us by three.”
“Great.” She squirmed against the back of the elevator. She hated feeling . . . soggy. And angry. Would these knots in her stomach ever loosen? “We have to come up with a new plan.”
At least the break with Alastair had been quick. The fallout? Laurel gnashed her teeth. That remained to be seen. Checkmate. She’d show him checkmate.
“Sounds like you’ve already got some ideas.”
“I do. I need to talk to Joey.”
“We’ll call as soon as we get to the room.”
“This isn’t a game anymore, Nathan. Alastair’s all-in now. He doesn’t have anything to lose.” While she’d never had so much to lose.
“It was never a game,” Nathan said with a hint of offense in his voice. “And I’m done apologizing. What’s done is done, we’ll fix it and move on. I’ll call my dad, fill him in, and have him rally the troops at Sheila’s as soon as we’re back.”
“Sounds good.” She looked down at the shoes she’d splurged on a few weeks ago and bid them a sad, sodden farewell. She’d really liked these shoes.
“Hey, guess what?” Nathan turned a matching grin on her that tilted her heart upside down. “We’re in another elevator. Think I could get away with hitting the emergency stop on this thing?”
She took the erotic offer as his need for a distraction. It was only a matter of time before Cassidy Wells sent him the information he was waiting for—before the reality he’d been clinging to these last few years was blown apart. “I think we’ve had enough alarms for one day, don’t you?” She stretched out her hand and breathed easier when he weaved his fingers through hers. Whatever she had to do. She bit her lip as they walked out of the elevator side by side. “Maybe we can find a few extra minutes before we leave if we double up in the shower—what’s wrong?”
He tugged her back as they approached their door, which was ajar. “Wait here.” He splayed his hand over her stomach and pushed her behind him and against the wall.
She shoved back. “Would you stop doing that? It’s not like you’ve got a bazooka in your pocket. If someone’s waiting for us—”
“Someone is.” A deep voice from inside the room said as the door swung open.
Laurel gasped and lifted her chin. Even in her distracted state, all she could manage do was mouth a “wow” in his direction.
Midnight black hair, striking blue eyes, and a natural bronze to his skin that called to mind cruises on the Mediterranean and villas on the edge of the sea swept over her like a summer breeze. His looks were a bit contradictory to the black jeans, T-shirt, and sublime leather jacket draped over an abundance of shoulders and abs. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send out a search party for you two,” the man said as he gestured them inside and closed the door. “Rylan Price.” He gave them the once-over and cocked his head. “Either you forgot your flippers or your appointment at SylEctus didn’t go as planned.”
“We ran into a few problems.” Laurel kicked off her shoes and dumped her sopping bag and coat onto the floor by the door. “Nice to meet you, Rylan. Did you two compare notes on lurking in people’s hotel rooms?”
“Rylan, Laurel Scott,” Nathan said. “I thought you were going to call . . . hang on.” He stopped in the middle of discarding his own jacket, swiped damp hair out of his eyes. “I know you. You’re that art expert who came to Lantano Valley to authenticate the paintings for my father the night of the Oliver job. But I thought—”
“Thomas Brosnan.” Rylan gave a slight bow before sitting back on the edge of the love seat. “I was afraid I’d have to sneeze for you to recognize me.”
“Oh, man.” Nathan laughed and looked at Laurel as if he didn’t understand why she didn’t get the joke. “He was the most socially inept goofball I’ve seen in years. You had me completely fooled. I take it Dad called you in at the last minute?”
“Jackson wanted to make sure you had all the angles covered.” Rylan’s eyes sparked in that same way Nathan’s had on their way into SylEctus. “Felt good having a hand in taking down that douche bag Chadwick Oliver. Glad it all worked out.”
“Um, I really hate to interrupt, but did you find Kolfax?” Laurel asked.
“I did.” Rylan nodded. “He made one stop before heading to the airport, at least that’s what he said to the cab driver who picked him up at this run-down mess of an apartment in the Tenderloin. Either he’s the most inept Fed on the planet, or he didn’t care what anyone found.”
“The jury’s still out on how inept he is,” Nathan said. “What did you find?”
“A list of names, a couple of pay stubs from SylEctus, and enough C-4 to level half a block. Detonators, wires, and some diagrams to some warehouse in Los Angeles. I checked out the address.” He tapped open his phone and showed them the news report. “Place went up in flames about six weeks ago. Arson suspected. I’m guessing now we have a suspect.”
“Did you take pictures of what you found?”
“Yep.” He handed over his phone. “I already sent everything to your dad. Figured he’d want to take a look at it seeing as how you and your sister nearly got blown up in that same fire. That reminds me.” He tossed an overnight envelope to Nathan. “That was left for you at the front desk.”
“How did you get it?” Nathan asked.
Rylan grinned.
Laurel stopped moving her head from side to side like she was watching a Ping-Pong match. “I’m sorry, you were almost what?” she asked Nathan.
“I’ll tell you about it on the plane.” Nathan waved away her concern and glanced uneasily at the envelope, no doubt those accident reports he’d asked Cassidy to track down. “So we can definitely link Kolfax to SylEctus then. And to the warehouse explosion?”
“Not sure if it would stand up in court, but I buy it,” Rylan said.
“Mac told us the other day that Kolfax is obsessed with him,” Laurel said, “That he wouldn’t put it past him to come at him through Jackson. What’s the old saying? The enemy of my enemy is—”
“My friend,” Rylan finished. “From what I know about Alastair Manville, he’s survived this long by using people’s weaknesses against them. And trust me, Kolfax’s weakness is definitely my father. He didn’t like being made a fool of by your family.”
“Hey, before we have to go.” Laurel leaned her butt against the back of the couch beside Rylan and batted her lashes at him. He looked at her, sadly, with something akin to brotherly amusement. “I didn’t get the chance to ask Mac about the Widow’s Peak job. How exactly did you guys—”
“Laurel,” Nathan warned. “Not now.”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll talk later,” she whispered to Rylan. “You two talk amongst yourselves. I’m going to go call my daughter then take a shower.” When Nathan’s phone rang she could tell by his expression who it was. “Whatever she says, we’ll work through it.” She squeezed his arm as she passed, hoping against hope that somehow Cassidy wasn’t about to confirm Nathan’s worst fear.