Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 131364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Make sure Enforcement orders a full sweep on that vehicle. If he’s left anything of himself in there, I want it.”
“I already got Beaufort to put in that order,” Dahlia said. “Stayed with the vehicle until the forensic crew came, did the site sweep, then loaded up the vehicle. Spoke to the head forensic technician myself—she’s solid.”
Adam thrust a hand through his hair. “Sorry, D. I should’ve known you would.”
“We’re all on edge.” She leaned slightly into him, about as far as this new, prickly Dahlia would go toward asking for affection from her wing leader.
He wrapped his arms around her, her height so close to his own that he could press his cheek to hers. “He’s tough.”
“Bastards always are.” Her voice was thick. “You know he found me even after I told everyone to leave me alone the night of my non-wedding? I’d have broken down if it was you, just collapsed into you and sobbed like a fledgling, and I’d have hated that.”
“I get it.” He stroked her back, understanding her to the core—because he’d cried in Aria’s arms even when he’d been able to stand strong against all others. But she’d been older, and his grandmother, the emotional balance between them far different from his relationship with his ferociously independent wing-second. “I’m glad he tracked you down, that you weren’t alone that night.”
“Because it was Jacques, I got pissed. I yelled at him to fuck the hell off—and he just egged me on with that smirk he gets when he’s trying to be irritating. Like he knew I needed to rage at a target tough enough to take me on.
“After I was exhausted from fighting with him, he got me drunk. Tequila shots followed by disgusting rum chasers, all while I was in my newly shortened wedding gown.”
“Jacques never told me about that,” Adam said.
Which was just like his friend—he pretended not to care, did kind things, and never spoke about it. “Did you want to be drunk?”
“Hell yes,” she muttered. “Don’t know how he found me in that no-name dive bar, though. Accused him of having a tracker on me—asshole told me he just followed the trail of sparkles from my wedding gown.” A sniff against Adam’s ear. “He’s such a shit and I don’t want him to be hurt, Adam.”
“I know, D.” His own voice was pure grit, his eyes hot.
The two of them just stood there, holding each other for several minutes before they separated. “You should get some rest now that I’m up,” he told her. “We’ll have to trade off for the duration while Jacques is down, pull in Amir and Maraea to cover some of the duties.”
Dahlia nodded, stubborn but not illogical. “What are you going to do?”
“Tap my contacts in Raintree, see if they’ve heard anything. I think the shooting was done in panic, so there’s a chance he made a mistake.” No rational person would’ve called a vengeance-bound WindHaven down on their heads.
Falcons did not let go. The man who’d murdered Taazbaa’ and Cormac Garrett had learned that on a cold fall day when he’d been driving along a lonely highway far from falcon territory, and far, he’d believed, from any kind of justice.
He’d been wrong.
His bones now lay scattered across the bottom of the ocean, the shattered pieces of him carried there on the wing by a clan of falcons who had never, ever forgotten. And a son who had vowed vengeance the day the justice system—and the woman who should’ve been his everything—let him down.
Today, he didn’t wait till dawn to make his calls. The people to whom he needed to talk were more comfortable in the dark hours. Leaving Dahlia to finish up before she got some shut-eye, he returned to his room and stood in the maw of the exit into the Canyon to touch base with his contacts.
The first two on his list didn’t have the best reputations. One was a drunk, the other barely talked to anyone, but when push came to shove, they fell on the side of good. Each had a reason for being how they were, personal pain they handled without involving others. One happened to be ex-Enforcement from Chicago, the other a fucking actual spook from a major international organization who’d burned out.
They watched and noticed things without anyone ever seeing them.
The world outside was still dark by the time he finished talking to them—both had already heard about Jacques but had nothing to report as yet. Knowing they’d message him if they picked up anything, he looked down at the town. It remained draped in darkness but for the odd light—like the one from the bakery, where Geraldine and her wife of multiple decades would already be hard at work.
A single light burned at the Enforcement station, too. Probably one of the two deputies: Jocasta Whitten or John Hendricks. The JJs, the two called themselves, both young enough that the shine hadn’t rubbed off yet.