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"And how do you propose we do that?" He spreads his arms wide. "Where's your evidence? Your proof? You can't jail someone because they make you uncomfortable."

"People disappear," I snap. "You just threatened me with it yourself. That's not discomfort. That's criminal."

"Prove it." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Prove I threatened you. Prove the Keans had anything to do with those disappearances. Hell, prove there were any disappearances at all."

Frustration grows. "So, you're telling me you know they're guilty, but you won't do anything about it?"

"I'm telling you that accusations without evidence are worthless." He sucks on his cigarette and then drops it to the ground, crushing it under the toe of his shoe. "And pursuing them is dangerous. For your health."

"You're supposed to investigate crimes, gather evidence. Not cover them up."

"Watch your mouth." His voice turns sharp. "That's a serious accusation against a law enforcement officer. One you can't prove."

For a moment, he stares at me. I get the impression he’s trying to make a decision, one that could impact my life. It’s past time I left. Flynn will be furious when he learns I came out here.

“I’ll keep your warning in mind.” I turn and head back to the bar.

“I’m thinking it’s too late for that.” Marshall’s hand grips my arm forcefully as he yanks me into the alley.

“No.” I try to tug free, but his fingers dig deeper into my arm.

"Let her go." Flynn’s voice cuts through the night.

Marshall barely spares him a glance. "This doesn't concern you. Walk away."

"I said…" Flynn steps closer. "Let. Her. Go."

Something in his tone makes Marshall look up, really look at him this time. Something like recognition crosses his face. "Flint Ifrinn. Back from the dead.”

Marshall’s hand loosens, and I tug my arm free, rubbing it.

“Go back to the car, Lucy,” Flynn’s voice commands.

“I always figured you’d be back. Are you alone, or are your brothers lurking about?” Marshall asks.

My brain finally catches up. Did he just call Flynn Flint Ifrinn?

“Go,” Flynn snaps at me.

“You look just like your father,” Marshall says. “Ugly son of a bitch, he was.”

"You would know." Flynn’s voice drips with venom. "You were there often enough, weren't you? Taking my father's money while plotting with Hampton behind his back."

He shrugs. “You know how it is. Business.”

“Did you help set the fire? What did Hampton offer you that was worth betraying my father?"

Marshall's face twists. "Your father was weak. Hampton had vision. Sometimes, progress requires… sacrifice."

I press myself against the wall, watching this exchange unfold. The undercover cop story crumbles in my mind. Flynn isn't investigating the Keans. He's hunting them. He’s one of the missing Ifrinn brothers.

“Funny you should say that.” Flynn steps closer to Marshall, who lifts his chin in defiance, but I see the fear in his eyes. “Me and my brothers have a vision too. Want to hear it?”

I can't move, frozen against the cold brick as I watch the scene unfold like a nightmare. The playful, protective man I've grown to care for transforms before my eyes into something else entirely. Something lethal and merciless.

“You can’t kill me.” Fear quavers in Marshall’s voice even as he tries to look tough.

“I think I can.” Flint moves with frightening speed, dragging Marshall deeper into the shadows. The detective's pleas cut off as Flynn’s fists fly. I hear the crunch of bone. Marshall’s head flies back, hitting the wall with a thud that makes my stomach pitch. Marshall sags against the wall, but Flynn doesn’t stop. There's no hesitation, no mercy in Flynn’s movements. This isn't self-defense or justice. It’s an execution.