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"Take your shoes off," he said, toeing his boots off as we stepped onto the front porch.
"Why?" Larissa asked, her brow pinched in confusion.
"Blood. The rest of our clothes should be fine. But our shoes are covered."
"It's best not to track it into the truck," he said absentmindedly.
He jogged the few feet to the truck, opened the passenger door and dug around, coming back with a handful of items that looked like receipts, napkins and other random papers, along with a box of matches.
"Need help?" I asked.
He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to my lips.
"No. Get in the truck. I'll be there in a minute." He said, stuffing the paper into the shoes and dropping in a few unlit matches.
Time passed in heartbeats as we waited for him to emerge, black smoke already beginning to curl around the edges of the door frame. Finally, I released my captive breath as he strutted into view, walking more like a runway model than a man escaping a burning building.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
At his apology, her mask slipped and cracked, and the tears began falling freely.
Chapter 43
AHREN
"Mauricio Ynesco." I said triumphantly, dropping the file on the dining table between the two women.
Tierney reached for it, reading through the file carefully. I was glad to have another hitter to review the information. Maybe her eyes could catch something I hadn't.
"Sounds like twisted poetry," Connor said, dropping my phone to the table. She reviewed the ramblings I found at Jason's.
One shot, two dead
Two bodies, one bed
One body, one soul;
My turn to fill the hole.
One message on the left-hand wall of the foyer. Another equally cryptic message on the wall to the right. Connor was right. 'twisted poetry' was an apt description.
An eye for an eye leaves the world blind;
You took one from me, I'll take three from thine.
"Thine? Who the fuck says thine?" I scoffed.
"I know, right?" Tierney said, shaking her head in mocking disbelief.
"So, who did Mauricio piss off?" Connor asked.
"Don't know." I answered, "we don't get that information, only the broker knows. It's one of the reasons he's off-limits."
She nodded, instantly understanding. "You're all a bunch of hotheads. If you could off some guy to get info every time a job goes bad, well, you'd need a new broker every week."
"Passionate." Tierney corrected. "Not hot headed. We just know how to find the—simplest path to getting what we want. You act like it's a deficit, but it's a skill."
"More like an instinct. Shit like that keeps us alive. But yes, you are mostly correct in why the broker is protected."