Page 39

My pulse spikes. I lean in, adrenaline kicking hard.

“That’s our guy. You want answers about what Roman Security’s hiding up here? He’s the one we ask. Forget Leonard. We needthisguy’s address.”

“I’m on it,” Raul says, nodding slowly. Then he glances at me, eyes gleaming. “Nice going, Ray. Really.”

Sam claps a hand on my shoulder. “Good job.”

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Raul says, chuckling. “Guess where Conley lives?”

I don’t even have to look, and yet I do, my eyes scanning the address that’s popped up on the screen.

“268 Jamison Drive, North Haven,” I read aloud. Dry laugh. “Two blocks from the mansion we crashed last week. Gotta love the universe.”

Raul grins. “Saves us the trip to Manhattan.”

“Okay, what’s the plan?” I ask, looking between them.

Sam doesn’t miss a beat. “Teargas.”

I glare. “I’m serious, Sammy. The guy’s rich, and he runs a high-end security firm. That means guards. Armed ones.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll need a diversion.”

Before anyone can say more, a new voice cuts in from the door.

“Say no more.”

We all turn to see Erica leaning against the frame with her arms crossed and a dangerous sparkle in her eye.

“How much did you hear?” Sam asks, voice low and tight.

“All of it, pup.” She flashes a wicked grin. “You need a distraction? I’m your girl.”

“How?” he asks, already half-knowing the answer.

“By being a woman.” She steps closer, a little sway in her hips. “I’ll wear something distracting. Don’t ask what—I’ll improvise.”

Sam scowls. “They’ll be armed.”

She shrugs. “I kicked one ofyourkind’s asses last night, remember? Would’ve taken his friend too if Stacy hadn’t stepped in. You really think a couple of rent-a-cops scare me? I need sleep first, though. I’m dead on my feet. Can we do this tomorrow?”

“Fine by me,” I say before Sam can object. “We’ll hit them tomorrow night.”

Sam’s jaw tenses, but he gives a reluctant nod. “If anything goes wrong?—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Erica cuts him off, her voice softening. She crosses the garage to her Sammy, cupping his face in her hands. “Thanks for not wrapping me in bubble wrap. That kind of trust? It matters.”

“Thanks, Erica. We move tomorrow night. Ten p.m. Until then, let’s get some work done.”

“Hell yeah,” I say, laughing as I head toward the counter.

It feels like we’re making progress. We’ve got a name, a face, and an address. Next, we’re paying him a visit. And it won’t be friendly. I doubt he’ll be eager to share. But we’ll get what we came for—one way or another.

15

STACY