Page 155 of Dance of Devils

“Correct,” she says tightly. “Three years ago, after his last stint for wire fraud.”

Holy shit.

“The federal grand larceny charges?”

“Legally speaking,” Taylor says carefully, “that’s all I’m able to share with you given attorney-client privilege. But I’m going to transfer you to, well…I’ll let you get acquainted on your own. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help with this, Kir.”

I shake my head. “No no, I appreciate the effort. Thanks, Taylor.”

“Of course. Transferring you to Peter now.”

The line clicks over.

“Mr. Nikolayev? This is Peter Traif. I…think we’ve met before.”

We have indeed. “Peter—glad to see your skills are still for hire.”

Peter is sort of a private investigator, though one that has no issues working, shall we say,outsidethe legal guidelines binding most private investigators. It's why Taylor was so delicate about passing me on to him just now, though Iknowhe’s done work for Crown and Black in the past.

“I’m hoping you can fill in the blanks Taylor was obliged to omit?”

Peter clears his throat. “Bluntly, Derrick Wagner is a liar. Not only is he not in prison anywhere, the auto shop he was supposedly stealing from doesn’t exist.”

My eyes widen. “You’re joking.”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Nikolayev. Derrick Wagner is a con artist and has been for years. He’s wanted as Mike Brommer in Texas for bilking a military widow out of her late husband’s death benefits. Tennessee knows him as Carl Willoughby, and they’dloveto talk to him about an investment scam he ran on a retirement home in Mount Juliet.”

Motherfucker.

“Tell me you know where he is,” I growl, seeing red.

“I don’t, not yet,” Peter says. “But I’ve got some promising leads. You want me to find this guy?”

“Definitely,” I hiss. “If you can clear the rest of your workload to focus on this, I’ll triple your rate.”

“Consider it done, Mr. Nikolayev, and thank you. I’ll keep you in the loop. It shouldn’t take me too long.”

When I hang up I surge from the desk and stalk over to the windows, running my fingers through my hair as I pace in front of them.

Mother.

Fucker.

I already didn’t like the piece of shit for losing Brooklyn to the foster system in the first place. I fuckinghatedthat she was stripping to keep him out of jail.

But now that I hear that he and Diego have been bilking money out of a girl who's barely keeping her head above water, and that she did it allfor nothing…?

Pure venom surges through my veins.

The worst part is, I can’t tell Brooklyn. It's obvious she thought Derrick was theoneman she could actually trust in this world, who wasn’t just trying to rip her off, or play her, or fuck her.

If I tell her all this, it’ll break her. And I can’t do that.

…Iwill, however, rip Derrick’s head from his body when I get my hands on him.

My phone rings again, shattering my lurid fantasies of dismembering Derrick bare-handed.

“Dimitri,” I growl. “To what do I owe?—”