Page 103 of Sire

We needed Wren here. We need women to make us put our swords, egos, and dicks down and focus on the real problems.

“Okay.” Cade opens her hands. “What do you need to know?”

“How did they move the money?” That’s Nash’s department.

“They inflated the price of the golf tours,” Cade explains. “They offered VIP access, luxury accommodations, and bullshit to cover the trade. Then, they laundered it through high-end real estate sales.”

“How did they move the victims?” That’s Axel’s area.

“Boats on the intercoastal and trucks on the interstate,” Silas answers. “They wait for high season and use rental properties to blend in with the tourists. They’re damn hard to catch.”

I know all six but Daniel, who’s British, grew up here in the Lowcountry. They know these waters and islands better than we do.

“How would you do it?” I ask Silas. “Where should we focus?”

Silas tousles his long, bronze hair. Damn, I must admit, he’s a beautiful man.

He tsks, “If I had to guess? Myrtle Beach for its crowds. Savannah for their port and trucks. Then again, maybe I’d go small, rural, so they wouldn’t find me.”

“How is this coastal ring connected to Tennessee? The mountains?” I press, and Cade narrows her violet eyes.

“Tennessee?” She shakes her head. “I’m not sure.”

“What about Russia?”

Wren blurts it, and I suddenly tense. Without looking, I can sense Axel instantly seething and Nash sitting on a razor’s edge.

My angel just fucked up.

Damn, Wren’s wicked smart, but we all make mistakes. Fatal mistakes.

“Russia?” Daniel, with his proper English accent, asks, “Why do you think Russians are involved?”

I open my mouth, but Wren blurts again, “Because when I was blindfolded with the other girls, I heard a man speaking it. Maybe it was another country or someplace?—”

“Slavic?” Daniel offers. He’s warming to Wren.

“Yeah.” Wren nods. “Some place like that. But of course, it stood out, so I was curious.”

“Maybe it’s nothing.” Axel tries to cover for us.

“Actually…” Cade snaps her fingers. “Maybe you’re on to something. One of the men we busted with Senator Evans was a top-level Russian diplomat. The asshole was immune. We had to let him go.”

Bomb.

Drop.

“Who?” Nash sounds nonchalant.

But our world just exploded.

Cade confides, “Valentin. I remember the first name, but the last name was something like Sheremet-something.”

Sheremetev.

Valentin Sheremetev.

I know who he is. So does Axel, who’s probably hiding his conniption right now. Fuck knows, I’m hiding mine.