Inherited Threat

“It’s okay,” Laurel said and, like Shelley, tucked the corner of her lip between her teeth.

“I’m pretty sure she stole the money. That’s probably what got her killed.”

“I’m sorry,” Shelley repeated, and Laurel heard the sincerity behind the two words, “for your loss.”

Laurel shook her head. “We weren’t close.” Familiar pain pushed its way forward. As always, she pushed back.

Thoughts of Bernice and how she’d died intruded. Bernice, who’d always chased happiness with the wrong men. She’d played the victim card and attracted men who wanted to make her just that. In the end, it had gotten her killed.

Laurel caught the shared looks between Shelley and Jake and found herself not wanting to lie to them, to pretend that the relationship between Bernice and her was that of a loving mother and child.

Questions she’d parried throughout childhood and her early teen years came back to taunt her. Questions like “Why doesn’t your mom come to your school play?” and, worse, “Why is your mom so mean to you?”

She told herself that none of that mattered now and changed the subject. “I want in on the investigation. I was with CID for a time before I joined the Rangers. I can help.”

Mace bunched up his mouth, as though trying to contain the words that were itching to get out. When he finally spoke, it was in a carefully neutral tone. “I already told her that we don’t involve clients in the investigation. It’s too dangerous.”

Shelley steepled her fingers together. “With her background, Laurel could be an asset.” She turned an expectant gaze on Mace.

Mace trained cool eyes on Laurel. “Boss lady says you’re in, you’re in.” A muscle at the base of his neck flexed even as a flicker of annoyance skimmed over his face.

Laurel heard the reluctance in his voice and knew that while he wasn’t happy about the decision, he’d abide by it. Though he’d left the Rangers, he was still a soldier and that was what soldiers did: follow orders.

“Thank you,” she said to Shelley. “Thank all of you. I’d be grateful if you could keep the money and ledger here. I don’t want to carry it around with me. Too risky.”

“Good idea,” Shelley said. “I’ll put them in our safe.”

Mace stood. “Laurel’s dead on her feet. I’m taking her back to the hotel where she can get some shut-eye.”

Shelley gave Laurel a sympathetic look. “Of course. Don’t worry. Mace will keep you safe.”

Outside, Laurel realized how late in the day it was. The sun slid like melted butter below the horizon. On the drive back to the hotel, she closed her eyes, taking in all that had happened. Shelley and Jake were everything she had hoped for. And more. You had only to gaze into Shelley’s eyes to see the integrity shining there. The same went for Jake.

But something had held her back from telling them about the photo and sharing her belief that she might be their half-sister. She chewed on her lip when she recognized the source of her omission. Fear. She’d never lacked courage when it came to taking the fight to the enemy, but she was afraid to confide in Shelley and Jake.

Laurel had endured Bernice’s rejection, but she wasn’t at all certain she could bear rejection from the man and the woman who might be her brother and sister.

Had anyone noticed that Shelley had a habit of tucking a corner of her lip between her teeth, the same as Laurel?

She opened her eyes to find Mace watching her.

“What did you think of Jake and Shelley?” he asked.

She blinked. What did he mean? Had he guessed... No. She was jumping to conclusions. “I liked them.”

“They’re pretty great,” he agreed. “They had a rough childhood, but they’ve made something of themselves, something good.”

What would it have been like to have grown up with such a brother and sister? She tamped down the longing in her heart and reminded herself that she was here to find answers, not to moon over what might have been. And she had Sammy, the best partner she could ask for.

As though aware of her thoughts, Sammy nuzzled her neck.

“You look far away,” Mace observed.

“No further than my thoughts,” she said lightly, though those thoughts were anything but light.

“Care to share?”

“No.” Afraid she’d sounded abrupt, she tacked on, “But thanks.” For right now, she’d hold her thoughts to herself.

“No problem.”

Only it was a problem. She, who had always prided herself on her honesty, was lying to the man who had saved her life and to the brother and sister she longed to call her own. She understood why she hadn’t yet told Jake and Shelley the truth, but why not Mace?

The answer came swiftly. She didn’t want to put him in the position of having to keep something from his bosses who were also his friends.

* * *

Mace ran a dispassionate gaze over Tony the Snitch. Tony was a slight figure who was frequently overlooked, which made him all the better at slipping in and out of places and ferreting out information.

Tony had earned his nickname legitimately. He sold what he learned on the streets...if you could meet his price. He had his fingers in a number of pies, including running errands for people who knew people. He moved in and out of the shadows with the certainty that no one would stop him. He provided a valuable service and took pride in it.

Mace had used the CI for several years now. Confidential informants—good ones—were worth their weight in gold. Tony was a sneak and a thief and would as soon sell you out as he would breathe, but he delivered the goods.

After settling Laurel in the hotel and ordering room service for the two of them, Mace had arranged for another of S&J’s operatives to stand guard outside her room. Guilt nagged his conscience as he thought of the intentional omission.

He told himself that Laurel needed rest, but that wasn’t the whole truth. He preferred working alone.

He had slipped out of his room and driven to the seamy side of the city, where back-alley deals were made with the same finesse as those in the upscale financial district. That the traders wore chains and leather rather than Brooks Brothers made no difference.

He preferred the first to the second, hands down. At least the chains and leather traders made no pretense of being anything other than what they were, unlike the Brooks Brothers–clad businessmen who hid behind facades of civility and polish.

Now he stood in one of those back alleys, with the intention of trading money for information. Steam rose from the concrete, turning the air thick and murky. A sliver of moon cast eerie shadows. The stench of overripe garbage permeated the night.

Mace ignored the stinging in his nostrils as he did the gang graffiti that covered every surface. Guilt scratched at his conscience as he thought of leaving Laurel behind. He soothed it with the reminder that she needed rest.

In his experience, security/protection jobs had prolonged periods where things moved at a glacial pace intermixed with intense action. With Laurel, there’d been few times of inaction, only continuous engagement with the enemy. He wanted to take advantage of the lull and get a handle on what he was dealing with.

Tony slunk out of the shadows. Quick as a snake and twice as crafty, he was whip thin with an oily edge that made Mace want to wash his hands after dealing with the man. Now, Tony hedged and dodged Mace’s questions about the Collective.

“You know me,” Tony whined to Mace in a singsong voice that was his trademark, “I don’t mess with the Collective. They’re bad news.”

Tony had his share of faults, but he had always been on the up-and-up with Mace. So when Tony said he didn’t mess with the Collective, Mace believed him.

As Tony fidgeted, Mace dug in his wallet for a fifty-dollar bill. It was a game where both parties knew the rules. Tony pretended not to know anything; Mace coaxed out what he needed by flashing cash under Tony’s nose. In the end, both got what they wanted.

“The Collective’s been active lately,” Mace said, easing Tony into the conversation by slipping the fifty into the man’s grimy hands.

“Word on the street is that someone took somethin’ they want back. They want it back real bad like.”

“Any idea of what that something is?”

“Some money. Maybe ten grand. But that ain’t the big thing. It’s a book.” Looking genuinely perplexed, Tony scratched his head. “I don’t know why they’re all worked up over a book. Can’t be worth much, least not to my way of thinkin’.”

The ledger. That had to be it. Mace kept his excitement to himself. “What makes this book so important?”

Tony lifted a scrawny shoulder. “Don’t know. There’s a reward for it.” His eyes lit with greed. “A big one. No questions asked.”

“If somebody came across this book, who should they contact about it?”

“That’s where it gets tricky,” Tony said. “No one wants to deal with the Collective. Like I said, it’s bad news.”

“What about the money? Any reward on it?”

“Yeah, but the book is worth a whole lot more.”

“You hear anything else, you let me know. Right?” Mace held out another fifty, which Tony deftly snatched and pocketed.

“Right.”

Satisfied that he’d learned all that he could, Mace headed back to his truck just as a figure stepped out of the shadows.

Laurel.