King Slayer: A Fog City Novel

by Layla Reyne

  “Probably gonna make this harder.”

  “Tell me what’s going on before we walk in there,” Kane said. “No more of this getting blindsided shit.”

  “Someone reached out to Helena offering to broker a sale.”

  Kane’s steps faltered, and his eyes grew wide. “For when?”

  “Friday. But I need Amelia to vet it.”

  “Are we sure this tip is—Wait, that’s why Helena called to confirm Amelia hadn’t accessed any devices?”

  Chris nodded. “Which makes me fairly certain that, yes, this is a legit tip,” he said, reading where Kane’s previous question had been going. This wasn’t a Madigan-engineered setup like yesterday. “We need Amelia to confirm it’s from the right outside party. Not from someone else trying to insert themselves into the feud for their own gain.”

  “Might not be as hard as you think,” Kane said. “Holt and Lily were in the courtroom today.” He stopped and stared at the interrogation room door, empathy swirling in his hazel eyes. “She misses her daughter, and I think she even regrets betraying Holt. But the judge didn’t give her a chance to say that or visit with them. Just ordered her back to solitary lock-up as soon as we’re done here, until the present threat has passed.”

  As a parent, Chris had an inkling of what Amelia must feel. Knew well that tug of the heart demanding you do anything to get back to your kid. He felt that everyday about Ro, still, but there was no getting back to her. She was gone. But Lily wasn’t, and neither was Amelia, and if there was one thing Chris didn’t doubt, it was that Amelia loved her daughter. She might have lost sight of that temporarily, or interpreted her actions as being taken out of love, but as a new mother, this had to be killing her.

  Which gave them leverage. “If we can change that…”

  “Exactly,” Kane said. “Give her the thing she wants most.”

  Chris didn’t think it was power anymore. He hoped it wasn’t, or this strategy—the only one they had—would backfire.

  He entered the interrogation room and slid into the chair beside Kane, across from Amelia and her counsel. One look at Nurse Madigan, and Chris upgraded their chances. Kane was right. Her posture and manner were stoic, but her eyes and nose were red, her dress hung loose on her willowy frame, and she kept her hands clasped in a fist in front of her, as if trying to hold in the trembles that rippled out over the rest of her body.

  “Did you always know who I was?” Chris asked. That question had been gnawing at him since the weekend. How much of a pawn had he been? “Or did you just figure it out last week?”

  Amelia’s green eyes flickered to Kane, then back.

  “Cat’s out of the bag,” Chris said, answering her silent question.

  Her clasped hands relaxed a measure. “Guess that explains why you weren’t at the arraignment.”

  “And who exactly are you?” her lawyer asked.

  Oakland Ashe, or “Oak” as Kane had greeted him, was a handsome man by any objective standard—dark hair, gray eyes, trim, fit body for a man in his mid-forties—and all of him was expensive. From his three-figure haircut to his tailored suit, to his shiny shoes, to the diamond-encrusted wedding band on his ring finger and the matching gold-and-diamond Rolex on his wrist. The Madigans had spared no expense getting Amelia the best. And he was earning his paycheck.

  Chris dug his badge out of his back pocket and tossed it onto the table. “Special Agent Christopher Perri. ATF.”

  Oak picked up the badge and examined his credentials. “You’re the agent from the incident at Hawes’s loft?” At Chris’s nod, Oak closed the billfold and sent it skidding back across the table to him. “My client doesn’t have to answer that question if it will incriminate her.”

  “More than she already is?”

  Oak opened his mouth to object, but Chris cut him off. “She’s got enough charges to deal with. I’m not looking to add more. I’m just looking for some backstory.” He turned his attention to Amelia. “My goal is not to get you more time in jail, but less.”

  Amelia couldn’t hide her full-body tremor. “Less?” Or the lilt of hope in her voice.

  Kane was right. They could use this.

  “Ms. Madigan, you—”

  Amelia waved Oak off. “Yes, I knew who you were before you showed up last week.”

  “Because your boss told you?”

  “They did.”

  The gender-neutral pronoun gave nothing away. Her caginess, however, did. “Amelia, if you’re protecting someone…”

  “I’m protecting my family.”

  “By setting them up to take this hit?”

  “Not all of them.”

  Just Hawes. Consistent with her actions and those of her faction last week. They didn’t want to take the whole empire down. Only remove the king. “Is that why someone reached out to Helena?” He withdrew the copy of the email and pushed it across the table. “Is she your boss’s backup plan or the ultimate goal?”

  Surprise flashed across her face for the second time in as many minutes. “Helena almost shot me. You saw that with your own eyes.”

  “Oh, I don’t think she’s your ally,” Chris said, convinced now that the siblings wouldn’t turn on each other. No, this was someone else’s doing. “But your boss is moving all of us around on the board, and it looks like they cut you loose in favor of the other sister. The real one.”

  It was a low blow, but had the intended effect. Amelia’s shoulders slumped, and her gulp was audible.

  “Amelia,” Kane said, voice gentler, playing the good cop. They’d been friends once, and he was the known quantity here. “We’re trying to protect them too.”

  She turned soft, too seeing eyes on Kane. “I know you are, Brax. But you’re both so far out of your league.”

  “Are we at least on the same field with this?” Chris nudged the sheet of paper. “Is it from your boss? Was this the plan?”

  Her eyes glided back to him, less soft, more amused and calculating. “Who’s left, if not Helena?”

  “I need more to vet this.”

  “Vet,” she scoffed, her demeanor changing again on a dime. “You sound like him already. Everything has to be vetted. You’re adjusting your frame of reference the wrong direction. We’re all here because of the one night it all changed, the one night he didn’t vet something.”

  The one night it all changed.

  Chris was right. This was all connected to that night three years ago. “The organization didn’t vet who Isabella really was,” he said, tying it together. “Did you know that too? Is that why she was murdered?”

  “Ms. Madigan—”

  “Don’t worry, Oak,” Amelia replied, even though her eyes stayed locked on Chris. “I know better than to answer that one.”

  “Anything you can do to help us will factor into sentencing,” Kane redirected, getting them back on track. “We don’t want to take you away from Lily. She needs her mother.”

  As fast as the fight had resurged in Amelia, she deflated, reminded of what was really at stake here. Her shoulders curled forward, her chin dipped, and tears pooled in her eyes.

  “Please, Amelia,” Kane urged.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “We always intended to recruit Helena.”

  “But earlier when we showed you the email,” Chris said, “you were surprised.”

  “That they’re doing it so soon.”

  “Did you actually think it would work? That she’d betray her brothers?”

  “Me, no,” Amelia said. “But they’re running out of time.”

  Because Hawes’s plan had worked. “They’re spooked.”

  “It would appear so,” Amelia said. “Maybe we misjudged you. And him.”

  Same as Chris had done. “Lot of that going around.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  From the outside, across the intersection at Hyde and Beach, it looked like any other Wednesday night at the Buena Vista. Red neon sign lit out front, yellow globe lights casting the interior of the old haunt
in a warm, soft glow, a smattering of patrons on stools at the ornate wooden bar and at the low, round tables, most of them sipping the Irish coffees the establishment was famous for. Appearances, however, Chris realized as he crossed the intersection and entered the bar, could be deceiving.

  The female couple at one of the low bar tables: Avery and Zoe.

  The bartender in his white jacket and thin tie: a Madigan captain.

  Two more Madigan captains posing as patrons at the bar.

  And around the table in the small dining area at the far end of the space, past the bar, up two steps, and out of view of the big plate-glass windows: Hawes, Holt, and the last person Chris expected to see there, Rose.

  The Madigan matriarch looked like the million-plus bucks she was worth, not like she’d been discharged from the hospital earlier this week. She cut a stack of cards with her nimble, ringed fingers and riffled them in a bridge. She glanced up, spotted him, then began doling the cards out into four stacks. The shift in her methodical shuffling drew the twins’ attention. Holt gave him a cursory glance, then went about rearranging Lily in her sling. Hawes, unlike his grandmother and brother, tracked Chris’s every step as he approached, fiery eyes searing him like they’d done last night. Chris tucked away that memory as fast as it had come, before he embarrassed himself in front of all these people, especially Rose. He figured he was already at the top of her shit list.

  Confirmed as she skipped right over his inquiry as to how she was doing, and asked, “Why should I trust you with my family?”

  “Because I could have arrested any one of you over the past ten days, and yet, you’re sitting here, dealing cards.”

  Eyes the same blue shade as Hawes’s—except as far away from icy hot as humanly possible—pinned him to the spot. “I could also be dead.”

  “But you’re not, because I pushed your car out of the way and put myself in the path of that van.”

  Risky move, going head to head with her, but Chris didn’t think Rose was the type to tolerate, much less appreciate, bullshit. Direct seemed more her style.

  She pushed a stack of cards in front of the empty chair to her left. “Sit.”

  He’d judged correctly, then. “What game are we playing?”

  “Hearts,” Hawes said from across the table, one corner of his mouth hitched up.

  “How’s Amelia?” Holt asked as they each passed three cards to the right. “We didn’t get to talk to her at the arraignment.”

  “She’s tired, missing you both, and cooperative as a result.”

  “Did she say who she’s working for?” Hawes asked.

  Chris shook his head, eyes still on Holt and Lily. “She says she’s protecting her family.”

  “Someone’s threatened them,” Rose said.

  “Maybe someone’s threatened all of you.”

  Holt laid his cards on the table, facedown, and gathered Lily closer to his chest, holding her tight. Hawes grasped his shoulder, squeezing. “We won’t let anything happen to Amelia, or to you two.”

  Rose tossed the two of clubs into the center of the table. “I made a list.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “No.” She cut him a withering side-eye. “I wouldn’t put it past a few of the names on it to make such threats.”

  Chris withdrew two sheets of paper from his coat pocket. “Can you tell me if any of these names”—he pushed the residents list to her first, then the photo—“or this man are on it?”

  Her eyes flickered to the photo first. “I don’t know him.” Then she scanned down the residents list, front and back. “None of them either, but Holt, run them against aliases.”

  “We did that,” Chris said. “Came up blank, except for the victim we already knew about.”

  Holt half coughed, half laughed, while Rose kept her cool tone. “Our resources are more extensive than yours.”

  Hawes cleared his throat. “We’re also seeing if any names crossed paths with Amelia, like we talked about.”

  Chris was doing the same with the picture and residents list, but if they were going to keep some secrets, so was he.

  “Did she confirm the email?” Holt asked.

  Chris nodded. “Recruiting Helena was part of the plan, but this is sooner than expected.”

  “Check the list against Hena too,” Hawes said to his brother. “She’s impressed someone.”

  “Not hard to do,” Chris said. “She’s the scariest of the lot of you.”

  “And the unlikeliest to turn on her family,” Rose said.

  She spoke it like it was a given fact, and Chris was surprised neither Hawes nor Holt reacted to or protested the statement. After a moment’s consideration, though, Chris had to agree. As far as he knew, as far as his, Izzy’s, and Wheeler’s research went, Helena didn’t have outside influences diverting her loyalty. No children, no partner, no lover. She had her job, but she didn’t need it for the money. It was a labor of love, and as long as her clients were taken care of, she could split. Had already been preparing to do so the past week. And while she and Hawes were generally on the same wavelength regarding the organization’s targets and direction, Chris imagined Helena’s redline was much further out, and a good bit blurrier, than Hawes’s. Ruthless, smart, and loyal. Impressive.

  “She should remain the point for us,” Rose said, drawing Chris back out of his head. “Confirm the meet, but no one is going in alone this time.”

  Hawes had the good sense to appear chastened. Chris had the good sense to keep the conversation moving while it was going his way. “We’re working through the mission parameters on our end. I should have a full workup to share by tomorrow.”

  “Is Wheeler going to play ball?” Hawes asked.

  “He’s focused on the explosives now, not on you,” Chris told him. “We’re all trying to stop the same thing here. The same person. We have been for three years, albeit separately. We can do this together. We’re close.”

  Rose tossed her cards onto the table, ending the half-finished round, and Chris thought he’d lost the hand, lost even more. But then she drained her coffee, stood, and said, “We’ll be expecting your call, Agent Perri.”

  Meeting over, Holt rose beside her, handed Lily to her, and shouldered the diaper bag. They headed out of the restaurant, Avery and Zoe on their heels, while Hawes hung back.

  “You handled her well,” he said.

  Chris met him midway around the table, near the back corner of the room and out of sight of the windows. “She’s intimidating as fuck.”

  Hawes smiled, a bit wistful, a lot somber. “Everyone thought Papa Cal was the scary one.”

  “She doing okay with that?”

  “She did her grieving. She’s over it.” But Hawes wasn’t, judging by the way he averted his gaze. “She was the same way when Mom and Dad died. A wreck for a few days, then completely put back together and in charge.”

  Stepping closer, Chris lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “And you? It’s only been a week since you lost him too. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked…”

  “When?” Hawes said with a weak laugh. “We haven’t had a minute.”

  That wasn’t totally true. “You listened to me as I unloaded this morning about Ro and Izzy. I should have—”

  Hawes cut him off with a hand around his wrist. “You needed to tell me that, and I needed to hear it.” He turned his face into Chris’s palm, nuzzling. Jawbone sharp, stubble prickly, and lips soft as they caressed Chris’s skin. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  Two steps forward and Chris crowded him back against the corner. “I should be thanking you.” He pointed at himself. “I’m the fed who lied.”

  “Good movie title.” Hawes loosened his grip and trailed his hand down Chris’s forearm, goose bumps lifting in his wake. “And you’re not like any fed I’ve ever known.”

  “Known a few, have you?”

  He shrugged one shoulder, and the opposite corner of his mouth hitched up, the hint of a smirk chasing away the melancholy. Th
e next instant, Chris was wrenched forward by the arm, spun, and shoved front first into the corner. Hawes’s heat slammed into his back and wafted over his ear, lips and breath tickling there. “You’re my favorite.”

  Chris’s stomach flipped, and his dick hardened. “Good to know, and fuck them.”

  Hawes laughed and nipped his nape. “Tomorrow, Agent Perri.”

  “Tomorrow,” Chris repeated to Hawes’s backside as the king, head held high, strode out of the restaurant and into the night.

  Chris waited long enough for his erection to subside, then paid the table’s bill, crossed the street, and turned down the alley where he’d parked the Hog. And found he wasn’t alone. Hawes stood leaning against the wall across from the bike, knee bent, one foot propped on the cinder blocks. Fog crept around the ankle of his other leg, around the slits of his suit coat, and overhead in the faint halo of light cast by the street lamps at either end of the alley.

  In the blue eyes that swiveled Chris’s direction.

  Chris took a mental picture, the essence of Hawes Madigan captured in a single shot. Like the fog he loved so much, Hawes was a creature of shadow and light, playing in the corners, at the edges, until the wispy, indefinable mist slunk in all around and was too overpowering to see your way out of. You could fear it, fear the uncertainty, or let go and accept it. In this city, there was no escaping it. So you grew to love it. Like Hawes had the fog, like Chris had the man.

  Fuck, he’d totally fallen for the mark.

  Priorities shifted with each step Chris took toward Hawes. Keeping this man alive rocketed even higher up the ladder. Finding Isabella’s killer was paramount. Securing the explosives and Hawes’s empire likewise near the top. But it wasn’t only because Chris agreed that less death was a good thing or because he was on board with the way Hawes ran things. Chris wanted—needed—Hawes to be alive at the end of all this. Hawes could take care of himself, he’d proven that time and again, but after almost watching him die yesterday, feeling like the bottom had dropped out of his world for a third time, he couldn’t handle that reality coming to pass.

  Not when an alternate reality was making itself known. His head wasn’t totally on board yet, unsure how to make their differing approaches to justice work, but his heart had tasted home again and was loath to part with it. Or with the man who’d stoked that feeling to life.