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“Me.”
I know it to be true, and not because of pretty Scarlett, but because of the inquiries already made about me.
“And that fucking client list?”
“They won’t keep the list any place where we can just walk in and snatch it. Or storm in and grab it.” I glance back at the screen. She’s getting edgy. “That list is hidden, and if Hanlon or his brother die and it’s not in the right hands…” I grin. “We need the right in. And that takes trust.”
Or someone like me.
Smith’s gaze goes to the screen this time and he nods. “You think Hanlon’s daughter’s the key?”
“Yes.” I go to my phone and shoot off a text to Bernadette before answering Smith. “She’s here, isn’t she?”
A few minutes later Bernadette appears in that corner camera image, handing Scarlett a card that holds my instructions. The pretty girl doesn’t look happy, and I don’t give a shit.
Smith sighs. “I’m your right-hand man when you need me. Don’t fuck things up and go rogue. The Knights need that list.”
“I’m aware.” I set my glass down and watch Scarlett’s mouth twist as she gets up and leaves.
“Are you? You thrive on chaos.”
I give him a long look and lean against the bar in the oversized office. “My thing is chaos. There are intricate patterns beneath the noise. Always are. And this…”
I clench my hand that’s on the far side of me, where Smith can’t see.
I’d never had a name, not a last name. But I’d seen the man. Once. As a young boy. Seen the man who destroyed my mother, ripped apart my family, and sent us tumbling into the gutter and the fucking grueling system.
Chaos works with its patterns beneath the noise. Because it’s pure chaos that when the job came up for Hanlon Shipping, I just so happened to see the photo.
Older.
Richer.
But I recognized him.
Dale.
Dale fucking Hanlon.
Destroying him isn’t the goal behind the job, but it’s my endgame goal when the job’s done.
“That’s the thing, though. This is chaos I understand on a deep and fundamental level,” I say.
He nods. But his gaze is sharp on me, and I never underestimate my fellow Knights. Least of all Smith because he’s not as clear-cut as the others. And I suspect he sees way too much.
“I’m not going to ask, Malone, what Hanlon did to you.” He smiles a cold little smile. “Or why you’re going to kill him, but promise me you’ll wait until we have what we need.”
I’m not going to ask how he worked that out even though I’m damn curious. I’m not easy to read. “I promise.”
“And the daughter?—”
“I promise I won’t kill him until the job’s done.” I repeat the words because that’s all he’ll get from me.
I check my watch. The piece is old, meticulously restored to its real glory by me, and I figure enough time’s passed for Scarlett to be borderline ready to leave this place.
If she does, I’ll up my campaign.
If she doesn’t? Then I’ll be making my first move.
