Page 3 of Vow Of Fire

Well, the leak sure as hell hadn’t come from our side. My family was tight.

Nico, my brother, had vetted everybody who worked in that gallery, and Alberto was the only one with access to the shipping details. Then there were the suspicious call logs, and the fifty grand from an account in the Caymans.

I knew better than most that everyone had a price. My time in the military had taught me that.

I absently fingered the old scar on my left forearm, long since covered by a tattoo of a bullet hole—jagged-edged, the kind you’d see in a comic book. Apt, I’d thought when I’d had it done. Most men hid their scars. I’d had mine inked louder, so I wouldn’t forget.

A betrayal. A bullet I should have seen coming. A constant reminder that life was cheap and trust was cheaper.

I stared at the pathetic logistics manager, letting the silence drag out.

“Last chance, Alberto. Use it.”

“Okay, okay,” he stammered.

I exhaled. Finally. It was about fucking time.

“It wasn’t me. But… I might know who it was.”

I narrowed my eyes. Another attempt to shift the blame? Find a scapegoat? Or was there really another player in all this? A third party leaking information to our rivals that we didn’t know about.

“Who?” I demanded.

He hesitated. “If I tell you, will you let me go?”

I scowled at him. “Now that depends on whether I like what you’ve got to say.” If he was on the level, there might be a deal to be made. I was a reasonable man.

To a point.

He gulped.

“She knew what was going on,” he blurted out.

“Who?”

“The gallery owner. The woman who hired me.”

I mulled that over. We’d had very little to do with the gallery management. Vincent was our inside man. He handled the laundering side, and he was fucking good at it. I’d never even been to the Agora before.

“It’s true I deal with the logistics,” Alberto went on. “But she paid the shipping fees and organized the climate-controlled transport for the artist. She had access to the exact docking times, vessel name, and container coordinates.”

Except, she wouldn’t have known about the drugs. Vincent would have made sure of that.

“I also caught her at my computer last week,” he added, eyes widening in recollection.

I let the silence stretch out. “I hope you’re not lying to me.”

“I’m not, I swear. When I came in, she said she had to look something up on the manifest. I’m the only one with access to the system, so she has to use my login when she needs anything.”

I went still. “The shipping manifest?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his front teeth pressing down on his lower lip, reminding me of a beaver. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. She could have used my desk phone. She’s always working late at the gallery.”

I drew in a breath. “What is her name?”

“Evelyn Cruz.”

I repeated it to myself. Once, twice. Tasting it on my tongue.