Page 241 of Mile High Ruin

For one second, nobody moves.

Petrov is on the ground between us, bleeding onto the concrete, and Iosef stands at the mouth of the lane with a gun in his hand and the same mild expression he wears when discussing ledgers, bank transfers and compound interest.

Sloane is behind me. I know exactly where she is because every part of me is aware of her now, even with a dead enemy at my feet and another one looking at me with calm disappointment.

Anton and Marek are too far behind the cars to get a good angle without risking Sloane. Iosef knows that.

For eleven years, I mistook calculation for loyalty.

“Iosef,” I say.

He sighs, as though I’ve inconvenienced him by surviving longer than expected. “I did hope Petrov would do it. It would have been tidier.”

Sloane’s breath catches behind me.

My hand stays low at my side, close enough to my second gun that I could reach for it, not close enough to survive if Iosef decides to pull the trigger first.

“You were the leak.”

Iosef’s mouth curves slightly. “One of them.”

I keep my eyes on Iosef. “The tracker in Sloane’s bag.”

“Yes.”

“The payment changes.”

“Yes.”

“The reports about Petrov.”

“Some of them.” A muscle moves in my jaw.

“You told me she knew him before she ever stepped onto my aircraft.”

“I told you what you needed to hear.”

Behind me, Sloane goes very still. I don’t look at her.

Iosef tilts his head. “You were never going to see clearly once she entered the equation. I had to make the picture simple enough for even a man in love to understand.”

I hear Sloane inhale.

Iosef hears it too. His gaze flicks to her and then returns to me. “How sweet. She didn’t know?”

“Keep your eyes on me.”

He smiles faintly. “They always are.”

I think of Camille running through the garden with blood on the knife, eyes wild, mouth trembling around an apology Sloane never understood.

“You recruited Camille.”

“I recruited Camille long before she understood what she was agreeing to.”

Sloane makes a small sound behind me, more grief than surprise.

Iosef shrugs. “She was useful. Lonely people usually are. She had debts, a brother in Marseille with a gambling problem, a mother in a care facility she couldn’t afford, and too much access to aircraft schedules. I didn’t ask her to die for the cause at first. I asked for small things. A door left open. A crew list forwarded. A bag moved from one compartment to another.”