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The title beneath his name was worse.

Regional Logistics Coordinator.

“No.”

The word barely left her.

Artemus enlarged the entry.

Gabriele’s employee number matched the records from his legitimate position. His office address was correct. His private telephone number appeared beneath it, along with an identification code tied to several Coccico accounts.

Adriana moved closer to the monitor.

“That proves nothing. He worked with freight records. Anyone could have used his details.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

Her eyes snapped to mine. I didn’t know whether it was true.

Artemus opened another document.

Gabriele’s name appeared beneath a payment authorization.

Then a second.

A route alteration followed, carrying his initials beside instructions for drivers to avoid an inspection point outside Rome. Another record authorized the transfer of funds to a warehouse used to hold women overnight.

Adriana shook her head.

“He could have been forced.”

“He could have been,” Atlas said.

She turned toward him, searching his face for certainty. Atlas gave her none.

“These records establish involvement,” he explained. “They don’t establish motive.”

“He was gathering evidence against them,” she insisted. “That was why they killed him.”

No one contradicted her. No one agreed either.

“He changed before he died,” she advised. “He stopped sleeping. He burned papers in the kitchen and checked the windows every time a car slowed outside.” Her voice tightened until the words seemed painful as they left her. “I thought he was afraid because he had discovered what they were doing. What if he was afraid because they discovered he planned to betray them?”

No one moved. The possibility entered the room and took the air with it.

Adriana pulled her hand from mine.

“He helped them.”

“We don’t know that.”

“His name is there.”

“Names can be planted.”

“His employee number is there. His signature is there. Those instructions came from him.”

Her breathing began to fracture, but this time panic didn’t take her. Anger did.