Crime scene tape roped off a generous area around the open door to the Allen/Collins apartment complex. The outer door stood open, and bright police lights spilled out into the night. Even from half a block away, the massive puddle of blood in the foyer hall and along the top step was gruesomely apparent. Jace glanced around the cozy neighborhood, lined with terrified faces and a frenzy of reporters. How, in the age of smartphone cameras and live streaming videos, had no one caught the beheading?

Jace shouldered his way into the crowded crime scene just as the body bag was being wheeled out. He stood back respectfully, a tightness gripping his throat. For as many terrorists as he’d killed in the line of duty, and friends who’d been killed, he still reacted to the instant permanence of death like a sissy. One second you’re here, the next you’re gone. Dwayne Collins had annoyed the hell out of him yesterday, so very much alive, but the man hadn’t deserved this.

Jace sent up a quick prayer as he scooted by the photographer, and halted by Dirk. “Bring me up to speed.”

Dirk jerked his chin by way of greeting. “Complex doesn’t have security cameras, but the neighbor directly upstairs heard a high-pitched scream just after eight. Vic had defensive wounds like he tried to block the blow. Half his forearm was severed too.”

Jace nodded, shutting down any physical reaction. He was a former SEAL, for fuck’s sake. When would he get used to the horror of people’s last suffering moments on this earth? “Any evidence left behind?”

Dirk scowled toward the uniforms grimly combing the scene. “They don’t think they’re getting much. It’s SOP with fingerprints and trace right now.”

Jace muttered his thanks and crossed to the far end of the complex foyer where Margo spoke on her cell phone, finger plugging her free ear. Beside her was a wizened man, whose white hair had to be a true bowl cut. His face was sorrowful, eyes rimmed in red. Jace introduced himself.

“Dennis Rutledge. I manage the place.” They shook hands, and Jace offered his heartfelt condolences.

“I’m assuming you gave Special Agent Hathaway your statement?” Jace nodded to his boss, who sounded like she was wrapping up with, “Yes, sir. Will do, sir.”

Rutledge nodded. “I wasn’t here when it happened. I wish I had been. I would’ve given my life for that boy. Heart of gold, that one.”

“I met him yesterday. It didn’t strike me he ran with a dangerous crowd.”

“No, sir. Most of them boyfriends he brought home were quiet and upstanding.”

Margo was off the phone and excused herself to Rutledge. She pulled Jace a small distance away. “That was Garcia; he’s heading to the police station. Evidently Donatello has information he thinks he can bargain with. Did you find your brother?”

Jace nodded. “They’re bunking the night at a women’s shelter. I’ll pick them up at seven tomorrow morning.”

“The same place Gretch went when we all thought she was kidnapped?”

“Yeah. South Saginaw and Seventy-fourth.” He glanced around the busy foyer where his task force team mingled with the local PD. Was there a mole here who had pointed out Collin’s investigative work to Adyton? Jace didn’t have enough proof to voice his concerns. “I’d just as soon the location remain between us for now,” he ended cryptically.

Although she threw him a questioning glance, Margo nodded. “Did you know Gretchen Allen from Moore and Morrow was the vic’s housemate?”

“I didn’t make the connection until you called me with this news. But at his office yesterday, Collins spoke to someone on the phone and mentioned his housemate. I believe the person on the phone was Brandon Meyers, the stalker I paid a visit to yesterday on Gretch’s behalf.”

Margo studied him like he’d fucked up good. “And then this stalker shows up at her home?”

Seriously? Now she was jumping to conclusions without gathering all the facts? “Meyers is a high-profile hedge fund manager, and the vic worked exclusively to out wealthy clients for money laundering schemes. In fact, Collins mentioned he was days away from busting some big names in Chicago. There could be a connection that resulted in Meyers coming here to see Dwayne, not Gretch.”

Margo’s eyebrows knit as she typed the name into the database on her phone. Seconds later, she flashed the screen at him. “Him?” Meyer’s cocky mug smiled up at him.

“Yep.”

She motioned Rutledge back over and showed him. “Was this the man Mr. Collins argued with?”

“He was here, all right.”

Margo’s fingers flew on her phone as she typed the information in. “Mr. Rutledge here told me this gentleman visited Dwayne last evening and a loud argument ensued about an hour later. We’re combing the apartment for forensic evidence.”

Jace turned to him. “Did you hear anything specific?”

“No, sir.” Rutledge folded and refolded his hands in a wringing gesture. “Dwayne, he didn’t know what an indoor voice was, though. That boy was so loud. An’ when he was angry, the whole building knowed.”

“What did they argue about?”

“I could hear ’em fine, but I couldn’t follow the words they shouted.”

Jace interrupted. This was about either Gretch or the opposite sides of the financial spectrum they represented. “Did you hear them mention Gretch’s name?”

“No, sir.”

“What about the words: smurf, layering, placement, or white collar?”

Rutledge stared at the wall beyond Margo. “Can’t say as I heard those exact words, but it was words like that. Words that don’t make no sense.”

Excitement stirred, and Jace glanced at Margo. “Meyers trades mortgage-backed securities at Hennings. Wonder if there’s any connection with the money-launder watchdogging Collins did?”

Margo broke into her sunny smile. “It’s enough of a lead to visit him first thing tomorrow. Great work, Jace.”

It was a far-reaching lead and one that shouldn’t be their priority. The second Margo had thanked Rutledge and they’d both said goodnight to the old man, Jace drilled her with an annoyed stare. “It’s a stretch to think Brandon came back here tonight with a sword and a Middle Eastern vendetta. Collins had evidence of massive shady transactions for Adyton. What if the old man found that out?” Like from a mole in the task force. 'It’s Adyton we should interview tomorrow morning.”

Margo’s amused expression brought him up short. “That’s one of the good things about a task force,” she said lightly. “We have the manpower to go several places at once and follow multiple leads.”

“Of course.” Jace forced a tight smile. It was his exhaustion. He hadn’t had back-to-back mission-critical assignments in so long that his body and mind were sluggish on the uptake now. “How about if Dirk and I go interview Adyton?”

She patted his bicep. “How about you get a good night’s sleep and pick up your brother and Gretch in the morning. We’ll make sure they’re off Donatello’s radar going forward. I doubt the mob wants anything to do with them now that the painting is headed back to Boston.”

He was assigned chauffer duties again. Super. Jace pivoted before his face outed him. Dirk stood close enough to have heard the order as he signed a chain-of-custody form a cop held out. He glanced over at Jace. “Go on, man. This is grunt work that’ll take until the wee hours. You may as well crash. You’ve been the superhero long enough.” Crooked teeth flashed a teasing grin.

“Right.” Like hell he was going back to his place to sleep. “Goodnight.”