“I take my orders from a man we call Soloman.”

Jay’s pallor is evident, her expression notably grim, as if someone has just handed down her death sentence. Her gaze zigzags around the table, like there’s a map drawn on it.

“What does Soloman do?” I ask, hoping to urge her forward, lest her anxiety keep her from divulging the details we so desperately need.

“Soloman is a broker. He used to deal in precious stones. Blood diamonds. Rare finds. He facilitated deals between private buyers until he was so well connected that he realized he could broker other things. Artwork, black-market items.” She pauses. “The real money came with the brokering of favors, though. Arrangements that needed to be handled discreetly. To protect his clients and keep his dealings under the radar, he soon realized that he had to keep a very small roster of clients. The richest of men, the most powerful, and sometimes the most dangerous.”

She brings her hands to the table and draws lines in the wood grain with her fingertips. “Favors started to overlap. One favor could benefit one client and gravely hurt another. So the list got smaller. The favors got more expensive. Not because they were worth more but because the people who could make these requests were so few.” Her voice grows quiet. “So they formed a group. A small circle of men and women whose power and influence outrank their competitors’. When a favor is requested, it’s put to a vote. Unanimous decisions are preferred but not required. Matters are always up for debate. All alliances must be considered. This is how things are decided.”

“How does Vince play into this?” Tristan asks.

“His father, Kristopher Boswell, was invited to a seat. His company has grown exponentially in recent years. The Chalys Pharmaceuticals footprint on the economy is substantial, and their influence can already be felt among the other members. Of course, membership is both a privilege and a concession. Members must learn to yield to the same power they wish to wield in a room of giants.”

Tristan frowns. “You’re saying you kept all of us busy with a handful of clients? How many people could they possibly need to take out?”

“It doesn’t work like that. Requests are made by members but more often through them. Jobs are considered from their extended network, accepted in return for favors that would benefit others in the circle. Sometimes money alone is accepted, though that rarely will instigate a hit.”

She looks to me. “Naturally, a request made by a member of the circle is of the utmost importance. That’s why Tristan was sent for you. That’s why Crow was nearby, on standby, from day one. I was to leave nothing to chance. Not because you were a danger to anyone but simply because a man of the highest order wanted you dead, and it had to be taken care of no matter what.”

“No one knew that he might recognize me?”

She shakes her head. “I research every job as thoroughly as I can, but the details had to do with your life in Rio and the history between your family and Boswell. I wouldn’t have dug that deep into your past relationships. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I failed to recollect your father’s involvement with Tristan early on. I vet every contractor for the Company before they’re onboarded, but it had been years since I referenced those files. It was pure chance and possibly one of the worst times for Tristan to fail.”

“I didn’t fail,” he says.

“In their eyes, you did. You didn’t exactly have a vote.”

He ignores her reply and pushes on. “If Boswell is so precious to the operation, why did you give up information on Vince and his nephew?”

“We underestimated you. Vince had his tickets booked for New Orleans nearly the minute I told you. We planned to beef up security at his residences and work once he got back. I had no idea you’d maneuver so quickly.”

One glance at Martine and I recognize the hint of satisfaction in her eyes. Tristan may hate the way the situation went down, but there’s a touch of glory in having gotten to Boswell first.

“So how do we get them to forget about us?” I ask.

“The good news is that Crow will likely be making a mess with the names I gave him. Even his family ties won’t save him when he crosses the Company. The bad news, of course, is they’ll know the information came from me. But as long as we all stay out of the way for a little while, I think we’ll be safe here.” She looks to Martine. “If you or this place was never on my radar, it shouldn’t be on theirs.”

Tristan rises and paces to the window. “That’s reassuring, but until they find the bodies—yours and mine—they won’t stay satisfied with us being out of sight for long.”

She nods, starts tracing the lines in the wood again. “If you go after them, they’ll kill you, Tristan. Their power and influence have no bounds.”

“They’re expecting him,” Skye says. “Like you said, we’re not on their radar.”

Jay’s skepticism doesn’t need to be uttered aloud. It’s palpable.

Zeda smirks. “You don’t know us, and we’re just getting to know you. We took care of Boswell in less than three days. What makes you think we can’t do worse?”

“That was you?”

“It was all of us,” Zeda says.

Jay shoots a questioning look to Tristan.

He shrugs. “I didn’t exactly give my blessing, but yes, it was a team effort. Unfortunately Isabel sacrificed the most. Boswell was lucky to leave with his life after what he did to her.”

“Even so, he was unguarded. The people in this circle are not,” she says.

“Then you tell us. Where are their weaknesses?”

“Together?” She lifts her brows. “They have none. They’re impenetrable. Individually, of course, everyone has vulnerabilities. How and when you choose to take advantage of them is another matter.”

“And that is something we will carefully consider, Miss McKenna,” Martine says. “Thank you for your trust in us. We’ll honor it by treating this information with great care, and I believe that together we can devise a plan that will protect you and others they wish to harm.”

Jay sighs heavily, though she looks anything but unburdened.

“For now, let’s get you well. I have a private physician who can come by this afternoon to see you and tend to your injuries. Skye, would you be so kind as to help outfit Miss McKenna with some basic necessities? I’m sure she could use some clothes of her own.”

“Of course.”

Martine smiles serenely and stands. “I’ll be in my office for the next couple hours if anyone needs anything. If you’ll excuse me.”

With that, she leaves and the others disperse. Tristan lingers at the window, seemingly lost in thought. I go to him.

“What now?”

He shakes his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

The sky is a murky gray as we walk through the park. Manes of Spanish moss hang from the live oaks that line the broad path. The scenery is picturesque and moody. Romantic even. But I’m only physically here. The rest of me is retracing dozens of hits knowing what I know, replaying the conversations with Jay, and trying to make connections that could be useful.

The original plan to track hits back to their instigators isn’t out of the question, except now everything is complicated by this extra layer of interest—the mysterious circle of deciding members. If money isn’t a motivator, everything is a power play. To protect it, threaten it, or further it.

“Look.” Isabel points ahead. An egret launches from its nearby perch and sails over the pond with a squawk.

I follow her gaze, trying to pull myself back into the moment. She’s patient and thoughtful by my side, her hand in mine as if it’s always belonged there. Being with her is beginning to feel that way now—like it’s been this way forever. Part of me wonders if it’s my latent memory lending to the feeling or if it’s simply an evolution of our brief time together. It’s been a month. Already I’m possessive and consumed in ways that should require more earning of those emotions. But we’ve also faced death, which quickly condenses quality of life into the space of a moment.

She leans her cheek against my arm. “What are you thinking, Tristan? Talk to me.”

“Ten thousand things. I’m having a hard time narrowing it all down into a coherent thought. My head can be a hectic place to be sometimes.”

“Do you think Jay will be okay at Halo?”

“I have no idea. It’s definitely not her style, but I think her tolerance of the situation will depend a lot on how Martine chooses to use the information Jay gives us.”

“And how do you plan to use it?”

I shrug. “The plan hasn’t changed that much. Except I’m starting to get a better idea of who we’re up against.”

“The way Jay talks about them… She’s scared to death.”

“She has good reason to be. The secrets she’s privy to are more valuable than anyone’s life. They’ll go to great lengths to protect them. She knows this better than anyone.”

Isabel’s quiet a moment, as if she’s taking that reality in.

“Have you heard from Makanga yet?”

“He sent me a message this morning. They’re safe. He has Aguilera tucked away in a little town south of Atlanta where he has contacts. Figured out that she was having an affair with the senator.”

She looks up at me, her eyebrows high. “Oh.”

“The bigger ‘oh’ is that she’s three-months pregnant, and she won’t give it up. She’ll be due right before the midterm elections, which I’m guessing won’t be great timing for the campaign.”

“Makanga can’t keep her hidden forever. What are we going to do?”

“The easiest way to erase the dot on her head is probably to go public. She wasn’t intending to. Says they’re in love, I guess. Which makes me wonder if it’s the senator’s call or someone else’s. Someone who’s invested in a candidate who can’t fail right now.”

“That would make sense.”

I slow to a halt and turn to her. “It’s time to set up a home base. Working our way out of this mess isn’t likely to be straightforward or especially quick. We’ll have to follow the trouble as we find it, but living on the road will probably drive one of us crazy before we find what we’re looking for.”

She nods, her brows crinkling. “I mean, Halo—”

“No way. I’m going way outside my comfort zone working with Martine in any capacity. I need autonomy, and that’s not really her thing.”

“You can have autonomy and take advantage of an empty room in her house. You’re not taking an oath of fealty or anything. I think she knows you’re well beyond her reach.”

“Yeah, but I don’t trust her.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

I sift my fingers into her hair, guiding her closer to me. “I trust you, Isabel.”

She sighs and settles her palms against my chest. “I think we’ll be safe there. It’s a safehouse, by definition.”

“Run by someone with enough power to be dangerous. We need to be able to maneuver. I can’t do that under her roof.”

Resignation shows in the slight slump of her shoulders. “Then where? Can we stay in New Orleans?”

“Is that what you want?”

She nods, a hint of pleading in her eyes. In that moment, something new and strange reveals itself within me—an instinctive desire not only to keep her safe from bodily harm but to give her a life that will make her happy. I’ve ripped her from the life she knew in the most traumatic way possible. The least I can do is offer some stability. And if this is where she wants to be, this is where we’ll stay. For as long as we can.

“Then we’ll stay. And I’ll tolerate Martine’s incredibly addictive home-cooked meals until we find the right place.”

She smiles broadly, lifts onto her toes, and seals the deal with a kiss.

We spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening roving the city. Some areas are familiar to me. Everything is new to Isabel, whose eyes light up at nearly every turn. We eat well, pick up some fliers for local real estate and rentals, and steal enough kisses in courtyards and alleyways that I’m eager to get back to Martine’s, if only to find more ways to put our four-poster bed to good use.

But when we get back to the house around nightfall, Jay is in the sitting room just past the entrance. She’s curled up on a couch with a book in her lap, a faraway look on her face.

I pause and look to Isabel. “Give us a minute?”

“Sure,” she says and steps away.

“Mind if I join you?”

Jay offers a tight smile, which I accept as a tentative yes. I sit on the adjacent chair and rest my elbows on my knees.

“What did the doctor say?”

She lifts her shoulder. “Nothing of consequence. Gave me the morning-after pill, just in case I wasn’t uncomfortable enough. He says I can get other tests done eventually. Obviously a rape kit was out of the question.”

A tense moment passes. “Were we right to bring you here?”

She blinks a few times, as if she doesn’t understand the question. “I had no choice.”

“I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.”

She laughs. “Tristan, my life is a prison. I’ll know freedom in death. Probably sooner rather than later.”

I frown. “Things aren’t that dire. Not yet at least.”

“Everything is out of my control. Nothing is in order. I’m a bystander in my own life, forced to sit idly while others make the decisions knowing a fraction of what’s at stake.”

“Then why don’t you tell me so I know. Show me the minefields.”

She looks away. “I’ve told you all I know.”

“That’s bullshit, and we both know it. Martine cut things short. She wants to needle it out of you herself.”

She meets my gaze. “You don’t think I know that already?” She looks me over. “You’re doing the same thing, by the way. I’m beginning to feel like the courted prom queen.”

I smirk, and she can’t mask her own.

“Listen… I don’t fully know what Martine’s intentions are. She’s shrewd and cunning. But she’s built a network of supposed do-gooders who tear down the bad guys and bolster the good guys.”

“Is that why you dislike her?”

“No. I’m just not much of a joiner.”

She cocks her head.

“If the Company’s work required group projects, I would have been done for long ago.”

“And now you have a partner,” she says, the irony like honey on her lips.

I tighten my jaw, unable to deny that she’s right. Isabel might be ill-equipped for the life of an assassin, but we’ve managed fine together. For the most part, our intentions align. They seem to more and more as the days go by.

“I never wanted this life,” I say. “You gave it to me. Why, I’ll never understand. I wanted to be free of it before Isabel, even if I refused to fully admit it to myself. You don’t understand it yet, Jay, because you still yearn for your old life. You wish you could wind the clocks back and make different choices so everything could keep humming along the way it always has been. Pretty soon, you’ll just want out of this prison no matter what it takes, no matter what you have to leave behind. That’s the prison you and I both live in—the prison the Company and all these fucking people created.”

Her eyes glisten, but her gaze is steady on me.

“I want to break out, and you will too. You and me? We deserve everything we get. Isabel doesn’t. She’s innocent. She has more heart than we ever will. So when I’m asking you to tell me what you know, I’m not trying to save the world or map out a path to glory. I just want a second chance, and I want her safe.”

She takes in an unsteady breath. “I have regrets too, you know. You pretend to know me, but you don’t. I used to care about things. I used to want a normal life. I wasn’t always this way.”

A tear travels down her cheek, leaving a glimmering trail. She wipes at it, and I reach for her hand, capturing it between us. Because I need her attention. I need her trust. She tenses, her eyes going wide.

“Then let’s crawl out of this shit together. Can you at least try to trust me?”

Her breathing grows shallow. I know what I’ve proposed is next to impossible for her on so many levels. A month ago, if someone had told me I needed to let go of the life I knew and start trusting and caring about people, I would have had choice words for them and possibly a more physical reply.

Jay’s not caught up yet, but she will be. In time.

“Tristan?”

Jay rips her hand out of mine, shifting her gaze to Isabel hovering near the doorway.

“Is everything okay?”

I stand and go to her. “Everything’s fine.”