Page 69 of The Devil's Daughter

Elle arrives then, touching Mom on the elbow. “Elena, Drake wants us to gather at our tables. Why don’t we go and let Ben and Baz get back to their duties?”

She shoots us both a warm smile that dissolves every last bit of tension caused by my mother’s emotional barrage. Thankfully, Mom willingly leaves, letting Elle lead her off behind the others. Her brother Sam holds back, looking at us both like he’s ready to throw down. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Baz smacks me on the arm as he turns to walk away.

“Not the time,hermano. He’ll keep.”

We keep staring until Toni gives Sam’s hand a frustrated tug, and offers me an apologetic, though exasperated roll of her eyes.

I resume my patrol of the perimeter, then work my way through the tables. The guests have assigned seating, and we’ve made sure to place Miles in a spot as far from Drake as he can be, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stay there. He isn’t therenow, so I pull out my smartphone to check the check-in roster from our man at the door. A few guests have yet to arrive, including him. Elle’s brother Marco and his guest also haven’t arrived.

My gaze drifts to Elle who is settling at the table in front of the stage with the others. Salads are being served as Drake takes the stage. He’s a charismatic fucker, that’s for sure, which is evidenced by the reaction to the crowd when he makes a joke before his short introduction speech. He had planned to be on stage for more of the event, but we talked him into hiring an emcee to minimize his time front and center. He still insisted on the personal touch of a single greeting, as well as his bigger presentation that will happen over dessert. I’d love to just stare at both him and Elle tonight and marvel at my luck, but I know it won’t last if I let down my guard.

Baz is stationed near the stage looking my way, while I’m halfway down the side of the room near the table Miles is assigned to, eyes constantly scanning the crowd. When I turn toward the entrance, I do a double-take. A man has just walked in who could be Drake’s doppelgänger. I whip out my phone to check the list again. Miles’ name is checked off. It’s him.

When I look a little longer, I can see the differences between them. There’s no mistaking he’s related, though he’s slightly shorter and slighter in build, and when he comes closer, I see signs of a receding hairline, but he isn’t so desperate as to need a comb-over. He doesn’t have a date and heads toward his table alone, glancing periodically at Drake with a determined set to his jaw.

“Target is seated,” I murmur into my earpiece. The security staff within sight all swivel their heads to pinpoint his location. Everyone except for Karl Thomas, who keeps his gaze on Drake. I suppose it can’t hurt to have eyes on the boss too.

I peek at Elle once more, determined not to forget she’s as important as Drake, even if the risk to her safety isn’t as dire at this event. All the men at her table are on alert as much as the security staff, though. In fact, I think theonlyperson not scanning the room is Arturo, who seems to be fixated on observing Elle watch Drake up on stage. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t aware of everything around him. When my brother and I worked for him, he was effectively training us, which wouldn’t have worked if he didn’t already know more than we did. He wouldn’t have gotten where he is without razor-sharp instincts.

I rest easy knowing her brothers are all on task here too. It lets me spend less time worrying about her and focusing instead on nailing Miles Sitnik the second we catch him doing anything suspicious.

Now he’s just sitting at his table, greeting the guests beside him, and digging into his salad. He looks too relaxed for someone sending death threats to a family member.

I glance at Baz, who tilts his chin toward Miles. I nod to indicate I’ll stay on him. Then my brother slips his phone from his pocket, frowning as he views whatever alert he just received. He taps a message, then looks to me. My phone vibrates, so I check the screen.

Authorities found Curtis Hagler’s body. Bullet to the back of the head, dumped in Cleveland National Forest. A hiker reported it.

Fuck.

I look at Baz, our gazes lock, and I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking. Hagler’s disappearance was too suspicious to discount, so I know we were both leaning toward him being involved somehow. But now I’m positive whoever killed Hagler is who we want to look for.

I type back a message:Ballistics?

Baz replies:9mm.

That doesn’t narrow it down much. Every single member of our security team carries Glock 17s. It could be one of us for all I know, or someone else entirely. But every guest passed through a metal detector, and our target also got a pat-down so we know he won’t be armed.

A sick feeling settles in my gut as I work through the possibilities in my head. We’re new to Typhon and don’t know the security staff as well as I’d like. Baz and I both did our due diligence checking everyone out when we took the position as co-chiefs, and there weren’t any major red flags. Almost all were hired by Drake himself, the rest hired by his former security chief when his dad was CEO. A lot of the muscle are ex-military—other men like Karl Thomas, most of whom were vetted and approved by Drake at some point in the process.

Drake also makes a point to get to know his employees. We have no reason to be suspicious, especially because we haven’t hired anyone new and had no need to outsource our security for this event, even with the increased coverage we needed when we learned of the threat, and that Elle would be coming.

What if it isn’t Miles at all?

Baz seems to read my mind when he sends me another text:You keep eyes on Drake and MS. I’ll go see if I can dig up some more intel on the murder.

If only we knew who we were looking for, but given his skill when it comes to data analytics, I trust Baz to work his magic on his laptop to pinpoint the most likely suspect. I just wish we’d thought to look this closely to begin with.

36

Drake

The evening is going so smoothlyI begin to second-guess that there could be a problem. My presentation is a wild success. After it’s finished, I make my rounds, personally visiting each table to gauge support. Lindsey’s at my side, setting up meetings with most of the attendees to dive deeper into the issues, and to secure their pledges to fund research and implement renewable energy options so our industry can divest itself of its reliance on fossil fuels.

I catch sight of Ben lurking near the fountain and take a detour to talk to him. “Any luck? He’s here, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think he’s a threat. That’s him there, table ten. He looks like you, only not as hot.”

“Thank you,” I say, smirking back at Ben as I glance toward the table he indicated. I locate Miles immediately, but I don’t see myself when I look at him. I see our father, which doesn’t instill any sense of fraternal affection whatsoever. “So if he isn’t a threat, who is? We’ve been through the guest list with a fine-toothed comb.”

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