Page 54 of A Life Betrayed

“Then decide what you’re going to do about it,” Mathias said quietly. “Because it’s not going to get any better if every time you press against it, it bleeds.”

Chapter

Twenty-One

“Iwant you armed.” Mathias slid on his holster and removed his gun to check the chamber. “The Reapers aren’t much for subtlety.”

It was the following evening, and they stood in the living room of Mathias’s apartment, readying themselves to go and extract Allen. While Rayan felt nothing but disdain for the federal inspector and would have preferred if their paths had never crossed, it didn’t mean he wanted her dead.

“I don’t suppose you have your old gun,” Mathias said archly, reaching for his jacket and pulling it on.

Rayan shook his head. “Long gone.” He’d made careful arrangements when he’d first left the country, ensuring that whatever remained of the weapon would never be found.

“Figures. Get one from the safe.”

Rayan made his way down the hall to the bedroom, his mind once again crowded with thoughts. After seeing the contents of the file and the clinical summary of his mother’s death, he hadn’t trusted himself to return to the safe house. He’d slept here instead, waking bleary and disoriented in the late morning with Mathias pressed against his back. He’d been naive to think he could access that part of his past with the cold detachment of a stranger. Instead, it had all come back—the eerie silence that had swallowed their apartment, the locked bathroom door, theway Tahir had curled into himself, rocking from side to side at the end of his bed.

Why did I want to know?It hadn’t made anything easier. The feelings were still there, just as raw as before.

Rayan walked over to the closet and crouched before the safe. He spun the dial back and forth, the numbers still engraved in his mind. The door gave way with a sturdy click, and he eased open the handle to find two pistols and a box of ammunition stacked on the lower shelf. He reached for the 9mm and loaded it carefully, his fingers propelled by habit. Standing, Rayan stared down at the gun in his hand. It felt heavier than he remembered and looked out of place in his grip. Pushing the thought aside, he tucked the pistol into the waistband of his pants and moved to close the safe.

He wasn’t sure why it caught his eye—a small brown envelope wedged in tight on the top shelf, the seal open slightly to reveal a sliver of glossy photo paper. Rayan reached for it and let the photos slide out of the envelope and into his palm. He flipped through the first few images, the dots connecting rapidly in his brain. He’d been looking for a chance to shift the course of the investigation, desperate to do something besides stand idly by as their futures hung in the balance.

Before Rayan could reason with himself, before he could truly consider what a grievous breach of trust it was—a trust so precious and painstakingly cultivated—he shoved the envelope into the pocket of his coat. Then he slammed closed the door of the safe and went to join Mathias.

They drove through the darkened city toward the shipyards and turned onto a street dotted with industrial buildings. Mathias backed the Bentley into a narrow distribution alley across the road from the warehouse, where Truman had arranged to meet the inspector. They waited in the car, staking out the place, with a full view of both sides of the street. Beforelong, two men on motorcycles rode into the empty concrete lot outside the warehouse then disappeared along the side of the building. Several minutes later, a silver sedan pulled up at the curb, and Frances Allen got out.

“You’d think she’d have more sense,” Rayan muttered as the woman walked toward the warehouse door.

“She’s getting antsy,” Mathias observed. “Taking unnecessary risks. The Montreal office isn’t backing her, so she thinks she has to do everything herself.”

Rayan turned to Mathias, giving him a pointed look.

“Fuck off,” Mathias retorted.

Rayan snickered. “Maybe you’re more alike than you think.”

“I’m glad this is so amusing to you,” his former capo said, eyes narrowing as another figure on a motorcycle pulled up outside the building. This man was bulkier than the other two, the patch on the back of his jacket more prominent. Rayan guessed that he must be William Truman.

“We’re clear?” Mathias asked, his gaze still trained on the man in the leather jacket, who dismounted his bike and headed to the warehouse entrance.

“I get to Allen and pull her out while you deal with Truman. Then I get back in there before he goes nuclear.”

For a moment, it was as though they’d stepped back in time, transported to any one of the innumerable Collections jobs they’d found themselves on over the years. He felt a swell of pride at how well they worked together, bolstered by the patchwork of their shared past.

But then Mathias turned to Rayan, hesitation in his eyes. Things weren’t the same. He didn’t want Rayan here. “Things get hairy, and you’re out. Got it?”

Rayan nodded, hoping he looked convincing. There was no way he was leaving without Mathias.

The thud of their shoes on pavement broke the stillness of the deserted street. When they reached the door to the warehouse, Mathias pulled it open, and Rayan stepped ahead into the cavernous space. The overhead lights were on, sending pools of yellow down onto the exposed concrete floor. The large man Rayan had seen outside earlier was speaking with what appeared to be his subordinate. Inspector Allen was nowhere to be seen—neither was the other man they’d seen ride up.

Rayan was immediately on guard.Are we too late?Surely, the Reapers weren’t that efficient.

The bulky man, his motorcycle jacket laden with inscrutable stripes of some rank or another, looked up as they approached. “Mathias, glad you could join us.”

“Truman… where’s the cop?” Mathias asked, as though sharing Rayan’s thought.

Truman smirked. “Waiting for me out back. Figured we could use the chance to compare notes.” He inclined his head toward Rayan. “Who’s this?”

---