Page 101 of Wilde and Deadly

Rowan stepped out of the bedroom doorway, arms crossed, tension in every line of her body. “So maybe he ran into traffic. Or a delay getting food. Or he hung out at the office for a bit before?—”

“Daphne says he never went inside. He dropped her off and left.” Sabin’s voice was too flat. Too controlled. His gaze flicked up from his phone, narrowing on Davey. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Davey swallowed the knot in his throat.

Fuck.

No easy way to say it.

He met their gazes head-on. “Cade thinks Liam is the mole.”

Sabin exploded.

A sharp string of French and English curses filled the space as he paced the room, his long legs eating up the floor in a few short strides before he hit a wall and had to pivot.

“No. It’s not Liam.”

“Sabin—”

“No.” His hands curled into fists. “Not Liam. No fucking way in hell it’s Liam.”

“Cade noticed his credentials were being used when he wasn’t in the building,” Davey said, forcing his voice to stay calm, level. “So he started investigating himself and Liam?—”

Sabin laughed. Sharp. Humorless. “Mais, if Cade says so, we should just believe him, yeah?” His voice dripped with sarcasm and barely restrained fury. “’Cause no way he’d lie, tryin’ to cover his own ass.”

“He’s right,” Rowan said after a beat of heavy silence. “I don’t trust Cade. I don’t think you should either.”

Davey exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t. Not fully.”

Sabin stopped moving. “Then why the hell are you telling us this?”

“Because whether it’s bullshit or not, Liam is still missing.”

“He didn’t shoot up that cafe. Liam wouldn’t. I can promise you that.” Sabin started pacing again, his jaw tight.

Rowan folded her arms over her chest. “We need more information.”

Davey checked his watch. Sullivan and Brody were probably asleep, but he needed them to come back in. Without another word, he pulled out his phone and dialed Sullivan.

The line rang once. Twice.

Then—

“Yeah, boss, I’m not coming in.”

Davey’s grip tightened on the phone. “Sully?—”

“But I do have a gift for you.”

That made all of the hair prickle in warning along the back of his neck. “What kind ofgift?”

Sabin went rigid, color draining from his face. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his usual easy smirk wiped clean off his face. He turned in a slow circle, muttering a long string of curses in French, one hand dragging through his hair.

“Merde,” he finally muttered. His eyes snapped to Davey, wide and full of something dangerously close to panic. “He didn’t.”

Davey’s gaze snapped to Sabin, his gut clenching like it used to before he jumped out of a plane. “Didn’t what? Sabin, what the hell are you talking about?”

Sabin ran a hand through his hair, mussing the blond strands into chaotic spikes. “It was just a joke, yeah? A stupid, off-hand comment after not enough sleep. We were talking about how frustrating it was, always being one step behind Frost. And I said, half-kidding, ‘Maybe we should just grab the bastard and make him talk.’ Sully got this look in his eye, like when he’s about to do something spectacularly reckless, and he…” Sabin trailed off and shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t think he’d actually go do it.”

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