Page 57 of Crown of Smoke

I wonder just how deep the betrayal went. If Kean had someone on the inside, and Marshall, did he also have firefighters? Politicians? The precision of the attack, the way they knew exactly when to strike, how quickly they absorbed our territory afterward, it had to have taken months of planning a network of traitors to execute.

I watch Marshall laugh with a few men at a table he’s stopped to talk to, probably fellow corrupt cops, and my stomach churns. How many others helped destroy my family? How deep did Kean's influence run even back then?

The truly sickening part is knowing some of those traitors had to be people my parents trusted. People who sat at our table, whom my father considered friends.

He makes his way to a table and sits. A waitress arrives with a drink he didn’t order. I get the sense that Marshall doesn’t come here a lot or I’d have seen him already. But the staff here know him, and they know who he works for. Is he here for a meet? Maybe Hampton or Ronen. If that’s the case, I’ll have to get Lucy out of here. The last thing I want is for her to be on their radar.

For now, Marshall is alone. I want to go talk to him, but he could recognize me. Sure, it’s been ten years, but still. My only option is Lucy. Fucking hell.

I catch Lucy's attention and subtly nod toward Marshall. "Maybe you should say hi… not as a reporter. Buy him a drink, act interested in his war stories. But Lucy…" I grip her arm, probably too tight. "Don't push too hard about specific cases or names."

I hate how much she perks up. "Just friendly conversation with a chatty cop. Got it."

I watch her walk away, everything in me screaming to pull her back. Marshall isn't just any corrupt cop. If he suspects she’s digging into the Keans…

Lucy slides onto the barstool next to him with practiced ease, ordering drinks for them both. Her body language is perfect, casual, open, just another young woman impressed by a distinguished older gentleman. He’s eating it up. Of course he would. No man is immune to Lucy’s beauty and energy. When his steely eyes stare at her tits, I want to beat his face in.

But Lucy handles him masterfully, laughing at his jokes, leaning in with apparent fascination as he launches into some story.

I down my whiskey, trying to quiet the violent scenarios playing through my mind. I have to trust her skill, have to let her work.

A burly man claps me on the shoulder, pulling my attention away from Lucy and Marshall.

"That right hook you threw last weekend? Fucking brilliant, mate."

I look up to see Patrick, the crooked-nosed patron who’s eager to recruit me into Kean’s crew.

I grunt noncommittally, trying to keep Lucy in my peripheral vision while appearing engaged. Patrick launches into a blow-by-blow replay of my fight, drawing two other patrons into the conversation.

"You should've seen him take down The Beast." Patrick looks at me like I’m a fucking God. "Dropped him like a sack of potatoes."

A few more men crowd around, offering to buy me drinks, asking about my training routine. I do my best to be affable, just one of the guys, but I can’t lose sight of my mission here.

I crane my neck to look down the bar for Lucy. The stool where she sat with Marshall is empty. My heart stops. I scan the bar, frantically looking for her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I keep my voice light. “I seem to have lost my date, gentlemen.” I slide off my barstool. “Excuse me.” I push past my new friends and head back to the bathrooms. There’s no sign of her there, nor at any of the tables.

When I get back to the bar, I reach for the bartender's arm as he grabs a tip. “The blonde I was with. Where’d she go?”

He shrugs, already turning to another customer. "Left about five minutes ago with someone else. I guess she traded up.”

Ice floods my veins. Lucy wouldn't leave without telling me. Not after everything I warned her about. Would she?

Panic rips through me. Has she just walked into another ambush?

21

LUCY

I'm thrilled that Flynn has entrusted me to talk to Marshall. For the first time, he's treating me as a partner rather than someone to protect. It helps make up for how evasive he is about his work and his past, which I’m still determined to learn about.

This is my chance to prove my worth, to show Flynn I can handle myself. I slide onto the barstool next to Marshall, ordering a white wine to steady my nerves. The detective's shoulders are hunched, his tie loosened after what I assume was a long day at the precinct.

"Rough day?" I ask, keeping my voice casual.

He grunts, barely glancing my way. "Something like that."

"I'm Lucy. Are you a regular here?”

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