Page 71 of Vengeful Embers

“You don’t believe me now, but you will.”

“If you’re who I think you are,” I say, pacing to the window, my grip tightening around the phone, “we are not on the same side.”

“I am not at all who you think I am,” she replies, with a slight pause, like she’s letting the implication hang between us. “The world is full of smoke and mirrors. Rarely is something what you think it is on the surface.” A slight pause. “For instance, I know roughly three people in your life who are lying to you, and it's not just to you.”

“If you’re talking about my sister, I already know that,” I assure her. “If you want to get my attention, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Let’s see how good your memory is and if you understand what I’m sending you.”

A notification pings. It’s an encrypted message. I open it and scan the attachment—it's a black-and-white photo. I frown. Is this? I hold it. My eyes fall to the writing at the bottom of the picture.

“Is this what I think it is?” I ask, my eyes falling on the date.

“The breadcrumb that will lead you to the proof that you and Tara are being lied to by people close to you,” she says. “Everyone has their own agenda.”

“Including you,” I point out.

“My only agenda is the safety of those I treasure most in the world,” she replies. “Your agenda is similar.”

“How do I know you’re not leading me into a trap?”

“You don’t,” she says frankly. “I’ll give you two hours to go find the proof, and I’ll call you in two hours.” She pauses. “Oh, and I’m going to need you to switch out a file for me and hang on to the one in the filing cabinet.”

“You want me to steal personal files?” I hiss.

“Really?” She scoffs. “You’ll steal weapons and drugs from the Mirochins, but you draw the line at files?”

“They are personal,” I reply.

“So is the mother who holds her dead child in her arms from the guns or drugs you’ve let be distributed on the street,” she points out.

“It’s business,” I defend our business. “Don’t you kill people for a living?”

“Would you rather I did it for fun?” she quips. “Now, will you swap the records?”

“Why not?” I drawl. “Let’s add theft of personal files to my B&E charge.”

“Great. Wait on the corner near the building. A courier will walk past and hand you an envelope. Swap the documents. I will call you back in two hours.”

The line goes dead, and I stare at it for a moment.

I look at the photo again and know exactly where I’m going. I wait outside the target building and watch as the employees pile out as the day ends. Finally, the last person locks up, and I break in. I go straight for the records, and within a few minutes, I’ve found the two files I’m looking for. I go through the first one, snapping pages.

I get close to the end and freeze. What the fuck! I snap as many shots of the last few pages in the thicker file. Then I turn to the second, smaller one, flip through, and by the time I’m done I must look like I’m catching flies with my fucking mouth. I swap the contents of the file, flip through, and get the horrible feeling that I’m not going to like the plan the woman on the phone is concocting.

I snap all the pages, put the files back in place, then leave as if I’ve never been there.

Forty minutes later, I’m sitting in a corner coffee shop nursing a cold cup of coffee and staring at the reports in awe. I think I know what this means. I’m not sure how I feel about it right now. What I do know is the frost queen is right—I’m being played. And the thing is, I’m not sure she isn’t one of the players.

The phone rings. This time it's an unknown number.

“Da,” I answer.

“Now, do you realize what I’m talking about? You’ve been manipulated and lied to,” she tells me.

“All this cloak and dagger for what?” I hiss.

“The oldest three motives in the book are power, greed, and love.”

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