Page 151 of Fearless

“A big damn mess,” Ratchet said with a sigh. “The bookkeeping’s psychotic.”

“But?” Ghost prodded.

“But there’s money being funneled into an account set up in Larsen’s name. Fifteen thou a week.”

“Shit,” Aidan said. “So that leaves out…half this city.”

“It does narrow the pool,” Ghost agreed. He looked to his son. “You’ve gotta lean on Greg, see if he knows anything. When we take these guys down, I wanna take their backer with them.”

That was Ghost, always pushing for more. The big takedown rather than the small.

Mercy leaned back and let the table he was sitting on hold more of his weight. The move pulled at his neck, and he grimaced.

Ghost saw. “Did you go have that looked at this morning?”

He nodded. “Mags changed out the packing.”

“Good.” Absent, already turning away again: “Don’t do that stupid shit again.”

Walsh was sitting across the table from Ratchet, poring over the stolen files from Carpathian HQ. “I think we” – motion toward the secretary – “can trace backward and get a routing number; if we can access the account, we can see deposits and withdrawals. But I’d bet you anything this is set up under a fake name.”

Fake name– it stirred up memories, prickled the back of Mercy’s neck. A fake money source, just like the drug supplier whose trail they’d lost five years ago.

“I wanna know it anyway,” Ghost said. “And until then, I want everything on lockdown tonight. No gaps, no slips. Nobody gets in or gets near one of ours.”

Nods all around.

He sighed, shoulders sagging. “Fielding’s gonna come question us, one at a time, about Andre. So be prepared for that to fuck up your day.”

“Right here,” Maggie said, positioning Harry beside a parking meter in front of Flanders’ with a fast pat on each of his shoulders. “And if I signal you through the window” – she gestured to the flower shop over her shoulder – “come running. Okay?”

“Yes’m.”

She sighed and nodded. These two new prospects were good boys – lifeless, but good. She just hated the burden of them, that constant shadow, the feeling like she couldn’t blow her nose without someone studying her every move.

“You know,” she said, as a cloud slid away from the sun and the light set Harry’s red hair aflame. It whitewashed his pale skin, brought his freckles out in stark relief. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Prince Harry?”

He gave her a faintly amused look from under his russet brows. “My real name’s Lionel, ma’am. The boys called me Harry ‘cause I looked like him, and ‘cause it was easier to remember.”

Maggie snorted. “I hope you didn’t plan on keeping your dignity, prospecting with these guys.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Alright, we’ll be back.”

“These two are good,” Jackie said as they turned away and crossed the street amid sluggish midafternoon traffic, echoing Maggie’s thoughts. “That year Jace and Andre came on” – little shake of her head that set her red bob swinging alongside her ears – “slim pickin’s.”

“I never could believe either of them patched,” Maggie admitted as they squeezed between two parked SUVs and stepped up onto the sidewalk.

“With Hound and Troy getting up there, though…” Jackie let it hang.

That was how the club had to work; the old blood died out, and new blood had to be transfused.

“Let me ask you something,” Jackie said, catching Maggie by the elbow just before they reached the door. Her expression had become tight, serious, a little awkward. “Something Collier said in passing – not gossip,” she assured, “just something he was wondering.”

Maggie nodded.

“Aidan thought he was going to be VP, didn’t he?” Jackie asked with a tasteful wince.

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