Page 35 of Prodigal Son

She blinked. “I already told you. I’m not with Simon.”

He grinned. “Whatever you say. Though, for what it’s worth, he’s a total wanker.” And when he winked, she felt a smile tugging at her lips.

“You’re horrible.”

He laughed. “Darling, I was born that way.”

Ten

Albie frowned to himself when he saw Fox and Eden emerge from the alley and continue on their way toward the car. “They’re moving again,” he said into the radio in his left hand. With the other he held the binoculars to his face, following their progress visually from two rooftops away.

The radio crackled.“What was the holdup?”Axelle asked from her end of things, behind the wheel of the GTO parked a few blocks down from the rendezvous spot.

He sighed as he thumbed the transmission button. “Personal shit, I think.”

“Ugh. Oh my God. Seriouslyfuckromance. They’re gonna get us all killed over their feelings, and I did not sign up for that.”

Albie bit back the sudden urge to laugh. “Yeah, well, get ready. ETA is just a few seconds.”

“Copy.”The line went quiet.

Albie turned to see Miles pulling his headphones off to rest around his neck, still hunched over his laptop. “You got the audio?”

“Yeah, already sent it to Phillip.” He stretched his arms over his head, wincing as his spine popped. After, he leaned back, hands braced on the dirty rooftop, uncaring, shooting Albie a speculative look. “You really think this will work?”

No. He thought it was an insane plan. But he said, “Sure. It’s Dad, right?”

Miles grimaced. “You say that like it means something.”

They packed up their things, went back through the jimmied door at the top of the stairs, and took five flights down to the lobby. No one looked at them in their janitor coveralls, toolboxes dangling from their hands.

Tommy met them outside, brim of an orange Tennessee Vols baseball cap, of all things, pulled down low over his face. A souvenir gift from Walsh.

“What’d you find?” Albie asked as they all fell into step together and headed down the pavement.

Tommy sent him a smirking glance. “Found one birdie in the nest. The boys put him in bracelets and took him back to the van.”

Albie whistled appreciatively. “Yeah? Phillip’ll be happy about that.”

~*~

Tommy and his friends had caught them a hostage, and Phillip wasdelightedabout it.

Outwardly, that meant he looked almost like he might smile at some point in the next few hours.

“What’s he been saying?” he asked, propping his shoulder in the doorway. Presidents didn’t conduct interrogations, but Fox could see that he was itching to do so.

The sniper, who hadn’t been able to keep from looking at Fox with startled recognition, was the one who’d botched the apartment hit so spectacularly. Nicky was asking the questions – the crazy bastard was actually wearing brass knuckles and the sniper kept eyeing the skulls tattooed on his neck with trepidation – and so far, Fox had been content to perch on a table in the corner of the room and take mental notes.

(He wouldn’t tell Nicky, because there was no sense hurting his rather delicate feelings, but it was Fox’s presence that had painted the sniper’s face with anxious sweat; that had his pulse tripping visibly in his throat. Fox had a reputation in the underworld; it was more than a little flattering.)

“Whole lotta nothing so far,” Fox said with a shrug. “Pseudonym hired him, but there’s no way they own him. He’s too incompetent for that.”

Phillip nodded in agreement. “I’m seeing a pattern.”

Fox smirked. “Pseudonym hires people to do their dirty work, and then kills them off when they’re done? Yeah. Shitty way to do business.”

“If Dad’s telling the truth, they’re shitty people, so.”

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