Page 19 of Wicked Duty
This little hellcat needs someone to instruct her on how to behave.
Teach her some damn manners.
Too bad that person can’t be me.
I spend a few exasperated seconds staring at the bathroom door while pinching the bridge of my nose.
Lucy and Maya Marlow rent a two-bedroom apartment on the eighth level of a ten-story high-rise in Brooklyn.
There are only a few entrances and exits on the bottom floor, all of which are well-monitored by the CCTV cameras stationed around the building.
No one questioned me when I first entered and headed for the stairwell, because security at a high-rise like this is basicallycomprised of glorified door-openers. Even if someone had stopped me, that doesn’t mean they’d be prepared for a Roguilin sanctioned ambush.
No security team could be prepared for that.
That’s why I’m here.
The squeal of old pipes echoes through the bathroom walls.
She’s getting in the shower. Perfect.
I launch into action. I can use this opportunity to work on the second part of my assignment. Finding the crypto wallet Shane described during my briefing.
Being as thorough as possible while also moving quickly, I sweep their modest floor plan with a new set of eyes, examining their bookshelves and furniture for hiding places and ensuring everything appears undisturbed.
Then, I give each bookshelf and book a closer inspection and study the plants stuffed in large woven pots.
My mouth twitches. I can’t believe she handed me a plant to try to shut me up…all while assaulting my eardrums with Dua Lipa. Pretty damn sure nothing about me screams “plant dad.”
Next, I cross through the opening that leads to a tiny dining area. A table for two dominates the space. To the right is a little makeshift work desk.
Nothing here.
I backtrack to their pocket-sized kitchen, checking overflowing drawers and cabinets packed full of mismatched dinnerware. No luck.
Most of the apartment space seems allocated to the two bedrooms. A postage-stamp-sized balcony overlooks other buildings and the park across the street.
If I were a USB drive with a shit-ton of money on it, where would I hide?
My phone erupts in my pocket.
Shane Gallagher’s name splashes across my screen.Shit.He wouldn’t call unless it’s urgent.
Stepping out onto the balcony for privacy—noting the potential security risk and escape route—I answer Shane’s call.
“Status update. Report.” No greetings, no lead-in. The head of the Kings is all business.
Darren already told him about the rat and single red rose, but I go over the information with him again. “I’ll be ramping up her security, which should also help me locate the wallet. No sign of it yet.”
“Upping her security is the right move. Did you hear about one of the other witnesses going missing?”
Muscles in my back tighten. “Yes, sir.”
“Find that wallet, Callum. Time is running out.”
“Yes, sir,” I repeat. “Can I ask…why do you think Lucy has the wallet?”
Always a risk, questioning a man like Shane. Thankfully, he doesn’t take offense. “One of our guys on the inside heard Viktor talking to another inmate. I’m not sure he suspected her right away, but he does now. What about the girl, does she suspect anything?”
