PART 1: THE LIQUIDATION LIST
"Varga is sending boys now?" Landon asked.
His voice didn't even shake with the sleet.
The man who had smiled tilted his head, his hand disappearing into his coat pocket.
"Varga didn't send us to fight, Kee," the man said, his European accent thick.
"He sent us to collect."
"The girl was supposed to be a message."
"You forgot to pay your transit taxes on the shipping yard."
Landon didn't look at his own guards.
He didn't give a signal.
He just took one step closer to me and June, his body completely shielding us from the mouth of the alley.
"Hal's Diner is neutral ground," Landon said softly.
"It was," the man replied.
"Until your little sister decided to hide a cold-storage drive inside the manager's office."
My stomach dropped.
The storage room wasn't full of dead refrigerators.
Hal—my boss, the man who had called me "sweetheart" all night—had been letting people use this place.
"Mave," June whispered, her grip loosening on my hand.
"The phone... under the battery..."
I didn't think.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the cracked device, and slid my fingernail under the back casing.
A tiny, silver micro-SD card slipped out into my bloody palm.
The man in the alley noticed the movement.
"The waitress has it," he barked, his hand coming out of his coat with a suppressed barrel.
Before he could level the gun, Landon’s silver-haired doctor did something impossible.
He pulled a heavy-caliber pistol from his medical kit and fired twice.
Thud. Thud.
The sound wasn't loud, but the man in the center of the alley dropped instantly.
The remaining two stepped backward into the shadows, firing wildly as they retreated.
"Get them in the car!" Landon roared, his calm facade completely shattering as a bullet chipped the brick wall inches from my head.
One of the broad guards grabbed June.
Landon grabbed me by the arm, his grip like a steel clamp, lifting me off my sore feet.
He threw me into the back of the armored SUV just as another round shattered the diner's rear window.
The door slammed shut.
The engine screamed.
As the vehicle tore out of the alley, the internal lights came on, reflecting the blood smeared across my blue uniform.
I looked down at the silver card in my hand.
Landon was staring at it, his gray eyes fixed on my palm like a predator watching its prey.
"Give it to me," he said.
"No," I whispered, squeezing my fist tight.
"She told me to keep it."
Landon leaned forward, his face inches from mine, the smell of expensive cologne and ozone filling the cabin.
"You don't know what that is, girl."
"I know it's why she’s dying," I spat back.
"And I know your name was the only one she trusted."
Landon didn't answer. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a small digital tablet, and pointed it at me.
"That card contains the layout of every black-site bank account owned by the Varga syndicate," he said.
"Including the one holding eighty thousand dollars of medical debt registered under your late mother's name, Evelyn Donnelly."
My heart stopped.
"How do you know that?"
Landon smiled, a terrifyingly empty line.
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"Because I bought that debt three minutes ago while we were driving."
"And if you don't give me that card, I’m going to foreclose on your life."
