Dane

Countless theories swam through Dane's mind in the first half hour that passed as he waited for the staff to find his brother. But still there was no news. Then another half hour was gone. Dane's tension rose with every passing moment. He'd almost paced a line in the carpet of his office, he was so tense. He was ready to go out searching personally, before Tank finally buzzed his phone and let him know he had Chris on the way. Dane swore when the text came through, but it was mainly with relief.

​​

WHERE WAS HE? He texted Tank.

LUCKY BASTARD WAS

AT THE BIRDCAGE.

The Birdcage was their code word for a local bar that was actually a cover for a prostitution and money laundering ring. What the hell had Chris been doing there? And why had he gone there so quickly after their argument? Wasn't he still on duty? Or was it part of a job, was there a threat Dane didn't know about?

Dane forced himself to stay in his chair, rather than pace. But his entire body felt tense. Jumpy. Something was going on. But he couldn't see the whole picture yet. Something was—

A brisk knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He scowled. "What is it?"

Delilah—he couldn't bring himself to think of her so familiarly as "Lila"—breezed in, a file under her arm, her face bright and professional—until she closed his office door and stalked up to his desk. Her face became tense as soon as they were alone.

"I've found more," she said quietly. "And it's occurred to me that until we know who's involved, it's not safe for the rest of the staff to hear my theories. Anyone could be paid off."

Dane pinched his temples between his fingers and rubbed away the ache. "Okay, tell me what you know.

She dropped into the chair on the other side of his desk and began sliding papers and photos in front of him as she spoke. "So, you know about Becky Hanson's father and his connections with military intelligence. But while Tonya was working on a lead, it occurred to me to look up the show that made her famous. There's multiple links there—close links—between staff and organized crime."

Dane became very still, but she was looking at the pictures and didn't notice. "I'm still digging to figure out exactly which group we're dealing with. I can't believe your team didn't find this on their first sweep—these are very close links, Dane, and it looks like—"

"Stop," Dane said, more calmly than he felt.

"Hmm?" She looked up from the photos, surprised. "Sorry, was I going too fast? I don't mean to scare you, but I think this woman has actual, personal contacts with the underground—"

"Stop," Dane said, more forcefully.

She didn't miss his tension this time. She blinked and sat back in her chair, waiting. Frowning when he didn't continue to speak.

Dane stared at the photos. He'd only needed to see the one, but they all made sense. Dammit. He hadn't planned to talk to her about . . . shaking his head, he shuffled the photos together so only the top one—the one of Becky and her father—was visible. She was staring, obviously confused, and growing a little irritated. He needed to speak. But he couldn't.

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

"I know about this," he said quietly, still playing with the photos to make them line up exactly, though it was really only something to do with his hands. "I hadn't realized there was a link. But this clarifies the problem for me." He laid the photos down on his desk and finally met her eyes.

She raised a single eyebrow in a perfect arch. When he didn't speak, her lips pursed. "Would you care to clarify it for me? I am trying to help your business stay afloat."

Dane broke the look to glance at the clock. Tank would be here any second with Chris. They couldn't be talking about this then. Tank was a good man, but he trusted his friends too easily, and Delilah was right--chances were they had a staff member who was helping their enemies.

He sat back in his chair, one finger tapping on the photos as his brain zipped from option to option, discarding each.

"I'm afraid I can't," he said firmly, but without anger, which was a minor miracle. "At least, not yet. But I will do some explorations of my own and tell you what I can when I know what angle the, er, sabotage is coming from."

Her expression didn't change. But her foot began to tap, quickly and silently, on the carpet.

"Until then, I need to ask you to keep this entirely to yourself. Have you assigned anything to Tonya, or Grant, that would lead them down this road?"

"Not yet, I wanted to speak with you first. But—"

"Good. Don't. Don't speak of this to any staff with the exception of me. Only me. Do you understand?"

She took a moment to respond. "I understand the instruction," she said through her teeth. "But I'lll admit to being confused about why you wouldn't want to inform me so I can do a better job of helping you."

That was the real question, wasn't it? And now he had to figure out just how trustworthy Delilah Farris really was.

Could he risk telling her the truth?

.

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