“I’m sorry.”
“No apologies.” His thumb stroked a path across the apple of my cheek. “It’s been a day, for sure.”
“Understatement.”
“What can I do to make it better?”
“You’re already doing it.” I leaned into his touch. “You being here helps.”
“Good to know because you’re stuck with me.”
“Do Finn and I act like this around everyone?”
Duncan peered around me to answer his friend. “No, Waverly. You’re worse.”
“Shit. Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re not,” he replied.
“Eh, you’re right. Anywho, didn’t you say you found something?”
6TERROR TWINS ACTIVATED
Duncan
“I’m confused. If the cameras weren’t able to see a face, how do we have a name?”
My team, plus Sloane, gathered around the open laptop centered on the dining room table. Nelson joined us via video call. He was the reason we had any information at all.
“Using traffic cameras, I was able to locate a red SUV leaving the area around the same time as the perp would’ve been exiting the woods,” his voice sounded through the speakers. “From there, I traced the vehicle back to a rental car company, pulled up the online agreement, and voila, our mystery man was identified.”
“Is that legal?”
“Umm…Agent Mitchell? A little help here.”
Waverly rolled her eyes. “We do what we have to do, Sloane. Will it hold up in court? Negative. Will my boss rip me a new asshole if he finds out? I’ll take my chances.”
“Gotcha. So you’ve got a name.”
“I don’t just have his name, Miss Beckington. I’ve gothis driver’s license, place of employment, credit history, and dental records, to name a few.”
Keaton raised his hand. “What the hell do we need dental records for, Nelson? We’re not identifying bodies.”
“Yet,” Noah added.
Koen snorted. “Someone’s fucking with Duncan’s woman and his kids. Do you actually think there will be bodies to identify?"
He wasn’t entirely wrong, though murder wasn’t my style. We were familiar with operating in the gray. We’d done it when Henley and Jade were kidnapped by a serial killer set on revenge against Keaton. Then twice more when Jade almost died at the hands of a drug cartel in California, and when Lanie was targeted by the Russian Bratva. When it came to protecting our family, the lines separating right from wrong didn’t just blur, they disappeared all together.
“Let’s get back on track, shall we? Nelson, tell me everything you know about this guy.”
“Sure thing, Special Agent Mitchell. Donald Lester is forty-three, divorced, no kids, lives with his mother––”
“Probably a basement dweller,” Lanie interjected.
“And works part time as a used car salesman.”
“Why would a used car salesman be lurking behind Sloane’s house?”