“They won’t.”
“They might,” Liam said flatly. “Especially if you’re still hanging around Ruby fucking Marquez. Don’t look at me like that. I don’t care how in love you are. She’s the DA. She’s either going to be a target or a tool.”
“I’m not using her,” I snapped. “And did you forget she’s my daughter’s mother?”
“I didn’t forget,” Liam said. “But Tristan doesn’t know. And that? That might be the thing that gets you both killed.”
“I’m not telling him,” I growled. “You think he’d show restraint if he knew she was mine? That she’s the one thing that could break me?”
“I think it doesn’t matter what I think,” Liam said, quieter now. “I think you’re already past the point of keeping her safe. And Tristan’s circling. He smells blood. You’re protecting her—and that’s exactly why she’s in the crosshairs.”
I shoved back the stool so hard it screeched across the floor. “I’ll handle it. I’ll find out what the DOJ has. I’ll get ahead of it.”
Liam tilted his head. “How? You think they’ll hand over classified case files if you show up looking pretty?”
“I’m going to the source,” I said. “To someone who already knows what’s in them.”
Liam frowned. “Who?”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled until I found the name. Tapped it. Turned the screen to him.
“Alek Ivanov,” I said. “Special counsel to the DA. Ruby’s closest friend. Been in her ear for a decade.”
Liam blinked. “You’re serious.”
“He’s on the contact sheet you gave me. He’s the only one close enough to know what the DOJ is actually building—and maybe stupid enough to say something if he thinks it’ll help her.”
“You’re gonna flip a federal witness?” Liam said. “Jesus, Kieran. That’s not damage control. That’s lighting a match and tossing it in a barrel of gasoline.”
I grabbed my coat off the hook and headed for the back door.
“Kieran,” Liam called out. I stopped, just long enough to hear him say, “You don’t come back from this one if it goes sideways.”
I looked over my shoulder.
“It already has,” I said.
Then I walked out—because if this was the end, I sure as hell wasn’t going to meet it standing still.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Kieran
Alek Ivanov lived in a building that didn’t look expensive until you saw the cameras. Old red brick, three stories, ivy strangling one corner of the façade. There was a concierge tucked inside behind mirrored glass, and the buzzer system had a biometric scanner.
It was in a very nice neighborhood. I knew Alek made good money, but this had to be rent controlled. Or he came from money, which I didn’t think he did.
The lean startup years had been good to young lawyers with nerve and NYU Law degrees. He was efficient, I’d give him that. Securing a place like this before the tech bubble burst? Not bad.
I rolled my shoulders and pressed the buzzer. My hood was pulled low over my face, and my hands were shoved deep into my pockets. It was habit, not precaution. After years of being watched, the routine was automatic.
The concierge wasn’t watching me. Nobody was. It meant I had the advantage; all I had to do was wait someone to leave the door open. A couple came out of the building, laughing, and I caught the door before it shut. They didn’t see me slip past, and the tabs on the mailbox gave me what I needed: Ivanov, 3F.
I walked up. His door was pale blue and looked expensive enough to make me wonder if it was soundproof. Light still glowed through the transom, and when I leaned close, I could hear the low hum of music—some pop hit from ten years ago.
I took a deep breath and knocked once.
He’d have seen me already if his mirrorglass was positioned right.
I knocked again. Harder. Finally, he opened the door. He wore sweats and bare feet, hair rumpled enough to give me hope that he’d just rolled out of bed instead of upending a case. He blinked at me. Not surprised. Just registering who the hell I was.
