Dante put up an image of Dr. Samuel Webb, the doctor Izzy interviewed about the charity.
“He was in Syria.”
Steele clenched a fist on the table, wishing he could yank every word out of Dante at once.
“He was first on the scene after the Red Cross bombing. You aren’t gonna believe this. He personally attempted to resuscitate Miriam Sheen.”
“Cipher.” The hot whisper scalded Steele’s tongue. “Izzy was one of the hostages. One of the reasons his mother wasn’t saved.”
“Call her,” Con ordered him, but he already had his phone to his ear. The phone rang once, twice—
“Hey,” Izzy’s voice came through, slightly breathless as if she was walking fast or climbing flights of stairs. “What’s up?”
“Tell me you dropped this story,” Steele said without preamble.
There was a pause. “What story?”
“The charity piece. The anonymous donor. Tell me you’re not pursuing it further. Tell me you walked away from it.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Hudson, what are you talking about? It’s just a fluff piece about a medical clinic and some donor with deep pockets. No big deal.”
“Izzy—”
“Look, I’ve got to go. I’m about to head into a meeting and drinks.”
“Wait, Izzy. What restaurant?”
“Two to Tango.”
The line went dead.
Steele stared at his phone, frustration and fear warring in his chest. Around the table, his teammates were watching himwith the kind of focused attention that meant they’d all reached the same conclusion he had.
“Well, fuck,” Mason said quietly.
Con was already moving, his commands cutting through the tension. “Dante, I need everything you can find on Hartwell and Associates. Financial records, client lists, companies they work with—everything.”
“On it.” Dante’s fingers were already flying over his keyboard.
Con barked out more orders. “Chase, you and Chickie get to that restaurant. Find out everything you can about this meeting she’s walking into.”
“Copy that.”
Con turned to Sinner and Mason. “You two hit the medical center. I want to see those financial records, track where that money’s really coming from. Cipher’s money goes to killing everyone associated with his mother’s death. If he’s the anonymous donor, we need to know his motive.”
“What about me?” Steele was already standing, adrenaline coursing through his system so hard he felt his temples pounding. “I should be the one going to the restaurant. I should be guarding Izzy.” His voice grated on the words.
Con fixed him with a steady look. “You’re staying here with Dante.”
“Like hell I am.” He rooted his feet in place, forcing himself not to advance toward his leader.
“Your tie to her has you compromised,” Con said bluntly. “Your head’s not in the game, and I can’t have you making decisions based on your dick instead of tactical assessment.”
Heat flared in Steele’s chest. “This isn’t about—”
“Isn’t it?” Con’s voice was calm but implacable. “When’s the last time you’ve been glued to your phone during a brief?”
Steele’s jaw worked, but he couldn’t argue the point. Con was right, and they both knew it.
