Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

A s Tohr re-formed at Broadius’s McMansion, Qhuinn was right behind him. Big changes onsite from the night before: No lashing snow. No open door with the maid about to get frostbite. No dead body inside.

But this was still a crime scene.

As he took out a copper key, Qhuinn was assessing the neighbors on either side and across the lane, those other estates set way, way off and isolated by stone walls and plantings. Good thing, given how much activity had been going on over here. After the remains had been taken to the morgue in Manny’s mobile surgical unit, V had changed all the locks and installed his own cameras with an entire team of people.

Stepping into the tacky interior, Tohr hit the panel of light switches on the wall. All kinds of oversized, over-crystaled fixtures came on, making him think of the BDB mansion up on the mountain. He missed that imperial palace, he really did. And man, he’d never appreciated its elegance before, but next to all this miss-the-mark? That place really had been divine.

“Garage bound?” Qhuinn asked as he shut them in together.

“Yup.”

The pair of them headed for the rear of the house. The stillness of the rooms was ominous, in a way that an emptiness that was temporary just didn’t come close to: The owner was never coming back. The clothes in the closet were never going to be worn by him again. The mail was going to remain unopened, the phone calls unanswered—

Tohr stopped.

“What?” Qhuinn asked as he took out one of his guns.

“Where’s the cell phone.” Tohr motioned for the brother to put his weapon away. “Everyone has a phone. Where’s Broadius’s phone?”

The fact that they’d all spaced the detail was kind of like what had happened with the maid: Someone coming across a U-Haul full of rifles and autoloaders should have been top of mind if their employer was murdered. But the brain only had so much processing capability at any one time, and it also had its own priority list. As things were framed and released, cognitive space was created, and shit popped up.

“Let’s see if we can find the armory first,” Qhuinn remarked. “Then we look for a phone.”

With a nod, Tohr started walking again.

The kitchen was all business, no cozy family stuff anywhere, not even a table and chair set for the staff to eat at. The fact that the appliances were all restaurant grade wasn’t a surprise, but they were never-been-used brand new. Likewise, the red tiled floor was gleaming, and the stainless steel saucepans hanging from a rack over the island were just-out-of-the-box sparkling clean.

“I don’t think this guy has even had a bowl of cereal in this place,” Qhuinn said.

Tohr nodded. “No food in the pantry, the cupboards, the fridges and freezers. What did the cook do?”

“We’ll find out after Butch is through talking to him.” Qhuinn paused and opened a random drawer—which, of course, was empty. “It’s like a stage set.”

There was an industrial laundry room off the far side of everything and—no surprise—it had no detergent on the shelf above the massive machines, nothing on the ironing board, and no pile of dry cleaning on the way out the door.

When they finally came to the garage door, they opened things and motion-activated lights came on—

“Okay,” Qhuinn said. “I’ll give him the cars.”

A dozen Porsche 911s of various vintages and styles were lined up in rows, their paint jobs glowing, their sloping back ends and round headlights making them seem like dogs sitting on command.

Tohr walked down the far wall, passing by all kinds of Porsche posters and Porsche models set on clear shelves. “Man, he got into some buying ruts, didn’t he.”

“Helluva rut.”

While Qhuinn lingered over something that had a rear tail so big you could have pulled chairs up to it and called it a four-top, Tohr headed for a door about three-quarters of the way down.

Locked solid.

“We need your little kit.”

“Coming.” The brother jogged over. “Sorry, I got distracted. I wonder what happens to all of these now? Maybe Shuli’ll buy ’em from the estate. ”

He went to work on the upper dead bolt.

“So Rhamp’s not focused on the getting mated thing, huh?” Tohr leaned back and idly looked at the cars. “Not yet, at least?”

Qhuinn rolled his blue and green eyes. “Not in the slightest. And honestly, Lyric’s the same. I don’t have a problem with it. Not everyone feels that way, though.”

“Blay’s mahmen ready for great grandyoung?”

The brother switched tools and went back to work, the soft sounds of metal scraping metal rising up. “Oh, she’s not the problem. Not by half.”

“Layla?”

“She wants them, sure, but not over and above our kids’ happiness.”

Tohr frowned. “Blay’s dad?” When there was a shake of the head, Tohr did a double take. “Blay?”

“Nope.” Qhuinn straightened. “Your half brother, Xcor. He’s baby daft.”

“I’m . . . okay, that’s a surprise.” Tohr smiled as he pictured the big male with his distorted upper lip. “I mean, a good surprise. But yeah, wow.”

The head of the Band of Bastards wanted to be a grandpappy already?

“He’s a softie, for certain.” Qhuinn nodded at the lock. “But you know what isn’t? This frickin’ door.”

“My turn.” Tohr pushed a hand into his jacket. “Now that I think about it, Xcor was awesome with Rhamp and Lyric. I heard through the grapevine that he did it all, the diapers, the baths—step back for me, wouldya?”

“He was really great.” Qhuinn got out of range and crossed his arms over his chest. “He truly was. Do you need a charge?”

“Got one, but thanks.” Tohr set the C-4 plastic explosive between the dead bolt head and the steel jamb. “That’s what I always love about your family. All four of you—you and Blay, Xcor and Layla—really pulling together for those kids. Nobody was ever raised with so much love.”

“Thanks. We’re a good team—hey, did you get that C-4 from the new stock?”

“Yup.” He inserted the detonating fuse. “Z really prefers the new supplier. It comes down from Canada.”

The fact that they were alternating between talking about young and him setting up a breach involving enough explosive to blow both of them up was par for the course.

Just another night on the job.

“On three.”

Both of them backed all the way to the door they’d exited from. When they were sufficiently out of the blast zone, Tohr initiated the detonation program on his phone.

“One . . . two . . .” He nodded at the brother and they both plugged their ears. “Three—”

A sharp, cracking sound echoed all around the cars, and then came the slam! of the steel panel slapping onto the polished concrete floor.

They jogged forward in unison, and Tohr entered the stairwell that was revealed first. It was nothing special, only a short stack of steps that were super deep, and when he bottomed out at their base, he hit the light on his phone because he didn’t know where the switch was.

Talk about your letdowns. Just a ten-by-ten space that was lead-lined concrete, low-ceilinged, and empty.

“I can smell the gunpowder, though,” he said as Qhuinn joined him.

There had definitely been an arsenal stored here recently.

“Look at this wall.” Tohr ran his hand over some scratches in the paint that were chest level. “This was crates on crates.”

Qhuinn nodded. “I definitely think we found his day job.”

“Arms dealer.”

“No wonder the hit was professional. Buyers and sellers of that shit have connections in all kinds of bang-bang places.”

Tohr did the math out loud. “No office. No work associates. No one in the house except for a maid, a cook who never used the kitchen, and a chauffeur who’s polishing bumpers in here instead of taking his boss anywhere.” He looked at the set of concrete steps. “But why did he let the maid see that U-Haul backed up outside on the lawn?”

Qhuinn’s mismatched stare narrowed. “She was lucky Broadius didn’t know what she caught him doing.”

Thinking back to the sweet older female, Tohr nodded. “Yup. And as for the murderer’s motive? Broadius must have tried to muscle the wrong person.”

As they went back for the steps, Tohr imagined the space filled with the kinds of wooden crates V kept in their own armory at the Wheel, the long ones stamped with black paint, their origins from all different countries depending on what kind of weapon had been purchased in bulk. And it was the same with the bullets, although those tended to come in heavy cardboard lots.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he said in a low tone.

Qhuinn, who took the lead on the ascent, glanced over his shoulder. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you.”

“I mean . . .” He met the brother’s stare. “I got a reaaaally bad feeling about this.”