10. Raleigh

CHAPTER 10

Raleigh

Before anything else, I need intel. For that, I can rely on Tommy and Iris’s thorough filing habits.

Thomas’s office door is locked when I reach it, which is good news. It means Iris isn’t currently working inside. With one of my bobby pins, I jimmy the lock open and slip inside, locking the door behind me for safe measure.

There are far too many filing cabinets in here, but that’s my brother for you. Before I start breaking into drawers, I check the desk, hoping there might be some current report on Silver or Derrick sitting there.

Instead, I find five handwritten letters on crisp white stationary. They’re laid out in measured cursive- and every one of them seems to be a threat by some people claiming to be Warwicks in London.

Weird. Our family did originate in London, but we traveled to the States before I was even born. And to my knowledge we didn’t leave anyone behind. It sounds like a scam to me, but Iris has clearly been paying attention to them. She’s filled a page in her notepad, sitting off to the side of the desk, with her research on whoever these London Warwicks are. Names, like Achilles and Fantasia, have been underlined.

Whatever, this isn’t why I’m here. There aren’t any other papers left on the desk, so I turn to the filing cabinets and start picking open locks. Unfortunately for me, Thomas has organized these by some completely indecipherable system. I break open drawer after drawer of files, and find labeled folders that seem to have nothing to do with each other. It’s only now, as I flip through useless papers after useless paper, that I realize my hands are trembling.

I had nothing but iced latte in my stomach and adrenaline is the only thing holding me up right now.

I’m about to give up and go find some food when I finally stumble over Derrick’s file. I tear it out of the drawer and flip it open, hoping beyond hope that there’s updated information in here. I could destroy his reputation before I even think about ending him. All it takes is finding proof- maybe his dirty dealings with the Speares or the bribes he’s taken- and leaking it to the media. This is going to be a piece of cake.

Sure enough, it seems like Iris has been keeping an extra close eye on him in the months since I was rescued. There are notes on his daily movements, for Chrissakes. That makes me feel kind of mushy, but I push that aside and refocus.

He’s moved since the abduction. I don’t blame him, I guess. I wouldn’t want to stay in a house that I’d been dragged out of by a bunch of masked freaks. That being said, it would be strange if he were working with Silver, but also running from him.

Then again, when has Derrick ever done anything in a straightforward way?

I skim over the file, my eyes catching on the things he spends every day doing. Walking or running with his dogs twice a day. Going on patrols, even late into the night, which he doesn’t need to do anymore now that he’s sheriff. Collapsing into bed at all hours, only to get up early to run with the dogs again. Grocery shopping, occasionally sitting down to watch some TV, making smoothies in his kitchen.

There’s nothing in here about bringing a woman home, or even going out to see a woman.

Wait, why the fuck am I worried about that?!

I snap Derrick’s file shut and stuff it back into the drawer, possibly in the wrong place, but I don’t care. It literally doesn’t matter whether Derrick is single or having an orgy every night. That’s not a factor right now, and it never will be.

He has never, and will never, have a place in my life.

I go back to hunting through drawers, focusing exclusively on any mention of Silver. At last I find his file. My mind stills when I see his moniker, written between big parentheses, in Iris’s neat, blocky script.

For the last three months, I’ve wondered if he was alive. I could’ve asked Iris at any point, but I shut down every attempt by Iris to discuss the abduction, and finally, she stopped trying to talk to me about it. Now, I’ll have definitive confirmation of whether or not Silver is alive. Derrick might be hunting doppelgangers, but I trust Warwick intel, and I trust Iris’s thoroughness. She’ll know, and she’ll have recorded it in this file.

Taking a shaky breath, I open the file. At the top of the first page, detailing all known facts about Silver’s identity, the word “ALIVE” sits in bold black letters.

I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat makes it painful.

He survived Paul and Iris’s sweep of the house. He got away, and he’s been rebuilding his following ever since.

Unfortunately, the intel here is much less robust than what Iris has on Derrick. Apparently Silver has been taking full advantage of his signature look and really has been using lookalikes to do his dirty work. He’s begun sweeping through old Speare territory, territory we’ve yet to reclaim, and begun bringing local businesses under his heel by threatening them with violence if they don’t pay him tribute. If they refuse, his symbol, a triangle with a jagged bottom line, is left on the wall, and the building is burned out by the next day.

Other than that, we know nothing about him. I still make note of the cross streets of some of the businesses that have pledged themselves to him. That gives me an idea of where he considers his ‘territory’ to be.

More importantly, I can use this intel to track him down. If I can set up a meeting, I’ll tell him to back off and leave the Warwicks alone. If that doesn’t work? I’ll need to know what car he drives. After the meeting, I’ll catch a glimpse of his vehicle, and memorize the license plate, find out where he lives, and spy on him. I’ll track his every move. Then, when the time’s right, I’ll strike when he least expects it. I won’t just catch him off guard; I’ll finally put an end to him.

I’ll need a gun, of course. Damn, this is a good plan. If my dad had taught me all the mafia skills like he did my brother, I wouldn’t have to resort to tv shows. But what I did learn from him and my brother- what they’ve dedicated their lives to- is killing to protect the family. And that’s exactly what I’m prepared to do. For once I’ll be useful to this family and won’t feel so fucking alone.

The doorknob suddenly jiggles, and the lock clicks. FUCK . I don’t even have time to replace Silver’s file before the door opens and Iris freezes on the threshold, a steaming cup of her precious assam tea in her hands. She blinks, and her alarm turns to frustration.

“You can just ask me for a key to this room, you know,” she says, coming to the desk and setting her tea down with a clink. I see her eyes take notes of the way the letters are splayed out on the desk, laid differently than how she left them.

“I didn’t want you in my business,” I say, aiming for playful, but it comes out sharper than I intended, snapping Iris’s attention toward me.

Oh god. She has no idea what I’m planning. And I absolutely cannot tell her. I need to do this alone.

Iris plants a hand on her hip, her brow furrowing. “What’s going on, Raleigh?” Her eyes flick to the file I’m gripping, the name ‘Silver’ carefully concealed beneath my fingers.. Then she looks back at my face, and I know she can see it- the unease I’m failing to mask. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, far too fast. “I’m fine, Iris. I just wanted to-”

I fiddle with the file, and the edge of the stiff paper slices right across my palm. I hiss and drop it on the floor. Iris takes a step forward, and I take a step back, stumbling into the filing cabinet behind me.

God, I’m worse than a cornered animal. I have to get out of here, or I’m going to break my most sacred rule and cry in front of Iris. Again.

“I just wanted to know for myself,” I say, which is true enough. Iris finally sees the name on the file, and her eyes soften.

Fuck. I’m going.

Without another word, I flee past Iris and slam the door behind me.

I wait until it’s past midnight to leave my room again to be sure Iris is in bed. Then I drive my Bentley off the estate, down the hill, and into the heart of the city. I’m repeating the street names I saw in Silver’s file to myself over and over as the buildings deteriorate around me. The potholes under my tires get worse. The street lamps get dimmer.

I don’t like the idea of parking my Bentley in this neighborhood, but I’m also not interested in walking more than a block at this hour of the night. Weighing the risks, I pull my car up to the mouth of an alley between a pawn shop and a nail salon, both of which have boarded up windows, and park. Across the street is one of the local grocery stores that have pledged themselves to Silver’s questionable rule.

The two hollowed out businesses I’m right next to- didn’t.

I grab the candy apple spray paint sitting in my passenger seat and step out of the car. I keep my shoulders back and my stride long, exuding confidence, determined not to look afraid of this dark, desolate neighborhood. In the alley, I find Silver’s triangle mark with the jagged bottom line. It’s been painted in silver, of course, over the exposed brick of the wall.

For the first time I realize that the top of the triangle is supposed to be the hood Silver keeps up at all times, and the jagged bottom line is meant to be a smiling mouth.

Ha, he’s got good brand recognition, I’ll give him that.

And I’m about to give it a little makeover.

I shake up my spray can, the rattle of the marble loud in the empty alley. Is Silver watching me right now? I keep both ears out for footsteps, for scuffling movement deeper in the alley. Nothing. Either I’m alone, or Silver’s choosing not to interfere.

Giving the spray can one last shake for good luck, I paint a big fat “W” over Silver’s mark. As the chemical smell wafts up, a wave of nausea rolls through me, making my stomach churn. I force myself to focus, leaving the number I got from my newly acquired burner phone beneath the graffiti. When I’m done, I toss the dripping spray can on the ground, trying to shake off the dizziness, and head back to my car.

I don’t sleep for the rest of the night, and by morning I feel exhausted. I head to the bathroom to splash some cool water on my face, but that’s not nearly enough. I pat my skin dry with a towel, apply a touch of moisturizer, and dab a bit of concealer under my eyes to hide the dark circles. Luckily I’m done freshening up before my burner phone starts ringing.

Fuck, I’m honestly shocked that worked. Adrenaline shoots through me as I snatch the phone off my nightstand. I practiced these words a thousand times as I lay uselessly in bed last night. I can do this.

I answer the phone.

“Hey there, handsome,” I say, giving myself a megawatt smile in the mirror to be sure Silver can hear it.

Despite my bravado, a chill goes through my entire body when I hear the rasp of Silver’s voice.

“You know me, but I don’t know you.”

“This is Raleigh Warwick. You know, of the Warwicks?” My arms and legs are trembling, but I clench my jaw so my teeth don’t chatter and keep going. “Gotta say, I’m impressed you survived the kill squad that ripped through your house a few months back. I think it’s about time we had a chat. Face to face. Establish some ground rules.”

“Rules written by you don’t sound like they’ll benefit me.”

“They will so long as you follow them,” I say sweetly.

Silver is quiet for a long moment, but I hold my breath until he says, “All right then. Where should we meet?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, I can’t believe this is working. “Where else? I’ll see you at Cooper’s.”