11. Daze

ELEVEN

DAZE

Even though I'm not familiar with his work, it doesn't take long to see why Damien counts Lex as a valued part of the crew. The man is smart as hell. He has spent the past ten minutes explaining, in excruciating detail, how he convinced the reporter to come to this rundown cafe on the outskirts of Westpoint and why.

"Come again?" I ask, forcing Lex to reiterate his plan for the millionth time. The man's whip-thin body resembles a twig next to me, but I know that he is more than capable of handling himself, given the muscles shaping the pale arms bared by his black T-shirt.

"It's simple, really," he says, propping his fist beneath his chin. "I used a method of data scraping and scouring his social media to form a profile of this guy that I could extrapolate to figure out his real intentions."

Gritting my teeth, I say, "In English, that means…"

"His name is Jamie Colland, and he's some up-and-coming hotshot. He's real big on the investigative expose scene, you see?" He takes a sip of coffee from a chipped mug, not that he needs the added caffeine. The man practically vibrates, radiating his own constant supply of energy. In a fight, I'm guessing that comes in handy. "He's all about taking down mainly blue-collar crime, which is what drew his notice to the Heywoods in the first place. Something has him spooked, though. He's been hard to lure out?—"

"I know that ," I snap, fighting to keep my irritation in check. I'm all for respecting other methods of attack—as a fighter, the first thing I learned was that brute strength isn't always the answer. The key to any victory is to outthink and outsmart your opponent.

But right now, I'd rather be beating the shit out of Silas than waiting for some scrawny writer to show his face.

"Tell me something I don't know," I add, watching Lex's eyes sparkle at the challenge.

"Bet. It seems like this guy was intrigued by a bunch of real-estate developments," he says, spreading out his long fingers against the table. "At first. Then a rash of convenient overdoses caught his eye, but do you want to know the real kicker behind what he might have stumbled upon?"

Fuck. I don't like the sound of that. "What?"

"Well—" Lex breaks off and nods to something behind me. "Looks like he showed. You can ask him yourself."

I crane my neck to spy a thin figure slinking toward our section of the café. Despite the fading sunlight, he's wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled low and a pair of sunglasses. Paired with the black laptop bag slung over his shoulder, it's a wonder someone doesn't mistake him for a suicide bomber and call the fucking police.

"I think you overdid it on the stealth, Nancy Drew," I call out.

He lifts his head enough for me to make out a surprisingly young face with a delicate bone structure. "And you underdid it," he hisses, squeezing into the seat across from me. "Do you not realize that you're one of the most wanted men in the fucking city right now?"

I shrug and point to the baseball cap perched on my head. "This is my idea of stealth."

It doesn't seem important to add that Ben's the one who insisted I add that piece of gear to my ensemble—I was too busy making sure that I didn't wander into the city without being armed to the teeth. Thanks to Damien's connections, I feel more than secure, no matter who might show up to crash this little party.

"I see you didn't exactly come alone," Jamie grouses next, eying Lex, who lurks over my shoulder.

"Tough shit," I counter. "You took the bait, which means you want what I have to share. Now, you tell me what Frey told you."

"By Frey, you mean Frances Heywood," he says. Gingerly, he sets his computer bag on the table between us and takes off his sunglasses. With his wide brown eyes on display, he seems even more like some scrawny punk, nowhere near formidable enough to prove a threat to Heywood and his burgeoning criminal empire. Or, so one might think, if they weren't as familiar with cage fighters as I am. While I doubt he's thrown a punch in his life, this man's stare isn't fearful in the slightest. From the stern tilt to his jaw, he has already sized me up and decided whether he can trust me. For now, he seems cautious.

Smart man.

"She didn't tell me much," he admits. "We were merely able to put the pieces together as to what a certain construction company may be up to. Higher Limit. They've been buying up property here and here—" From his bag, he withdraws a folded piece of paper that he unfurls to reveal a map. One by one, he points to several locations. "These ring a bell?"

"No," I say. "What does this have to do with Michael Heywood?"

Jamie furrows his brows and shrugs. "I think the real question is, what could Michael Heywood accomplish with these properties? It must be something big, because ever since I started making a few phone calls to inquire for a story, I've noticed that I'm being followed. Someone doesn't want these purchases scrutinized."

"He's hiding something," I surmise, cracking my knuckles at the prospect.

"Or, he's storing something," Lex says. "It has all the hallmarks of a smuggling operation."

Jamie nods. "Yes. I figured that as well, but what? And for what purpose?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say terrorist attack."

The reporter raises an eyebrow. "That's quite the leap in judgment to make considering Heywood's background."

"I've seen it before," Lex explains with a slight smile. "I used to do mercenary work for…let's call them ‘unorthodox' governments. You wouldn't believe the shit some of those so-called elected leaders would plan just to keep power. Tragedies scare the shit out of people and keep them docile, more willing to sit back idly as their rights get stripped away. Fear is the best fucking motivator of all. So yeah, if Heywood was planning on blowing up half the city, I could buy it."

Jamie sucks his teeth, skeptical. "That sounds like it violates at least several international statutes regarding human rights."

"Probably does," Lex admits. "But the shit still happens every fucking day."

"What kind of attack could Heywood be planning?" I ask, unsure of what to believe. Eyeing the map, I can't make sense of why he'd want to strike those particular locations anyway. They cut through the downtown of the city, but mainly near the docks, coincidentally avoiding a swath of Saints' territory. Though hell, it would make sense for Silas to be on board, if it meant taking out most of his competition in one fell swoop. Still…

"I don't see the point," I say out loud.

"From my vantage point, his aim is something easily contained," Lex remarks, tracing an invisible path that links all the potential locations together. The result is a grim semi-circle with city hall surrounded like an untouched bullseye.

"Like an explosion?" Jamie suggests. "Don't fucking tell me you were on to something…"

"Like the one that destroyed their so-called church building," I say, remembering how freaked Frey had been that day, fearing that her family had been injured. "It could have been a practice run for something bigger."

"Well, if you mark up all those places on the map, what do you see? Is there anything in particular they surround?"

The reporter withdraws a pen and starts marking the locations with an X. Then he draws a circle around the area they all coincidentally encompass.

"Well, I'll be fucked," Lex says with a grin.

I don't share his enthusiasm. Fist clenched, I punch the table hard enough to draw the gaze of a frightened waitress from across the room. "Motherfucker. He's going to wreck half of the city.

And not just any half. Where Lyra lives with Sam. Where my old man's gym is. Most of the Saints' territory and even the church buildings.

"This isn't just chaos he's planning," I say. "It's fucking carnage. He'd destroy his own people if this is the plan."

"What better way to foster sympathy," the reporter points out, an eyebrow raised. "And all but guarantee a victory in the election. Not to mention if there is any evidence of his crimes to be found in the Salvation building or otherwise, well, it'll go up in smoke along with everything else."

"So how do we stop it?" I ask.

The reporter shrugs. "My forte is writing, remember? Besides, this is just a hunch. I can't do anything with speculation and rumors. My editor would laugh me out of his office if I came to him with a doodle. Then he'd send me to the unemployment line. I need some real proof I can take to him. Where is Frances? I'm sure she might have better insight…" He trails off, his eyes on my face. "I'm guessing that's not an option?"

"There isn't time," I mutter, my throat tight. "So, then we cut out the middleman. How do we stop it?"

Lex strokes his chin. "I have some contacts I can call in. Explosives experts. Most of them are out of the country, but I'll see if anyone is close enough to come by now. If we can narrow down where they have the initial charge planned to go off and when, we can sabotage it. The only question is, how do we find that out?"

I have a pretty good fucking idea.

"Heywood couldn't plan something like this on his own. Not the logistics and I doubt he has access to the contacts required to make something like this happen. He's left the planning up to a pasty. A fall guy."

"I see what you're thinking," Lex says. "That's what I would do. So, who do you think?"

I don't have to guess. "Silas. We find him, and he can tell us what we need to know."

The sick son of a bitch has a lot to answer for.

Suddenly, Lex reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a cell phone. Within seconds, his seemingly-permanent grin falls flat. "What is it? Sure, he's right here—" He hands the phone to me. "It's Damien."

Fuck. I doubt he'd be calling now if it wasn't important. "What?" I ask the second I bring the device to my ear.

"Day, I don't want you to panic or anything, but… You might want to get here. Now."

"What the fuck is going on? Is it Frey?"

"It could be," he says, cutting to the chase. "They moved her from the church?—"

"What? Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

"I had Kane tail them just to keep an eye on her. They took her to some fucking mansion outside the city. It's two hours away."

"Fuck. At least you know where she is," I say, but then it strikes me that Damien wouldn't call merely to tell me that. "What else?"

"Kane spotted not just Heywood, but several other cars headed in that direction. They seem to be planning something tonight."

Like a fucking wedding.

My entire body goes numb before I lurch upright. I should have never let them go without me. I should be there with her, not here playing spot the difference.

"I'm going?—"

"I'll drive you," Lex says, scrambling to his feet after me. He didn't even hear the full conversation but he's ready to go. "You're coming with," he tells the reporter.

"It's not like I had any plans tonight, anyway," the man says shakily. "Besides, I'm pretty sure we're about to be ambushed. I take it those guys aren't friends of yours?" His gaze is on the window showing a view of the street. At least six men are marching toward the café. The patch on their black vests gives them away without an introduction—Saints.

"Silas always did have perfect fucking timing," I hiss, curling my hands into fists. Sensing movement near my side, I look at Lex. "You ready?"

"Always," he says. Without breaking a sweat, he pulls a pistol from his jacket and aims it toward the doorway. Panicked, the waitress and the only other patrons in the café scream and duck beneath their tables. Unbothered, Lex flashes a grin in my direction. "You?"

"You bet your ass I am."

No one's going to stand in between me and Frey.

No one.

"On the count of three," Lex says. "You cover me, and I'll get us clear."

The reporter scrambles back, clutching his computer bag to his chest. "I guess I'll just stand back here and try not to get shot."

"Deal," I tell him. "Two." Like Lex, I withdraw my weapon and finger the trigger.

"Three," Lex says.

And all hell breaks loose.

Lex fires three warning shots through the front window of the café, shattering the glass and sending a panic through the nearby witnesses. Then he darts toward the back of the café, dragging the reporter by the cuff of his sleeve.

I step back, keeping my eyes on the advancing Saints. They've ducked behind a row of parked cars, but they haven't opened fire. Yet.

That's the worrying part. I'm not the one they give a damn about keeping intact, either. As one of the men pokes his head from around his cover, he spies me and aims.

I barely have enough time to lunge out of his range, in the direction of Lex. The close call proves one very important factor—they're not here for me. The reporter is their target.

And they want him alive.

"Daze, let's go," Lex calls out, and I follow his voice through a side door and out into an alley behind the café, on the opposite end of the street.

There isn't time to parse over what the hell just happened. But even as my ears still ring from the gunfire, I'm smiling as we take off on foot.

For once, I feel like I have not one but two aces up my sleeve.

Two things in my grasp that Silas wants for whatever reason.

If only I knew what the hell that reason actually was.