Page 98 of Nash
"Through Webb. Non-standard channels."
"The filing bypassed judicial review."
"Yes."
"That's a career-ending violation if it surfaces."
"I know what it is." Lawrence's jaw sets. "I knew what it was when I signed it."
Malachi leans forward. "The loyalists are still operating. How many?"
"I don't know the current number. Three years ago, the network had eight to ten key players connected to the Gulf route. Castiel and Brighton were the heads. With them gone, the structure fractured, but the loyalists are still funded. Still connected."
"And the threat against Ruby is active," I say.
"The photographs prove it. They've been watching her. Watching me." Lawrence looks at me. "The note makes it clear they consider Ruby leverage."
"She's not leverage," I say. "She's protected."
Lawrence nods once.
Knox turns the laptop toward the table. A web of connections fills the screen, names and locations linked by lines he's been building for months. He drags Lawrence's records into the framework, and three new nodes light up on the Gulf route.
"There," Knox says. "And there. Two distribution points we didn't have before."
Malachi studies the screen. "Rider, you and Kyle take the Leighton house. Six-hour rotations. Two prospects on the perimeter, staggered."
"Copy," Rider says.
"Knox, how long to trace the funding? East would normally run it, but…" Malachi glances at East's phone, the live feed of Darla shifting on the couch.
"I've got it," Knox says. "With Lawrence's financial records? Days. Maybe less."
East nods, his jaw tight. The man who should be running the numbers is watching his phone every thirty seconds.
James has been quiet, his hands around his coffee, his eyes moving from face to face. He sets the mug down.
"Don't trace the money," James says. "Trace the threat. Someone took those photographs of Ruby last week. That person is local, active, and close enough to find."
Knox's fingers pause on the keyboard. Malachi leans back in his chair.
"Bring the women in," Malachi says.
East is already at the door. The war room fills with sound as the women file in. Candace comes in first and crosses over to Malachi's side. Sloane's next, settling beside Knox. Darla waddles in with one hand on her belly, the other gripping the doorframe. East is beside her in two steps, his hand on her lower back, guiding her to a chair he pulls from the wall.
"I'm fine," Darla says. "Stop hovering."
"I'm not hovering. I'm providing structural support."
"You're hovering."
Ruby comes in with Maggie. Her eyes find mine across the room and hold, steady, searching. I see the questions in them—are you okay, is this real, are we doing this—and I answer by pulling her into my side, my arm wrapping around her waist. She exhales against my shoulder.
Frankie slips in last, leaning against the far wall. Amelia hovers near the door until Candace waves her in.
Raine follows Maggie to the couch, settling beside Darla. Lawrence is still at the war table, a federal judge surrounded by leather cuts and gun oil. His folder of photographs is open in front of men who run fight circuits and ride Harleys. He glances at his wife on the couch. She glances back. Neither of them looks out of place, which surprises me more than it should.
Malachi stands. "The threat against Ruby is active. Surveillance photos taken within the last two weeks confirm the network remnants are watching her and her family." He looks around the room. "Kyle and Rider rotate on the Leighton house starting tonight. Two prospects on the perimeter. Nobody in this room goes anywhere alone until further notice."
