Page 27 of Shadow Of Sin

“He does,” I say. My voice is steady. My hands are in my pockets so he can’t see them shake.

“Family.” He shakes his head with a warm expression, like he’s a man who values the people closest to him. “It’s everything, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer. I just hold his gaze and let him see that I understand exactly what he’s saying, even though neither of us will ever say it out loud.

He steps back. The smile returns to normal. The ice behind his eyes melts.

“Monday, Eva.”

“Monday.”

I walk out of the garage and make it two blocks before my knees buckle. I lean against a building and press my forehead into the brick and breathe. In for four. Hold. Out for six. The shaking starts in my fingers and works its way up, and this time it takes five blocks to stop.

The lint. That was the worst part. The casual touch, like he was being helpful, like he was being a concerned friend. Like he wasn’t reminding me that he can crush my life whenever he wants.

The job takes me four hours. Tenant list, city emails, financials…the data pulls are pretty standard.

But the security system is separate, which tells me Dmitri wants it kept apart for a reason. Camera footage and door logs from a specific building. He wants to know who walks in and out and when.

I deliver everything to Dmitri’s drive. Then I copy it all onto a second drive, put it in my jacket, and head for Wolfe’s place.

I still scope out the block before I go in. I still text him from outside. And I still take the stairs. The day I stop doing all of that is the day I deserve whatever happens next.

Wolfe opens the door wearing a Black Sabbath shirt. His hair is doing the thing where one side is flat and the other sticks up, which means he’s been running his hand through it. And that tells me he’s stuck on something.

“Nice hair,” I say, walking past him into the apartment. It smells like dryer sheets and old wiring today. An improvement from the usual toxic chemical cloud, but not by much.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Half of it is staging a revolt.” I slap the drive onto his desk. “Hargrove and Associates. Tenant lists, city emails, financials. And data on their full security system—cameras, door logs, the works. Dmitri wanted that part separate.”

His thumb taps against his leg. I file it away like I do with everything else, but I don’t know what it means. Not yet.

“He asked for the security system by itself?”

“Yep. So I pulled it out like it was a different job. Like the business stuff is the wrapping paper and the cameras are the actual gift.”

“Because they are.” He sticks the drive into his system and starts working. “The business data tells him what the building does. The security data tells him who’s inside and when they’re there.”

“So he’s watching someone.”

“He’s watching specific people in a specific building.” His fingers fly across the keyboard. “Which building?”

“One-forty Federal Street.”

He stops typing. For about two seconds he goes completely still, his shoulders squared. Then he starts again, typing slower this time.

“What?” I say.

“Keep going. What else happened at the meeting?”

“He touched me.”

Wolfe’s hands freeze. He turns and looks at me, a flicker of anger in the depths of his eyes. His jaw tenses, too.

“Not like that,” I say quickly. “He brushed something off my shoulder. It was a power play and lasted half a second. But it was—” I search for the word. “A reminder. That he does have power over me, that he can cause holy hell for me at any time.” I let out a snort. “As if I don’t already know that.”

He turns back to the screen without saying anything, but his fingers hit the keys harder than before.