Page 31 of Angel’s Doll

“The collateral,” says the man at his shoulder, checking a note.

“Her name is Sloane Hale, Victor’s niece,” Angel says.

Quinlan studies Angel a second and then looks at me.

“Miss Hale. Tell me what you saw. Only what you saw.”

So I give it the office voice, level, in order. Ian arriving at Halcyon calling himself the family’s man in Seattle. The powerful cousins, always invoked, never produced, never once in a room or on a call in four years of me keeping every room and every call. The night the coastal project died. The week Victor was given. My name, offered across a desk to cover a shortfall.

I don’t perform it. Facts land harder when nobody’s pushing them.

When I stop, Quinlan is quiet for a moment and says, “I believe you, Miss Hale. I believe my cousin reached for you under my family’s name. My family doesn’t do that. You won’t get sentiment from me, but you’ll get this. It will be answered.”

“I’d rather have it answered than apologized for,” I say. Angel’s knee presses mine under the table, one warm inch of approval.

“Then we understand each other.” Quinlan turns to Bishop.

“Here’s my problem. Your paper convinces me. It won’t convince my family. His mother will call it forgery and half my board will want to believe her, because believing her is cheaper than admitting we gave another expensive last chance to a rat. I need more. Best-case scenario, him in his own voice. His words, his act, no way to dress it.” He straightens his cuff. “You have until Sunday night. After that I’ll clean house with what you gave me but it will get loud, and loud is bad for every person in this room.”

“Victor,” I say, and every head turns. “Victor is the hinge. He’s terrified of Ian, more terrified of the name Quinlan, and most terrified of anyone learning how weak he actually is. Frightened men trade. Victor’s been trading his whole life. He’ll drop Ian in an instant if he believes it buys him a door out.”

“No.” Angel, flat.

“I haven’t asked for anything yet.”

“You’re about to ask to get near him.”

“I’m about to ask for a phone. Not a meeting. A call, from your table, on your equipment, recorded.”

“You’re not bait, Doll.”

“No, I’m not. Bait gets used. I’m deciding to do this.”

Angel’s hands curl into fists. He hates this but he doesn’t say too dangerous, doesn’t reach over and decide for me. The not-deciding costs him. I can see the price of it in his hands.

“You will betray your uncle?” Quinlan asks.

“As easily as you will bury your cousin,” I fire back.

“Fair enough.”

“What would you say?” Bishop asks. Practical, already building it.

“I have to think about it but I’m sure he’ll talk. To make sure I come back, he’ll explain, he’ll blame Ian. He’ll audition versions of the story. Somewhere in the audition he’ll hand you Ian, because it’s the easy way out.”

Quinlan watches me the length of a breath, and when he speaks it’s to Bishop, but it’s about me.

“If the call produces his voice by Sunday, my family stands down and cleans its own house. You know how to reach me now.” He rises, buttons his jacket. At the door he pauses, half a degree back toward me. “Miss Hale. My family is embarrassed my cousin called himself the family’s man in Seattle.”

Then they’re gone, and it’s bikers and glass and the black water, and Angel’s hand closes over mine on the table like he’s been waiting forever to do it.

16

DOLL

The elevator doors close on the last Quinlan coat, and Cash is already talking.

“Want to do it here and now? Burner’s in my saddlebag. Patches to my phone, recorder app, thirty seconds.”