Page 6 of Shadow

He’d broken Patterson’s order and exposed himself to Dmitri’s scrutiny. Maybe even destroyed eighteen months of careful cover-building.

And Martha Lintz had died anyway.

His phone buzzed. Patterson.

Asher stepped toward the windows, away from Dani’s and Michael’s suspicious stares. Morning sunlight made the blood on his hands look almost black.

“Yeah.”

“I told you not to interfere,” Patterson said.

“She would have dismantled them,” he hissed. “And we’d be done.”

“Not without Roger and Destiny Rousseau’s corroboration.”

Well, and that. “We still have⁠—”

“Roger Rousseau was attacked in prison thirty minutes ago.”

Asher stared out the window, the morning sun gilding the mountains to the west that cordoned off Renegade. One would think that a city like Renegade, part urban cowboy, part old-town rangers, might be immune to organized crime.

They’d be wrong. Too close to Denver, maybe.

“They were coordinated hits,” Patterson said. “The syndicate is cleaning house.”

“Yep,” Asher said. “But the question is—how did they know when she’d be transferred? We didn’t broadcast it.”

A pause.

“You didn’t tell them?” Patterson said.

“Not this time.” He’d given them the date. Not the route. Not the blind spots. “We have a mole.”

The EMTs wheeled Martha’s body toward the exit. He turned his back to the sight.

A sigh from Patterson. “Maybe.”

Maybe? Someone else had leaked the route. The timing. The marshal rotation. Which meant what? “Am I blown?”

“I don’t know,” Patterson said, sounding less concerned than Asher would like. “Wait for contact from the syndicate. You’ll need to explain your performance this morning. And Morrison? Next time I give you an order, follow it.”

The line went dead.

The burner phone in his left pocket buzzed against his ribs.

Unknown number

Interesting performance at courthouse. Boss wants to talk. Tonight. Come alone.

There it was.

Dmitri’s report filed. And now, Draven Frost—the man who ran the entire Shadow Syndicate operation—wanted a personal explanation for why his FBI agent on the dole had tried to save a witness.

Asher deleted the text message.

Michael was watching him from near Carlo’s body. Through all the chaos—crime scene techs arriving, evidence being photographed, witnesses being interviewed—his attention never wavered.

Too many questions in those eyes.