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He rolled the suitcase into the walk-in closet. “And this ?”
    The box.
    â€œNightstand?”
    He tucked the box beneath the table farthest from the door and took a seat in one of the mushroom-colored microfiber armchairs. He adjusted the crease in his suit pants and waited.
    I dry-swallowed an Oxy and closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure for how long.
    â€œOne helluva car, Snap.” Declan grinned from the doorway. “I wouldn’t be giving it back, either.”
    Daicen glanced at his Rolex but said nothing.
    â€œFunny thing . . .” Declan came in with a cardboard carton. “Aside from a pile of new clothes with the tags still on, I found this in your trunk.” He dumped it out on the foot of my bed.
    Time to lace up the ol’ tap shoes.
    As expected, I saw my Kimber-solo and Flashbang holster, ammo, and spare magazine, document scanner pen, signal detector watch, Swiss Army knife, and Chicago Sentinel credentials.
    It was the pair of Belgian FN Herstal tactical Five-seveN MK2 handguns with additional mags and laser sights that popped my eyes saucer-wide. Well, that and the bank-wrapped stack of hundred-dollar bills.
    Hank’s Law Number Two: Respond to threats with complete confidence.
    â€œI asked you to drive my car home. I don’t recall giving you permission to toss it.”
    â€œQuid pro quo.” Declan dropped his hands onto the bed and eyed me like an Eskimo over a baby seal. “You’re an untapped resource of useful information about our new client and his relationship with your butcher boy toy.”
    Shite.
    â€œI’m sensing a conflict of interest,” Daicen said mildly.
    â€œHuh?” Declan frowned at him.
    â€œI have a fiduciary duty to protect my client’s rights and interests.” He turned to me. “I advise you not to answer any questions.”
    I smiled innocently at the older twin and shrugged.
    â€œLike hell!” Declan’s cheeks flushed. “This isn’t over.”
    â€œYes, it is. My duty to my client comes before your ambition. If you’d like me to stay on as your partner, I advise you to let this lie.”
    Talk about a line in the sand.
    Declan left, slamming the door behind him.
    Daicen straightened his French cuff. “Would you like to talk?”
    God, yes.
    â€œNo.” I croaked.
    With an inscrutable look, he nodded and stood. “Can I get you anything?”
    â€œI’m fine, really,” I said.
    â€œPerhaps.”
    After he was gone, I riffled through the packet of hundreds. Ten thousand dollars. I was starting to appreciate Special Unit’s “to the victor go the spoils” mentality. The Five-seveN pistols were bad boys, cocked and locked. I stashed everything in the nightstand drawer and pretended I didn’t see the box.
    If you can’t be content with what you have received, be thankful for what you have escaped.
    With a groan, I dragged the comforter over me. “Where are you, Hank?”

Chapter 4
    My iPhone bleated a short alarm.
    Sawyer. Beating me to the punch.
    I grabbed it, checking the time before answering. Six-oh-two a.m. “Good morning, sir.”
    â€œThere’s been a development in the assassination attempt on Coles. A driver will pick you up in an hour. Wear your Sentinel credentials.”
    â€œYessir.”
    He hung up.
    I swung my legs over the side of the bed and cracked my neck.
    Where the hell am I going to hide Stannis’s legacy?
    I stood up, gingerly, fetched the box, and limped into the bathroom. I set it on the counter and got in the shower. Normally hot water drumming on my head would have sent me into a Zen state of mental preparation for Sawyer. Today, my mind was running the infinity loop of where to hide the damn jar.
    Ugh.
    I couldn’t make it into the attic, not like this. The garage was a no-go. So was Da’s workshop. Hank’s house was a fortress, but he’d chosen Vi to hold it. So that was