17. Alice
17
ALICE
W hile Pershing made the arrangements for Grit’s visit, I decided to set up my meditation space in the bedroom. Our bedroom. The thought made my stomach flutter. A few days ago, I’d been alone in the city, planning revenge. Now, I was sharing not just a bed but my days with this man who’d crashed into my world and turned it upside down.
I carefully unpacked my ritual items, each of which carried memories of how I’d acquired them. The zafu cushion was a gift from Sarah—she’d had it custom made in my favorite shade of deep purple. The crystals, I’d collected over the years, and like those in my workspace, each one was chosen for its specific properties and energy. Some came from tiny metaphysical shops tucked away in corners of the city, others from online sellers I’d carefully vetted.
I placed the cushion near the window, where morning light would stream in, positioning crystals in a protective circle around it. The familiar ritual of arranging a sacred space helped ground me even as uncertainty swirled around us. My hands trembled, more from anticipation than anxiety, as I lit a stick of sage, letting its cleansing smoke drift through the room. The scent immediately transported me back to the first time I’d introduced Sarah to smudging. Like all the others, the memory was bittersweet.
“That smells nice,” Pershing said from the doorway.
He stepped closer, and our eyes met. His expression was soft despite the tension I could see in his shoulders.
“I need to let my parents know about Bobby,” he said, holding Tank’s satphone in his right hand.
“Do you want privacy?” I asked, already anticipating his answer. In the short time we’d known each other, we’d taken turns relying on each other’s strength.
He shook his head. “I’d like you to stay, but I also know that, while I’ll be talking about a version of my cousin that was lost to us years ago, for you, he’s someone very different.”
“I can separate the two in my mind.”
He raised a brow. “I admire you for that. I envy you too.”
“It’s all about peace, Pershing. My soul won’t find it if I carry hatred in my heart.”
He tossed the phone on the bed and gathered me in an embrace. “Do you feel it, Alice?”
I didn’t need him to explain his question. Our connection was as instantaneous as it was magical. “I do. I have since the first time I saw a photo of you.”
We kissed, then he rested his forehead against mine. “I should get this over with.”
I settled onto my cushion, focusing on peace and forgiveness, as he sat on the edge of the bed and placed the call.
“Mom? Is Dad there too? Can you put me on speaker?” His voice was steady, but I saw how tightly he gripped the phone. “There’s something I need to tell you both.” The pause that followed felt endless.
“It’s about Bobby.” Another pause. “He’s dead. It happened a couple of days ago.”
I could hear his mother’s cry through the phone, muffled but unmistakable. The sound of her grief made my own loss feel fresh again.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you details right now.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I was learning meant he was struggling to maintain control. “I’m at the camp, but I can’t talk about that either. Just know I’m safe.”
His father’s voice came through, steady like his son’s, conveying that, while he couldn’t explain, that he’d delivered the news himself meant everything to them. When he finally ended the call, Pershing looked exhausted, as if the weight of everything—Bobby’s death, Sarah’s murder, the corruption we were uncovering—had settled onto his shoulders all at once.
I sat beside him on the bed and took his hand in mine. He squeezed it gratefully, then pulled me closer until I was nestled against his side.
“That was harder than I expected,” he admitted, his voice rough.
“You did what you had to do.”
“They’ll have questions. More than I can answer right now.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “Dad knows something’s wrong—I’ve been in this job long enough that he’s learned how to sense it. But he didn’t push.”
“They trust you.”
“Yeah.” He sighed heavily.
Before he could say more, Tank appeared in the doorway. “Grit’s thirty minutes out.”
Pershing nodded, and I felt as much as saw his demeanor shift to the focused federal agent I’d first encountered. But he didn’t let go of my hand as we stood.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“I should be asking you that.”
“I’m better with you here.”
We gathered in the main room, joined by Diesel and Tank. The tension was palpable as we waited. I noticed how they positioned themselves—casual-looking but tactical, covering all angles of approach. These men were professionals at the highest level, and it showed in every move they made.
When Grit arrived, his expression was grim. “The briefing was more concerning than anticipated,” he said without preamble. “They’re forming a higher-level task force to investigate Sarah’s death—and any potential connections to bureau personnel.”
“Which is sending a resounding alert to whoever the mole is that we’re onto them. Who’s leading it?” Pershing snapped.
“Assistant Director Huxley, internal affairs, retired.”
I felt Pershing stiffen beside me. “Huxley?”
“Exactly.” Grit’s eyes met mine briefly before returning to Pershing’s. “They’re also questioning your involvement, Admiral. Your connection to Bobby Kane has raised concerns about potential compromise.”
“Convenient timing,” I muttered, my mind racing through the implications. It was too neat, too orchestrated.
“There’s more,” Grit continued. “They’re monitoring all bureau communications, especially anything related to the Castellanos. And they’re particularly interested in any off-the-books operations.”
The implications were clear—they were mirroring both my investigation and Sarah’s. At least as much as they could find. I thought about my sister’s hidden messages, the breadcrumbs she’d left. No doubt she’d anticipated something like this. Depending on who the mole was, he or she might be in a position to wipe damning evidence, but wouldn’t they know it was already too late?
Then what? The answer was immediately obvious. They’d seek to discredit my sister, me, Pershing, and the K19 team. They might even plant false evidence, linking one or all of us to the leaks.
The good news was, recognizing the possibility, I could stay on the front end of whatever they attempted. There was no question in my mind that I was better at what I did than anyone the FBI had on board. I mean, what technology geek who was any good at what they did would settle for the kind of salary the federal bureau offered when they could make ten times as much out on their own? Even if they used an outside contractor, the inherent risks to their credibility and future projects would limit the pool of those willing to accept the work.
“What about your conversation with Doc and Merrigan?” Pershing asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Grit’s expression shifted subtly. “They shared some interesting intel about money movements through shell companies linked to both the Castellanos and certain government officials. The pattern matches what Sarah documented.”
Something in his delivery set off warning bells in my mind. From the way Pershing’s shoulders tightened, I knew he felt it too.
It made no sense that they’d share anything with a man who could very well be the mole. The only thing that made sense was that they were feeding him false data to see what he did with it. Wouldn’t Grit have suspected that was the case?
“Show me,” I said, moving to my computer setup. “If there are matching patterns, I can cross-reference them with what I’ve found.”
Grit hesitated for a fraction of a second—so brief I might have missed it if I hadn’t been watching closely. “I’ll request the files be sent over secure channels.”
“No need. I can access them directly.”
The room went silent except for the sound of my fingers on the keyboard. I could feel everyone watching as I called his bluff.
Instead of searching for something I wasn’t certain was even there and wouldn’t find this quickly if it was, I pulled up other evidence I’d stumbled on right before Grit arrived. Again, if he was the mole, he would already know what I was about to reveal. He’d also realize his precarious position was getting more so with every passing minute. How would he react?
One possibility was he’d go on the offensive, perhaps even resorting to violence. While he was outnumbered by Admiral, Diesel, and Tank, I doubted he’d picked up on the fact that three more of K19’s operatives had arrived silently and positioned themselves strategically behind him.
“Is this what they shared?” I asked, highlighting a series of transactions I knew full well weren’t it. It was my own data. “This shows a pattern of payments from Castellano-controlled companies to offshore accounts. The only difference between these and what I found is that the money is being laundered through government contractors.”
Pershing leaned in to study the screen. “Those are bureau vendors.”
“Exactly.” I pulled up another window. “Based on this, someone has been selling information, using legitimate government contracts as cover.”
I glanced at Grit, who was studying the data with an unreadable expression. Was it my imagination, or did he seem uncomfortable?
“We need to move carefully with this,” he said. “We can’t tip our hand too soon.”
“Agreed,” said Pershing. “Especially considering the task force might not be what it appears.”
As good as I was at reading people’s reactions, albeit typically through a computer monitor, I was having trouble doing so with Grit. I wasn’t surprised, though. If he’d been working with the Castellanos or other organized crime all these years, steeling his responses would be innate.
So, how would we break him?
No one spoke for several minutes. Grit was the first to speak. “Admiral, can we talk privately?”
Pershing nodded without looking at me, then motioned for Grit to follow him downstairs.
I rolled my shoulders and got busy creating more chaos for the Castellanos. I couldn’t do too much all at once, but knowing that if Alessandro discovered Vincent had arranged for the hit on Bobby, the two brothers already had reason to be at odds inspired me to add more fuel to that flame.