41. Remington
REMINGTON
L ance met me down the street from the building where I’d seen Charles Landry and one of the gunrunners.
“Henri’s not the only one to have seen Charles since his supposed death. I’ve got Blackjack looking into it.” I was thankful I hadn’t even had to ask Lance to dig up all the intel he could.
“So you really think it’s him?”
“There’s certainly a chance,” Lance said.
Something seemed off, and suddenly I realized what it was. “Where’s Tony?”
“I left him at home. In his cage.”
Tony hated the cage, so Lance almost never left him there. “Why?”
“I needed to focus on you and Henri.”
I didn’t say anything else, but I knew how much that meant. Lance might annoy the hell out of me, but I couldn’t ask for a better brother.
“Show me the building. I’ll check out the perimeter to see if there’s any sign of a struggle or recent entry.”
I wanted to be the one in control. I wanted to be the one with the ideas, the one to save Henri, but the only thing that really mattered was that he was alive and whole and with me. I could barely think, so there was no way in hell I could orchestrate this mission. I had to listen to my brother.
Lance was the best tracker I knew. If there was any evidence of Henri being brought to the building, he would find it.
When we approached, I pointed to the side door where Charles had stood when he was shot. There was no one around. No cars were parked in the alley or on the street in front of the building like there had been before.
Lance motioned for me to wait. He moved carefully, looking at the ground. I was vibrating inside, but I held myself still. I didn’t even breathe as he studied the area. Finally, he motioned for me to join him. Had he found something?
He pointed to the ground. There were two sets of footprints visible in the muck of the alley.
There were cigarette butts thrown down by the steps that led to the side door.
They were still white and perfectly round.
If they’d been there long, they would have been dirty and crushed.
It wasn’t much, but someone had been there recently.
Lance’s phone buzzed, and he held up a finger, signaling me to stay where I was. A moment later, he held up his phone and showed me a text from Blackjack. Charles alive. Death faked. Working with gunrunners. Planned a takeover.
Shit, he’d double-crossed his twin brother. “He’s mine,” I whispered.
Instead of responding, he grabbed my arm and pointed at something shiny that lay to the side of the stoop. I bent and retrieved it. Henri’s phone.
Lance raised his brows, and I nodded. I wanted to rush in. I didn’t care who or what was in that building. I was going to take them out and get my man back, but Lance tugged me back down the street.
“We need a plan,” Lance said.
I could only nod in response. I was seething with anger, and I knew I was lost to reason.