Chapter 26 - Ace
ACE
Iwatch Keira’s chest rise and fall in sleep, her lashes dark against her cheeks. The tear tracks have dried, but I can see the shadow of pain etched across her face even in unconsciousness. Cyrus sits beside her on the bed, his hand stroking her hair as his eyes meet mine across the room.
We don’t need words. Not for this.
I slip into my office, closing the door with barely a click. My laptop comes to life under my fingers, and I pull up a secure messaging system.
Felix responds immediately. What do you need?
Richard Henderson. Foster parent circa 12 years ago.
While I wait, I contact another source—a hacker who owes me several favors after I removed a problematic client for him last year. I send a similar query through encrypted channels.
Three hours pass. I don’t move except to type, to read, to process. Cyrus brings me coffee but doesn’t speak, understanding this is my domain. This methodical hunt through digital space is where I excel.
My phone vibrates with a text from Felix: Found him.
The attachment contains a comprehensive file. Richard Henderson. Fifty-eight years old. Current address in Boise, Idaho. Property records show a modest three-bedroom home purchased five years ago. Employment history indicates he works as a financial advisor at a local firm.
I scan further down. Married to Elaine Henderson, his second wife. The timestamp on the marriage certificate is eight years old.
The last detail makes my blood freeze in my veins.
Two stepdaughters. Current ages are thirteen and sixteen.
I stare at those numbers, feeling something close to physical illness. Thirteen. Just like Keira was. Different girls, same predator.
My fingers hover over my phone. I need to tell Cyrus, but I also need more information before we move. Birth certificates, school records, any indication that history is repeating itself.
I send another message to Felix.
Need more on the girls. Any CPS reports, school attendance, and medical records.
It’s not a request. It’s a necessity.
The office door flies open, and Cyrus stands there, tension radiating from every line of his body. His eyes lock on my screen. “What did you find?”
I minimize the window showing Henderson’s stepdaughters. “He’s in Boise. Financial advisor. Remarried eight years ago.”
Cyrus’s jaw tightens. “You’re keeping something from me.”
I weigh my options for precisely two seconds before deciding. No point hiding this from him. “He has two stepdaughters now. Thirteen and sixteen.”
“Fuck.” The word explodes from him like a bullet. “We’re leaving tonight. I’ll get the car ready.”
I close my laptop. “No.”
Cyrus whirls on me. “What do you mean, no? There are two girls—”
“I know exactly what it means,” I cut him off. “And we will handle it. But not like this.”
He stalks forward, leaning over my desk. “Every second we wait—”
“Is a second we use to ensure we don’t get caught,” I finish for him. “We need surveillance. We need to make plans. And most importantly—” I glance toward the bedroom where Keira sleeps, “—we need to decide what to tell her.”
Cyrus falls silent, his breathing heavy.
“If we tell her everything,” I continue, “she’ll insist on going with us or stopping us entirely. If we tell her nothing and disappear, we break her trust when she’s most vulnerable.”
“So what’s your plan?” The question comes through gritted teeth.
“I’ve already requested more information on the girls. School records, medical visits, and any CPS reports. We gather intelligence, then strike.” I meet his gaze steadily. “And we decide together what Keira needs to know.”
The wild rage in his eyes doesn’t diminish, but after a moment, he gives a sharp nod.
“Two days,” he says. “Not one second more.”
I lean back in my chair, fingers tapping against the glass surface of my desk. “What about the other one?”
“The other one?” Cyrus’s brow furrows momentarily before understanding dawns. “William Patterson.”
“Yes. The second predator who touched her.” My voice remains steady, but my knuckles whiten around the edge of the desk. “We need to find him, too.”
Cyrus pulls out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen. “Already ahead of you. I sent Felix his name while you were tracking down Henderson.”
I wait, watching my brother’s face for any reaction. It comes a moment later—his jaw tightens, then relaxes in a way I recognize as disappointment.
“He’s dead,” Cyrus says flatly. “Heart attack. Two years ago.”
“Fuck.” The word escapes before I can contain it. “Are you certain?”
He turns his phone to show me the death certificate on screen. “Confirmed. Died in a nursing home in Portland. The medical examiner ruled natural causes.”
I slam my palm against the desk, the sharp crack splitting the silence. Natural causes. A peaceful death for a man who deserved to die screaming.
“That’s one we can’t make pay,” I say, my voice ice-cold despite the rage burning beneath it. “But the first one, the one who took her innocence...”
Cyrus meets my eyes, and I see my own murderous intent reflected back at me. “He’ll suffer,” my brother promises. “We’ll make sure of it.”
“Slowly,” I add. “Thoroughly.”
The stillness that settles between us isn’t peaceful—it’s the calm deliberation of two predators planning a massacre.
I’ve spent my life calculating odds, anticipating threats, and eliminating obstacles with cold precision. But the thought of Keira facing her nightmares alone sends red-hot rage burning through my veins.
“She’s ours now,” I say, the words coming out like a vow. “No one touches what’s ours.”
Cyrus nods, understanding passing between us with the ease of shared DNA. “We protect what belongs to us.”
I move toward the bedroom, pausing at the threshold to watch Keira’s sleeping form. Even now, her body curls inward—protective, defensive. A lifetime of trauma written in the curve of her spine.
“We should’ve been there,” I murmur, not intending for Cyrus to hear, but he steps beside me anyway.
“We’re here now,” he replies, his voice gentle in a way few would believe possible. “That’s what matters.”
We stand in silent vigil, two sentinels guarding the one person who’s somehow broken through our carefully constructed walls.
Henderson will die. That’s certain. But first, he’ll answer for every moment of fear he planted in Keira’s mind. Every nightmare.
The desire to protect has always been reserved exclusively for Cyrus. Now it extends to Keira like another limb, another vital organ.
“She won’t ever feel like that again,” I promise, more to myself than to my brother. “Not helpless. Not trapped. Not while we breathe.”
Cyrus’s hand finds my shoulder, squeezing once in silent agreement.
Keira will never be scared again, never be hurt again, not while we are here to protect her. The thought settles into my bones with the weight of certainty. It’s not just a promise—it’s an inevitable truth. As certain as our ability to hunt, to kill, to eliminate any threat.