“Untie him, please,” I said.

“Taking your sweet fucking time, aren’t you? You like seeing me tied up?”

I was inclined to say I wasn’t the one who liked seeing people bound and helpless. “No, Carlos, surprisingly, I have other concerns on my mind. Our father has charged me with seeing you safely delivered into protective custody. If I need to do so with you bound hand and foot, so be it. Before you go, though, I should ask what happened here.”

“You think?”

We locked gazes.

“They came after me too,” he said finally.

“Who?”

“Well, duh. Obviously the same people who killed William and Hector.”

“You think?” Paige murmured, too low for anyone but me to hear.

“And the young woman. Is this your handiwork?”

I waited for him to object, outraged, but Carlos gave me one last unreadable look, then turned to Griffin.

“Home, Jeeves.”

“Did they kill her to find you?” I asked.

“I gave you an order, Sorenson. Take me to my father.”

“Did you see or hear what happened?”

He turned to me. “You’re the detective, little bro. Detect.”

CARLOS’S SURPRISE AT hearing of Hector and William’s deaths seemed genuine, but he’d shut down when I’d hinted he might have played even a corollary role in tonight’s events. In my experience, the innocent either proclaim their innocence or are too shocked by the allegation to intelligently respond. Carlos had done the Cabal equivalent of lawyering up—take me to my father.

I spent the next thirty minutes examining the crime scenes—the alley, the bedroom and the sniper’s roost on a building a block over—and overseeing the technicians’ work. They needed little guidance, but they indulged me, knowing I wouldn’t contaminate evidence.

I focused on the young man. Identifying him and his role would help me understand what had taken place here.

He had no identification. He wore a cargo vest and pants, both with many pockets. When they were emptied, we had two cell phones, two radios, a handheld computer and two devices we couldn’t recognize. The extra radios and cell phones seemed to be backups.

Paige took the handheld computer. “It’s a homemade job. GPS maybe? Probably more. It’s password protected and something tells me if he knows how to build it, he knows how to protect it. If I start trying to crack the password…”

“It could trigger a program to erase the contents.”

“If I can use the lab at the offices, I can do more.”

She checked one cell phone as I examined the other. All incoming and outgoing call records had been deleted. Both contained identical lists of eight contacts by initials only.

“GB,” Paige said. “The gang leader is Guy Benoit, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“JD, SR, BS…The missing guys are Jaz and Sonny. The dead girl is Bianca. Maybe a coincidence, but something tells me if I press FE I’m going to wake up Hope.”

“I suspect so.”

With that one call we could almost certainly identify the young man. But if I woke Hope to send her pictures of a dead comrade—after the night she’d had—I could safely wipe Karl’s name off my contact list.

I’d have the team run prints, photos and DNA of the victim against Cabal records. I was certain my father would catalogue such information. The completeness of those records was another matter—the gang members were a transitory lot.

My phone rang.

“Mr. Cortez? It’s Tyson, at the hospital? Guarding Troy’s room? You saw me there earlier?”

Ah, one of the silent guards. The inflections on his sentences told me this was a call he’d rather not be making and I braced myself.

“Troy’s awake, sir.”

I let out a silent sigh of relief. “How is he?”

“He, uh, seems fine, sir. He’s, uh, asking me to—Well, I know you’re busy, and he might be…” A lowering of his voice. “A bit confused.”

The rumble of a voice came from the background.

“He, uh, wants me to ask you to…That is, if you think you should…”

The rumble grew, becoming Troy’s voice, still too distant to be intelligible.

“I’m sure you have enough to worry about, sir, but he’s concerned that—”

“Give me the fucking phone,” I heard Troy rasp.

“He thinks you—”

“Give me the fucking phone, Tyson, or I’ll be dead before you spit out the goddamned message.”

“Better give it to him.”

A hiss as the phone changed hands.

“Lucas.”

“How are—?”

“Later. We’ve got a bigger problem. It was Carlos.”

“Carlos…?”

“Who shot me. He came to the house, alone, wanting to talk to your dad, and I knew something was hinky, so I went to talk to him…” A soft grunt of discomfort. “Point is, it was Carlos. I woke up a while ago, but I’ve been playing possum, waiting for you to come back so I could tell you. I knew if I opened my eyes, the first thing your dad would ask was who shot me, and I sure as hell wasn’t telling him.”

“Good. I appreci—”

“Not so fast. He got a call that Carlos was at headquarters. I waited until he left, then asked Tyson to call you. I told him what to say, about Carlos. Then…”

His voice drifted off.

“Troy?”

“Your dad wasn’t gone. He could probably tell I was faking it and hung around outside my door waiting to hear what I was hiding.” He paused. “He knows it was Carlos, Lucas. And when he left here…” Another pause.

“You need to get there before he does something he’ll regret.”

“How much of a head start does he have?”

“It took me five minutes to convince this numbskull I wasn’t delirious and to call you.”

Five minutes, and the hospital was an additional five minutes closer to headquarters, meaning my father had a ten-minute head start.

“I’m on my way.”

LUCAS: 16

I GRABBED KEYS and the location of a car from a shocked tech, and took off. As I drove along the quiet streets, Paige held on for dear life with one hand and called Griffin with the other.