By sheer willpower, Dom remained seated on the couch and slowed his heart. He needed to figure out a plan.
It wasn’t hard for him to decipher the message. The cipher might not have been a part of his life for several years, but he never forgot it. Judging by the message, his brother was claiming the jewelry store as his next target.
“Dude, that’s creepy as hell,” Quinn said on an exhale. He leaned close to the screen as if that would make the four little men divulge their secrets.
“Have you seen anything like it?” Hollis asked, oblivious to Dom’s rising panic. “It’s nearly six feet off the ground, so it’s not likely a kid drew it.”
“It’s weird.” Quinn sat up straight, frowning at the image. “Maybe a new gang tag.”
“CPD has a comprehensive database of gang tags and this doesn’t match anything.”
“Well, if this is supposed to be art, the guy is no Banksy,” Quinn muttered.
“Who?”
Both Quinn and Dom looked up at Hollis. “Seriously? How does Ian stand to be engaged to you?” Quinn said.
“Banksy is a world-renowned graffiti artist,” Dom added.
“This isn’t art,” Hollis said, glaring at Dom and then Quinn. “I think it might be some kind of coded message.”
“That’s possible, but the message is too short. Does each image represent an entire word or just a letter?” Quinn shook his head.
Dom cleared his throat and forced his voice to stay even. “When was the picture taken?”
“About three days ago.” Hollis leaned over Quinn’s shoulder, squinting at the image. “The chalk is clear. Looks kind of fresh. Martin thinks the culprit put it there about four, maybe five days ago.”
“I can dig around a little, but tell your friend Martin that she needs to find more if we’re going to have a chance at figuring it out.”
Dom shoved to his feet, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “I’ll leave you guys to it. I’ve got to get to work,” he said, heading as quickly as possible for the door.
As he walked out, he could hear Hollis and Quinn going back and forth, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the message, but they were nowhere close. The cipher was generally a letter replacement code, but he and James had developed a few other images for specific one-word codes. Even though he’d not used the code in more than ten years, he’d been able to read the message in an instant. It simply said: MINE.James. James was in town.
What the fuck was he supposed to do?
The question rattled around in Dom’s head endlessly for hours. He’d not seen James since he’d faked his own death and left California. It had been the only way to escape his brother, who’d grown increasingly psychotic over the years. His identical twin brother.
The brother no one knew existed.
No, that was wrong. Rowe knew. When he’d interviewed with Rowe, he’d told him everything when his boss discovered that Dominic Walsh didn’t actually exist. He’d told him about the stealing and living on the streets. He’d told him about escaping James and wanting something more for his life before it was too late. Rowe had taken pity on him, given him a shot when he was sure that he didn’t deserve one.
Did James know he was still alive? Was that why he was in Cincinnati? The message didn’t seem to be directed at him, but then ten years ago, he and James were the only ones who could read their secret language. They hadn’t even let their father in on it. Had James come to town with someone else who could read their language?
When they’d been younger, James liked to mark his target with NEXT, like he was taunting the cops. And he got off on eluding the police and child protective services and even other gangs trying to run them off their turf. James wanted the world to know that he was smarter than all of them. Better than them.
Dom went along. Telling himself it was just a game. It was just stuff and they needed to eat. No one was really getting hurt.
Until it stopped being a game and someone got hurt.
His fingers clenched around the gun he was taking apart and he closed his eyes. It took everything to shove back the memory, to bury it down into the darkest depths of his brain. He didn’t want to remember it or the ensuing fight with James.
He’d gotten out. Built a good life.
Opening his eyes again, he loosened his fingers and stared down at the gun. He was just supposed to be checking the weaponry and inventory. A mind-numbing job, but they all took turns doing it. Dom usually tried to sweet-talk his way out of it, but today he welcomed the tedious monotony. He couldn’t have concentrated on teaching a self-defense class.
Soft footsteps were his only warning before Royce Karras strolled into the room wearing the standard black cargo pants and black polo shirt with the Ward Security logo. They all wore that or something similar on the job unless they were told to appear in a suit and blend.