Kelvin McCrae’s beachfront mansion in the Hamptons was obscenely large, dark and cavernous at this time of night—well, morning. My encounter with Allie had thrown off my schedule by several hours. I’d almost missed my carefully planned shot at McCrae just to steal a kiss from her.
I rubbed the back of my neck, frustrated. I had to stop thinking about her, about that sizzling kiss. The best kiss of my life.
McCrae was mere steps away from me, and I had to focus. I’d managed to sneak past his security, and in a few more minutes, I’d get the evidence Kirill had told me about. McCrae had some kind of records about the night Allie’s mom had died, and Fitzgerald had asked him to cover them up. I’d already started to put together what might’ve really happened to Marie Fitzgerald, but I needed the documents McCrae had saved as personal insurance against his friend, the mayor. I needed proof.
I stalked into McCrae’s darkened bedroom. It took me a second to realize that the rumbling snores were coming from his wife, not him. She’d been visibly inebriated by the end of the gala, and clearly, she’d passed out once she got home.
One less thing for me to worry about. If I could avoid disturbing her, I wouldn’t have to deal with mitigating her screams. I had no intention of hurting Mrs. McCrae—she was innocent—but I’d been prepared to intimidate her into remaining silent while I dealt with her husband.
It seemed that she could be spared from the ordeal altogether.
Good.
I loomed over McCrae, moving as silently as a shadow. My gloved hand clamped over his mouth at the same time as the cold barrel of my gun kissed the spot directly between his eyes.
He jerked awake, and I applied pressure to force him to stillness.
“Don’t make a sound.” My low tone ghosted around us, but his adrenaline-sharpened senses ensured that he heard every word.
The whites of his eyes glowed in the darkness, and his head moved the tiniest fraction as he nodded his agreement.
I removed my hand from his mouth and eased to the side, giving him room to stand without withdrawing the threat of my gun.
“You have evidence of what really happened on the night Ron Fitzgerald’s wife died. You’re going to give it to me.”
His mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish out of water, gasping for life.
“The files are on my private server,” he managed to wheeze. “In my office. Down the hall.”
I tipped my head toward the bedroom door, never taking my eyes off him. “Let’s go.”
I kept my gun to his head as we slowly and silently stepped down the carpeted hall to his office. The house was dark and quiet; I hadn’t done anything to alert security, and if McCrae tried anything, I would end him and get the hell out of here.
But I needed this evidence. I didn’t know exactly what he’d been hiding away on his private server for a decade, but it was the first real lead I’d ever found to prove that Fitzgerald was corrupt.
Anticipation fizzed through my veins, and I had to focus to keep my hand from trembling around my gun. I swallowed the flutter of vindictive excitement and urged McCrae into his office, schooling my features to a carefully blank expression.
I’d worn the mask to conceal my identity, and I didn’t intend to use my fearsome scar to intimidate him. If all went according to plan, I’d leave him alive and mostly unharmed once he gave me what I wanted. McCrae was too important for me to kill him; the investigation would be rigorous and relentless if he were murdered.
So, I couldn’t risk anyone glimpsing me tonight and learning my identity, least of all him.
I kept him at gunpoint as he collapsed into his office chair, his shaky knees giving out. His hand trembled as he started up his computer, and I edged farther back into the shadows, away from the blue light cast by the screen.
When McCrae entered his password and accessed the files, I tossed a flash drive onto his desk.
“I want a copy. Tell me what this has to do with Fitzgerald’s ties to the Bratva.”
“N-not the Bratva. The Mafia. It’s all right there!” he squeaked, desperate when I lifted my gun from his heart to his skull. “It’s the medical examiner’s report on Marie’s autopsy and the results of the arson investigation. Ron asked me to make them disappear, and I did. That’s all I have, I swear.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Explain.”
When he babbled the significance of the files, my heart should’ve soared with triumph. I finally had some proof of Fitzgerald’s corruption, even if it wasn’t evidence of his ties to the Bratva.
Instead, something crumbled at the center of my chest as the full weight of the awful truth settled in my soul.