“No, nor they me. But that may be a difference between a gang and mates.”
“They pledge loyalty.”
“And friends don’t need a pledge, do they?”
She shook her head, sat back again. “What Jones was doing under it all laid the groundwork for all of this. His leadership sucked—and maybe we should be grateful for that because they weren’t as powerful as they once were. He’s skimming, so there’s not as much for the whole to split. He’s avoiding confrontation with rival gangs, isn’t pushing for more territory, which is how they gain power and reputation. He’s not because he’s more interested in banking profits and dreaming of freaking Aruba.”
“And so someone with more interest in power and rep plots ways to depose him and take over.”
“Pickering. Someone who goes back with Jones. Someone who once pledged loyalty and now turned his back. Maybe his CI status leaked, I can’t be sure. But … I think killing and humiliating Pickering to strike at Jones wouldn’t have been enough if that got out.”
“You think Lyle Pickering’s murder was a personal hit at Jones?”
“I think that was part of it, yeah. And punishment for turning his back on the gang. Maybe even assurance that he couldn’t change his mind, come back.”
“Ah.” Roarke followed her perfectly. “And compete for the leadership role.”
“Yeah. It’s Duff. It’s Duff, how she was killed, where she was killed. It’s Duff’s murder they used to try to light the fuse for a gang war. Then Aimes.”
Considering anger better than misery, he kept her talking. “You think he—Jorgenson—planned to kill Duff all along, even before he coerced, convinced, bribed her to aid in Pickering’s murder.”
“Pickering connects to Jones, Duff connects to Pickering. Yeah, she was always going to die. Pickering was more a kick in the balls. Cops are wheeze, right? That’s the word now. Cops see a junkie OD’d, file it, forget it. But Duff, that’s going to bring on some attention, and it’s something that can be used to rile up the troops. Dragons fuck with one of ours, we fuck with all of theirs.”
As they drove through the gates she closed her eyes again.
“You know what to do tomorrow, what angles to take, what buttons to push.”
“Yeah, I know what to do.”
He didn’t like hearing the discouragement in her tone, but let it go for now.
Despite the late hour, Summerset waited in the foyer.
“You know where to find the med kit,” he said to Roarke.
“Yes, thanks.”
“There have been numerous media reports on tonight’s raids and arrests.”
“Yeah, that’s why we went in. For the screen time.” Eve tossed her jacket over the newel post.
“I imagine there are people who have homes and shops in those areas, and see the reports, who’ll sleep better tonight,” Summerset added.
He waited until they’d started upstairs before picking up her coat, examining it.
Blood, of course—and from the look of her at least some of it her own. He’d gotten quite adept at removing bloodstains from leather. He took the coat with him to his quarters to see to it.
He had no doubt Roarke would see to the lieutenant.
The cat stretched across the bed, and stirred when they came in. His bicolored eyes blinked at her face as Eve unhooked her weapon harness. Then he leaped off the bed to rub against her legs, to butt his head against her calves.
She bent to give him a reassuring rub, and even with the blocker felt every muscle weep.
“I’m going to grab a shower.”
“A soak in the tub might do better for you. And a glass of wine.”
“Maybe. Yeah, maybe.”