Chapter 6 - The Weight of a Witness
Dante Baker did not flinch, but his eyes narrowed into two dark slits of calculation.
"Say it out loud," Dante said. His voice was lower than a whisper, carrying the terrible, controlled gravity of a man who rarely had to ask a question twice.
"Julian," Caroline said, the name tasting like ash on her tongue. "Julian Vance wasn't just my father’s partner. He was the one who managed the sub-leases when the city council rezoned the commercial district back in ninety-eight. He knew the layout of this building down to the floor joists. And more importantly—" Caroline stepped closer to the mirror, pointing a finger at the sliding panel "—he helped grandfather install this exact wall compartment when we remodeled the shop after the flood."
Dante didn't look at the panel. He was looking at her, watching the fierce, calculating intelligence burning in her eyes. The tension between them shifted, the physical proximity of a moment ago replaced by a sudden, electric alignment of minds.
"You think Julian gave the blueprint to Callahan’s syndicate," Dante said, stating it not as a question, but as a map he was redrawing in his head.
"I don't think. I know," Caroline said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Julian came here last night pretending to beg for help about the lease. But he wasn't looking for a lifeline, Dante. He was checking to see if the box was still here. When he realized I wouldn't budge, he sent his handlers with a brick."
One of Dante’s men stepped back into the shop from the alley entrance, holding a shattered piece of the window frame. "Boss, we swept the alley. Found a dropped burner phone two doors down. Last outgoing call matches a private line registered to a shell company owned by Julian Vance."
Dante looked down at the phone in his man's hand, then back to Caroline. The corners of his mouth tightened into a hard, flat line.
"He's running," Dante said.
"Not yet he isn't," Caroline said, grabbing her heavy wool overcoat from the rack.
Dante caught her wrist before she could slide her arm into the sleeve. His grip was firm, unyielding, but not hurtful. "This isn't your fight to finish on a street corner, Caroline. Julian belongs to me now."
"No," Caroline pulled her arm back, her gaze flashing with an intensity that made the two armed guards shift uncomfortably. "Julian stole my family's legacy, he tried to burn my block to the ground, and he used my shop as a target. He’s my accountant, Dante. I’m coming with you."
Dante studied her face for five agonizing seconds. There was a silent battle raging behind his dark eyes—the primal instinct to lock her away in a fortress versus the sudden, undeniable realization that Caroline Jones was the most dangerous, clear-eyed partner he could possibly ask for.
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"Fine," Dante said, pulling his leather gloves back on. "Let’s go tailor a suit for a traitor."
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