Cassie handed the picture to Frieda. “But you recognize her, too?”

“Yeah. I can’t quite say why, though. Not with only a profile to go on.”

A profile.

Black and white.

Cassie surged upright, slid the album on the coffee table and grabbed her empty coffee cup. “The interview we watched together. The one with the Pro Domme, or whatever you call them.”

“The kinky lady?” Frieda kept her seat, but twisted to follow Cassie’s progress. “What about her?”

“That’s where we saw her.” Cassie plunked her mug in the sink and darted up the stairs.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Frieda stood and planted her hands on her hips. “Where in the world are you going?”

Cassie kept going, taking the stairs two at a time. “To get dressed.”

“Why?”

Because Kir needed a name and, if her gut was right, she had the means to get him one. She leaned over the balcony and met her aunt’s stare. “I’ve got to talk to Lizbet.”

Chapter Nineteen

Three months into having his own office and Kir still wasn’t used to such a luxury. Built into the back of one of the newly built André’s locations, it gave him a secured and private place to run his crew and mirrored the setup given to Roman at the second André’s expansion.

And it wasn’t a hole in the wall either. Not a warehouse full of dust and outdated furnishings like avtoritets he’d worked under in Russia, or a bland sea of gray and white baseline furnishings like so many cheap office buildings he’d visited in America. It was all class. An extension of the gleaming black furniture that graced the restaurant in front with glass, steel and crimson accents.

The gift was an honor. A demonstration of trust on Sergei’s part that had caught both Kir and Roman off guard, and a level of prestige Kir still hadn’t gotten used to. Even more disconcerting was seeing his boss casually seated opposite his desk rather than the other way around.

Sergei flipped to the first page of the 300 plus guest list Kir had hacked from the Midsummer Masquerade’s online site. “New Orleanians do love their galas and masquerades.”

Seated beside Sergei, Roman grunted his agreement. “Wealthy New Orleanians. The lowest ticket price was five thousand per couple.”

“I’ve noted the attendees Roman and I recognize or can get connections to,” Kir said. “Unless there are names you’d rather approach yourself, we will start working through them and see if any might have ties to Alfonsi.”

“And the others? The ones you don’t know?” Sergei said.

One corner of Roman’s mouth twitched, but he kept his silence.

“I called Knox this morning,” Kir said.

Sergei cocked an eyebrow, obviously as surprised by Kir’s action as Roman had been when he’d shared the news earlier this morning.

“With Kevin gone,” Kir said, “I am the only one with sufficient skills and experience to research those we don’t know. I cannot do both tasks, and time is of the essence.”