Shackleford shushed him.

“Shut up and listen, Pitt. This is complicated.”

* * *

Earl Harbinger sat alone in the dark. The only light was from the glow of his cigarette.

His cell phone was sitting lifeless on his desk. It had been half an hour since Stricken had called to give him the news.

This is professional courtesy. It’s better you hear it from me now than you get the sanitized version later. I regret to inform you that Heather Kerkonen was killed in action when her STFU element tried to take down Agent Franks.

Earl couldn’t even remember how he’d responded.

I know you don’t like or trust me and I understand why, but I’m sincerely sorry, Earl. We had a job to do. Heather was a good woman. She died serving her country.

Earl had ended the call, not even bothering to tell Stricken that he was as good as dead. He had warned Stricken not to take her, so now there would be hell to pay. Earl would take STFU apart, bit by bit, so Stricken could watch his empire fall, and once he had nothing less to lose, then he’d eat Stricken’s black heart.

That decision made, he sat there for a time, feeling nothing but emptiness. Normally he was a man of action. Hesitation wasn’t in his nature, but this was such a kick in the gut that Earl was in shock. Heather was so vibrant, so alive, that he couldn’t imagine losing her . . .

She was gone.

He should have been there. MHI should have taken Franks down. He’d made the wrong call. This was on his head. It was rare for Earl Harbinger to be at a loss as to what to do. All he knew was that Franks had to die for taking Heather, and then Stricken had to die for putting Heather in that monster’s path.

His phone lit up. There was a text message from Julie on it. He needed to talk to her anyway. It was time to rally the troops.

Owen’s old friend dropped by for dinner. Surprise.

Earl didn’t care. Why was Julie bothering him with nonsense?

Him and his three friends had so much fun staying with us and following Owen around last time that he came back.

Earl scowled at the message as he thought that through.

He wants a souvenir this time. He saw something special when he was in the basement. Can you pick something up for us? Call me.

Owen and Franks had fought Hood’s people in the tunnels. That’s where they stored the special things they found. “Motherfucker . . .” Earl muttered.

Franks was here.

Earl ran from the room.

* * *

Franks didn’t give them too many details. He only told the Hunters what they needed to know. He left off any of his personal details, as well as the part where he’d killed or injured a bunch of their competitors. They might not like that. Hunters could be a sensitive bunch of drama queens.