Everything you can possibly learn.

That mantra had served his country well during his time in the army. He had to apply restraint now. Casey had sent over a batch of photos from an art show last night, and had captioned them My lame attempt at playing Nancy Drew.

But that lame attempt might be what they needed.

He showed each one to Michelle. First, a thin, baby-faced man.

She shook her head.

Next, a blond man.

“Not him.”

He clicked on a guy with slick dark hair who looked eerily familiar, and the fingers of his memory reached all the way back to the night he’d met Michelle. He’d seen this man at The Pierson. This man had been watching Denkler. And watching Denkler meant watching Jack and Henry. Watching Jack turned into seeing him with Michelle.

She shook her head. He wasn’t Michelle’s fake client.

“It started with him, though,” Jack said, seething. “They’ve been on us from the start. From the very first time Henry and I met with his brother-in-law. It was the night I met you. Conroy’s guys have been watching every move Denkler made from the get-go. They must have been tailing Denkler that night when we met him. Then they stayed on me, and saw me with you.”

“What the hell?” Davis said, interjecting, as he held out his hands as if to say what gives.

“There’s one more picture,” Jack said.

He reached the last photo and the quick release of breath, the slow-motion change in her expression, and the way she dropped her head into her hands said it all.

“That’s him. Clark Davidson. That’s what he said his name was. Oh my God, I feel so stupid,” she said, and her brother sat next to her, draping an arm around her to comfort her.

“You’re not. He pretended to be someone else. You’re not stupid.”

She lifted her face. Her eyes were rimmed with red. “I even looked him up. I never do that. But I just got this vibe from him. I tried to track him down online. He said he was a market researcher, but I found nothing, obviously.”

Jack stepped away from them, and called Casey. “I need the name of the guy with the glasses,” he told her.

Casey answered quickly. “Nick Bradshaw. He’s second-in-command at a strategy firm.”

“Home address?”

She was quiet for a minute, typing away. “Nope. Private.”

“I’ll find it,” he said, and hopped on the Federal Election Commission page on his phone. This guy was into politics, so chances were good he’d have donated over the years to campaigns, and if he did, his address would be public record. Sure enough, a contribution to the last presidential election revealed that the fucker lived in the Village.

“I need to go,” he said to Michelle, then turned to Davis. “Will you stay here with her?”

“Of course,” he said protectively, narrowing his eyes. Jack got the meaning behind the stare. Jack was merely the lover who’d brought down a heap of trouble on Davis’s sister, his family, his blood. Her brother had been the man in Michelle’s life—her steady, her constant, the one person who got her through the shittiest times of all. Seeing that cool stare made Jack even more determined to prove himself. He had to right this ship.