He hesitated. “There hasn’t been any evidence in the past few days, but she’s been busy with her own problems so that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

Perhaps not, but I hoped it did anyway.

“It doesn’t surprise me that she was looking,” I said. “But I don’t think she’s trying to manipulate me, and honestly, all I care about at the moment is making whoever is behind this regret it.”

Zeke dropped his arm from the frame and wound the window up as we neared our destination, an elegant stone church. “I guess I’m going to have to trust your judgment.”

“Good.” In our line of business, we needed to trust our partners implicitly. “Looks like service is still in progress. We can park outside and wait.”

I had no doubt we’d recognize the man on sight. Zeke had a near-photographic memory, and I’d made a point of studying Orlov so I’d know who I was coming for. Nobody tried to steal Willow out from under me.

I parked on a side street, and we locked up, checked our weapons, and made our way to the front entrance. We were hoping to do this peacefully, but if Orlov put up a fight, we’d be ready.

We stood on the sidewalk—Zeke to the left of the entrance and me to the right—so we could cover as much ground as possible. There was a chance Orlov would slip out a side entrance, but as far as we knew, he had no reason to be aware we were pursuing him.

The longer we waited, the more impatient I grew. I wanted answers, damn it. Eventually, people began to filter out onto the street. I scanned the faces, searching for Orlov. I skimmed over a bruiser of a man with short hair, and my gaze bounced back.

That was him.

“My side,” I murmured into the headset, so Zeke would know I’d sighted him. “Tall, short hair, walking in my direction.” As I spoke, Orlov looked up, and we locked gazes. He froze. Then, like a rabbit that had sighted a hawk, he ran, shoving through his fellow parishioners. “Coming to you now.”

“I see him,” Zeke replied. “Giving chase.”

I bounded through the crowd and spotted Orlov and Zeke breaking away from the group. Orlov was aiming for an alley. I sprinted after him, determined not to lose sight of him for a second. He rounded the corner, with Zeke and me on his tail. We veered around another corner, then another, the alleys growing progressively narrower and darker. Finally, we reached a dead end. Up ahead, Orlov cursed loudly. His path out had been blocked by a chain-link fence.

He turned, expression thunderous. “Are you armed? Because if not, you’re fucking stupid. Do you know who I am?”

I slowed to a walk and lifted my jacket so he could see the gun strapped to my body. “You’re Mark Orlov. Long rap sheet. If I had to guess, you’re hired muscle. We’d like to know who did the hiring.”