“Guard!” he called out, impatient. “Take this away.” X meant the remnants of his dinner. Normally, it was a quick and silent affair. This time the guard lingered. “What?” X could not hide the impatience.

“I’m sorry to bother you…”

“Speak.”

“Your lawyer is here. He’s been waiting.”

X frowned. He’d not summoned Reece, and Reece would not come without reason. “Very well. Send him down.” The guard scurried away, then returned with Reece, and left. “Sit.” Reece looked nervous. That was rare. “Speak, for God’s sake.”

Reece gathered himself, then spoke softly, as if to do otherwise might trap the words in his throat. “I’ve been watching the girl. I know I shouldn’t be. I know that, I do, not without talking to you first. It’s just that I saw her, and she has this look, and she’s stuck in my head, stuck there, and spinning…”

“Just a moment.” X raised a hand, stopping him. “What girl?”

“Um, you know, from the car, the blonde, the other one.”

“The one you didn’t kill? The one I specifically instructed you to leave alone?”

“The blonde, yes, sir. Her name is Sara…”

X stopped him again. Reece was his right hand, one of his many extensions into the outside world. In exchange for his service, X provided money and lawyers and quiet places for Reece to do unspeakable things. Such were the rewards, but there were expectations, too, and penalties should Reece fail. “I find this development troubling,” X said.

“I knew you would. I’m sorry.”

“And you’ve come to me because…?”

“I want your permission.”

That meant permission to take her, to take his time with her. There was need in Reece’s eyes, but a real fear, too. He was not the only fixer, and knew it. X could kill Reece with a phone call, and it would not be an easy death. “This must be important to you.”

“I can’t explain it.”

He didn’t need to explain. X remembered how it felt to be triggered. A glance on the street. The way a woman walked or smelled or how she twisted her hair. X had once tracked and killed a man for whistling a tune reminiscent of a ferry ride X had taken with his grandfather, as a child. He couldn’t say why that had triggered him. It simply had. “What’s your timeline?”

“Now,” Reece said. “Yesterday, if I could.”

X saw all the ways it could play out: the levers and the pieces, strategic moves that went beyond the purely tactical. “I would need something first, and there’s a condition attached.”

“Anything. Name it.”

“Jason has a brother. He was in the car with your blonde.”

Reece nodded, his eyes predatory. “Gibson French. Eighteen years of age. The Mustang is his. I saw him at Sara’s condo, too. It’s possible they’re together.”

“Bring me pictures,” X said.