June unfolded the paper, her gaze flitting over the list.

Fulton.

Dresden.

South Broughton.

Brenthaven.

Halloway.

She stilled, recognition flitting like a pulse inside her chest. “What is this?”

“The locations,” said Marcella, “of the EO’s last five kills.”

June didn’t look at her phone, but she knew that if she did, if she opened her texts from Sydney, she’d see these same places listed, each in response to the question June always asked.

Where are you these days?

June wanted to know, because the world was big, wanted to know because Sydney was hers to protect. She read the list again.

So this was what Victor had been doing. Why the three of them were always on the move. But June doubted that he was purely an executioner. Doubted it was that simple.

We’re looking for someone who can help.

Maybe that was true. Maybe Victor was being thorough. Covering his tracks afterward. It made sense, considering he was supposed to be dead.

“Let me get this straight,” said June, pocketing the list, “there’s an EO out there killing other EOs. And you want to find him.”

“EON wants to find him,” said Marcella. “And they want my help.”

June let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s what you meant by making connections?”

“Indeed,” said Marcella. “I told you I would handle them. But I had to give the boys something, and it was either you and Jonathan, or this.” Marcella leaned on the marble counter. “They’ve given me two weeks to find this EO killer.”

“And what happens then?”

“Oh,” mused Marcella, tracing the veins in the stone, “I imagine that Director Stell will decide I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“You don’t seem worried,” said June.

Marcella straightened. “He’s underestimated what I can do with two

weeks. In the meantime, I suppose we should find that EO.”

June’s mind was turning, but she kept her voice airy, light. “What are you going to do with him?”

“You know,” said Marcella, “I haven’t decided yet.”

XX

A WEEK AND A HALF AGO

XXI

DOWNTOWN WHITTON

JUNE had texted Sydney on her way to the car, sat idling there until she saw the three small dots that signaled an incoming reply.

Syd: Whitton.

June put the location into her GPS, and shifted into gear as the map came up on the screen.

From there it was easy to find them.

How’s the view? she’d asked. Tell me what you see.

Such a simple question, made routine by years of checking in, asking such small, seemingly innocuous questions as a way to condense the distance between them. June soon learned that Sydney and Victor and Mitch were staying in a nondescript apartment building, a ten-story stack of tan stone blocks on a street filled with the same, the only relief a small park on the corner, the bright flags on the hotel across the street.