Page 44 of The Deeper Game
Odin eyed me in the rearview mirror. His look was just a little too sparkly. “Do we?”
I straightened when I got it—he wanted us to go question this guy looking like scary freaks.
I studied his face, even after he looked back at the road. Odin was all calm, confident determination, revealing nothing.
Chapter Eleven
The Gigis had once pointedout that my guys chose the most difficult and dangerous form of robbery to specialize in—bank takeovers.
There was always a lot of yelling and screaming during our robberies, and lots of problems always cropped up that we had to fix on the fly.
I never really appreciated what masterful criminals they were until I saw them do a truly easy crime: entering Ingvey’s little matchbox house, a mini 1950s home on a block of mini 1950s homes.
They blew in there like it was nothing.
This entire investigation was making me see things a little differently.
My guys could be robbing mansions in their sleep. Running sophisticated con games without a thought. Hell, they could probably have started five different companies and made five different fortunes by now, but scary takeover robberies was what hurt ZOX the most.
So that’s what they did.
It was amazing—and incredibly sad, too.
So Odin and Zeus glided in like flash ninjas, guns drawn, splitting up and becoming invisible while Thor and I waited inside the dark foyer.
“Okay, come on,” Thor whispered, responding to a signal I neither saw nor heard. He went in, also with his gun drawn, keeping me behind him. Thor was playing defense.
Zeus appeared out of nowhere and pointed at a spot in the darkest corner of the kitchen. I waited there while the three of them did whatever they did. The walls of the kitchen and dining room beyond were lit by streetlights outside.
Judging by the photography, Ingvey was very into architecture.
Muffled exclamations sounded from the dark hallway. Moments later, Zeus and Odin were hauling a sleepy-looking man into the living room.
Ingvey wore boxers and a T-shirt. His long brown hair was mussed and messy, and he was trembling visibly. “I didn’t do anything,” Ingvey protested as Zeus and Odin parked him at the head of the kitchen table.
“You know her?” Odin asked him. “You recognize this woman?”
Ingvey regarded me, wide-eyed, like I was going to attack him or something. “Am I supposed to?”
Zeus grabbed his hair, as if to point his head more firmly in my direction. “Answer the question.”
The man cringed. “No!”
I felt sorry for him. What if he wasn’t the guy?
“You fucked up when you threatened her,” Zeus growled.
Ingvey looked bewildered.
Odin put a hand on Zeus’s shoulder. “I’ve got it.”
Zeus let go, and Odin took the chair next to him. “What about the package?” Odin asked. “We know it’s you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ingvey turned and addressed me. “Do I know you?”
“You don’t talk to her, you talk to us,” Zeus said.
“Look at me,” Odin said. Apparently they had a kind of good cop, bad cop thing going, or more a scary cop, less-scary cop thing. Odin rattled off questions. Ingvey answered as Zeus stormed off and started tearing through the house, opening drawers and dumping garbage. Either Ingvey was innocent, or he was doing a very good impersonation of a man completely bewildered by the situation.
