Page 11 of Wild Card
“No,” I admit, “but it tells us something’s off. Her story’s too clean. Too rehearsed. That whole ‘replica’ thing felt planted, like she knew we’d be asking about it.”
Presley drums his fingers on the center console. “So, we go back to the office?”
I nod. “My office. Citadel HQ. I want to pull every security angle from the loading dock to the elevator bay from the night she claims she wore that replica.”
“Fine by me,” he says. Then adds, with a smirk, “Your office has better coffee anyway.”
I roll my eyes. “You just want another excuse to sit in my chair.”
“You make it look good,” he says.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Flattery won’t save you when I find out what you missed in those tapes.”
He grins. “Then let’s go find out.”
As we merge back onto the Strip, the golden towers of the Citadel come into view. They shine like they’ve got nothing to hide.
But I know better.
Something about Talia’s performance wasn’t just off—it wasdeliberate.
And I plan on tearing it apart, frame by frame.
CHAPTER
FIVE
PRESLEY
We’re just steppingthrough the revolving glass doors into Citadel HQ when my phone starts buzzing in my jacket pocket. The caller ID flashes:Vincent Tran.
Great. Nothing like a surprise phone call from the top while walking into enemy territory. I glance at Aria. She’s a few steps ahead, already badging us in at the security desk. Her stride is all purpose and fire—focused, sharp, as usual.
“Give me a second,” I say, stepping to the side and answering the call. “Vincent.”
“Presley,” he says, voice brisk. “We’ve got him.”
I blink. “Gotwho?”
“The thief. Janitor from our maintenance staff. Name’s Ronan Griggs. Older guy. Quiet. Nobody suspected him. Security flagged something weird in his breakroom locker, pulled him in this morning. He cracked almost immediately.”
I’m frozen in place, gripping the phone tighter. “You’re saying he confessed?”
“He did,” Vincent confirms. “Claimed he saw a chance during the transport window and took it. Smuggled the Weeping Jewels out inside a bag of shredded linen laundry. Brought them home. Said he panicked and didn’t know what to do with them.”
My brain is scrambling to keep up. “And he just… gave them back?”
“Turned them in this morning,” Vincent says. “Said the curse was ‘suffocating his soul’ or something dramatic like that. He’s clearly a few cards short of a full deck. But the pieces are intact, and we’re having them delivered to Citadel security right now—your partner should be getting them within the hour.”
I glance through the glass wall into the Citadel’s security wing, where Aria is already waving to one of her techs. “That’s… wow.”
“You sound disappointed,” Vincent says.
“I’m not,” I lie.
Truth is, I’m stunned. After all that digging, tracking, speculation—after chasing shadows and arguing theories with Aria until two in the morning—we got blindsided bya janitor with laundry access.
“Glad it’s handled,” I say finally, trying to collect myself. “I’ll follow up on our end, make sure the chain of custody is documented cleanly.”
