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Leah Braddock. She'd been with Theroux as part of his gang. Francois Theroux was partnered with a man called Henry Warlow. Leah Braddock made their third. Together with their crew, they pulled off several heists all over Europe and America. They were always careful until the Collins job. They’d attempted to steal a Wilson Collins painting, but instead, they’d nearly gotten pinched.

I glanced back at the photo and held it. Leah Braddock. Who was she?

I looked for any more information on her, but that single CI sheet was the only thing that mentioned her. What happened to her? What did she give us? Where did she go? This was the only box of official records I had. The only one Amelia had brought me. I placed the folder in the box and sat back. I was missing something. I knew I wouldn't be able to let it go until I asked.

I pushed to my feet, sliding my feet back into my loafers, and then marched out of my office to the left, down the hall to the corner. My father was in his glass office. I knocked. He waved me in. "Ny, how are you feeling?"

"Fine, Dad. Mostly back to normal."

"I hope you're not here to ask for your firearms and field clearance back. You still have another week of desk duty, at least, according to your physical therapist."

I rolled my eyes. "No, Dad. I am aware. Trust me. I know my limitations better than you do."

He nodded. "In that case, what do you need? I have a meeting in ten minutes."

Never one for small talk. "All right, I won't take much of your time, but can you tell me who this is?"

I placed the photo on his desk, and his brows furrowed. "What are you doing with this?"

“Considering everyone thinks Theroux shot me, I figured I'd poke through old case files. Learn more about him."

"We've all poked through them Nyla. There's nothing to see in there."

"Except for this woman." I slid it back under his nose, forcing him to look at it. "Who is she?"

He swallowed visibly. "She was a confidential informant. What does it matter?"

“Okay I get that, but she looks a lot like Mum."

He swallowed hard. "What? Don’t be ridiculous, Nyla. Besides, this has nothing to do with you. Leave it alone."

"I'm sorry, but this is my business. You're telling me that Francois Theroux was the one who shot me. Great. Fine. So I want to know everything about him.”

"I told you to leave it alone, Nyla. None of this matters anymore."

"Well, it could be relevant. Who is Leah Braddock? Why do you have this photo of her? Where is the rest of her informant testimony? Where is the documentation of the information she delivered? Where’s her compensation package listed? Because I couldn’t find any of that."

He stood and planted his hands on his desk. "I get that you're trying to figure this out, and you're in ‘Nyla mode.’ Full battle avenger, leaping without looking. And I'm telling you, this is none of your business. Get back to work."

I jerked as if he’d hit me. He really wasn't going to tell me. He was definitely hiding something. The question was could I let it go, or was I going to keep digging?

* * *

Nyla

Later that afternoon, Amelia came into my office, panting near the door jamb. "Hey, we have a problem. Ryder Strong… he's dead."

I blinked up, my eyes still bleary from pouring over the case files. "What? What do you mean he's dead?" My stomach knotted. Was this real?

"Dead as in dead. We have a body. Let's go."

"Dead how? Like in a car accident? Got hit by a double-decker? What?"

She blew out an exasperated sigh. "Someone killed him. Grab your coat."

"Jesus Christ." My head spun, and bile rose in my throat.

"I know." I followed her out, and as we passed my father's office, he glowered at me and she slid me a glance. "What's going on there?"

“I found out who the informant was on Theroux from thirty years ago. Weird thing is, there is no file on her CI sheet. And she bears a striking resemblance to my mother. I questioned him about it, and he is none too thrilled.”

She stopped in the middle of the hall, forcing Caleb Madison to trip on his own feet to avoid running into her. "What do you mean, ‘she looked like your mother’?"

I shrugged, still unable to process what I knew. "She looks a lot like my mum. The photo is in profile, and the nose is wrong. Cheekbones are off too, but something in her jawline and her mouth is so similar. The photos were taken in the south of France or something. The background is very Cote d’Azur and northern Italy. And in the profile, her face is in some shadow, but God, it really looked like her, at the mouth, especially."

Amelia started walking again. "That’s some coincidence, right?"

"He claims it is. He told me to mind my business though. Obviously, I'm not going to."

She laughed. "Obviously?"

Forty-five minutes later, we were at Ryder Stone’s townhouse. A chill skidded up my spine. "I remember meeting him here."

"Wait, you didn't say you physically met him."

I nodded absently as we tried to focus on the tech guy’s blabber. We were handed booties, hairnets, gloves, and then we were allowed to go inside. "Yeah, East brought me to meet him. He was the fence."

Amelia shook her head. "God, that bloke is like a bad penny. Honestly, every time I turn around, there he is."

"I thought you guys were getting along better?"

She shrugged. "We are. I actually kind of like him for you."

I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips. "Right, but?"

"It's like this orbit around him, you know? You can't help but get caught up in it. Hell, I'm not even dating him, and I'm caught up in it."

“I get the feeling that's the way it always is, because whatever this is, Emma's caught up too, and Livy."

She shrugged. "And Telly

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