Chapter 15: MATCHING CARDS

Chapter 15: MATCHING CARDS
The card looked even more deliberate in Steve’s hand. Crisp edges. Uncreased. Like it had been laid there with tweezers. He set it down next to mine, the two Queens staring up at us like they knew something we didn’t.

“Yours showed up when?” I asked.

“Earlier,” Steve said, voice even. “Slipped under my office door.”

“Slipped under... ” I blinked. “Your office. As in, your very secure, top-of-the-building, cameras-on-every-corner, multiple-human-checkpoints office?”

“Yes.”

I waited for the part where he’d acknowledge how insane that was, maybe even throw in a swear word for effect, but nope. Just that same calm tone, like someone had told him the weather.

Dante stepped forward, the plastic sleeve with my card still in his grip. “No cameras caught anyone on the floor. Entry logs are clean. No signs of forced access anywhere in the building.”

“So, what?” I said. “This guy’s a magician? Did he beam it in?”

Dante didn’t look at me when he said, “They bypassed security.”

Steve’s eyes flicked up at that. Just for a second. Then back to the cards. “Not the first time,” he murmured.

That little comment just sat there between the three of us, heavy enough to make the room feel warmer.

I crossed my arms. “And you’re not going to tell me what that means, are you?”

Steve finally met my gaze. “Not yet.”

That was the problem with him. Not the secrets. The way he made ‘not yet’ sound like it could mean five minutes or five years.

Dante shifted slightly, and for the first time since I’d met him, his expression cracked just enough for me to catch it—concern. Real concern. Not the professional, keep-the-client-alive kind. This was different. This was personal.

“You’ve seen this before,” I said, more statement than question.

Neither of them answered. Which was basically the same thing as a yes.

Steve straightened. “Your apartment needs upgraded security.”

“My apartment’s fine.”

“Your apartment,” he repeated, “is an invitation.”

I wanted to argue... because obviously... but he was already moving toward his desk, tapping something into his phone. Dante was listening with that still, coiled attention he had, the kind that made you think if you sneezed wrong he’d catch the particle count.

“Temporary measures,” Steve said, glancing back at me. “Dante will handle it. Guard in your lobby, shifts every twelve hours. Extra cameras at your floor. Keycard access changed.”

“Like I’m a VIP,” I muttered.

“Like you’re a target,” he corrected, without a blink.

I looked at the cards again. Two Queens of Spades. The kind of coincidence that wasn’t one. The typed messages—mine reading Time’s a luxury, his hidden from me but clearly working overtime on his nerves. Not that Steve looked nervous. But I’d seen enough to know what tension looked like in someone who made a career out of hiding it. It wasn’t in the hands or the jaw... it was in the eyes. And right now, his eyes kept going back to those cards like they were hooked to something old.

Old, and maybe unfinished.

“What’s the Queen of Spades supposed to mean?” I asked.

Steve didn’t look up. “Depends on who’s sending it.”

“And who would that be?”

“Not your problem.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Dante’s eyes cut to me—sharp enough to be its own warning. That’s the thing about him: he doesn’t need words to shut you up.

The cards sat between us like they were waiting for the next move. I had questions. Steve had walls. Dante had… whatever Dante had. And the three of us just stood there until the silence felt like it could break glass.

Steve’s phone buzzed. He didn’t glance at it right away. Just finished whatever he was typing into his desk monitor, then slid the phone closer. When he finally picked it up, the screen glow hit his face in a way that made him go still again.

“Freeman.”

A pause. His brows moved the tiniest fraction.

He hit speaker.

“This is Detective Mark O’Brien, NYPD,” the voice came through, low but clipped, professional with just enough weight to say I’ve seen some things. “I’m requesting an in-person meeting. It’s about the threats you’ve been receiving.”

Steve’s eyes flicked to me before going back to the phone. “When?”

“Tomorrow morning. My office.”

Another pause. You could feel the air sharpen around Steve, just a fraction.

“We’ll be there,” he said.