The private chamber inside the organization’s compound reeked of smoke and cold steel. Gabriel sat at the head of the long table, a glass of dark liquor in hand, while his men lingered around, murmuring in the shadows. The television had just shown the president’s outraged vow to hunt down Senator Cross’s killer before Gabriel snapped his fingers, and one of his men killed the screen with a sharp click.
“Two down,” Gabriel said, his grin lazy and poisonous. “And the country shakes like a leaf in the wind.”
A few of the men chuckled, though some exchanged uneasy looks. One leaned forward, voice low. “Sir, maybe we should slow down. The heat is getting higher. The president, the FBI—everyone’s eyes are out hunting now. A pause might serve us.”
Gabriel’s grin vanished. His gaze cut through
