Page 39 of Steel Vengeance

Omari probably had offshore accounts. Cayman Islands, Panama, somewhere like that. Once he was dead, this guy’s money would disappear into thin air.

Stitch doubted Omari’s wife even knew about it. Not that it would stop them from going after her if things went sideways.

Whoever this redhead was, he wasn’t Arabic. His accent was terrible. Stitch pegged him as American, but he wasn’t totally sure.

That question was answered when the redhead shook Omari’s hand and said, “Good work. We’ll be in touch.”

Definitely American.

Stitch frowned. Had he missed something in his search for Soraya’s killer? Was there someone else pulling the strings? Maybe Omari was just the tip of the iceberg.

He studied the redhead as he walked off. Stocky build, hard face, straight posture. The guy carried himself like a soldier. Or maybe a merc. Come to think of it, this whole thing reeked of military precision.

If Stitch wanted to figure out who this guy was, he couldn’t kill Omari. Not yet.

That left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he swallowed it. Before he pulled the trigger, he had to know if there was more to this than what he’d discovered.

He slithered back into his crypt and watched as the two men left. They headed in opposite directions. The graveyard walls were so broken down, you could get out almost anywhere.

Once they were gone, Stitch stood up and walked to his motorcycle, hidden behind a domed structure with crumbling turrets.

Once again, Omari had gotten a reprieve. He must be the luckiest bastard alive.

Stitch pushed his bike out onto the gravel road and kick-started it.

If someone else was running this show, he needed to find out who—and he knew exactly where to start. But he had one stop to make first.

“What are you doing here?”Sloane ran out of the community center after seeing him pull up through the window. “Is everything alright?”

She looked him over, half-expecting to see bullet holes, but he appeared to be in one piece.

“I’m fine.”

She frowned, trying to figure him out.

The trauma of taking a life, the relief that it was over, the crash when he realized it wasn’t going to bring his wife back—none of those emotions were there. Instead, he appeared normal. Almost upbeat.

“Is it over? Did you get him?”

He shook his shaggy head. “No, something came up.”

She gaped at him. “You mean you didn’t do it? Omari isn’t dead?”

“No, he’s alive and well, I’m sorry to say. Do you have a minute?”

It took her a moment to process. Omari was still alive. Stitch was unhurt, and he had something to show her.

She pulled herself together. “Yes, class is over for the day. I was just talking to Fatima.”

“How is she?” he asked, momentarily distracted.

“Much better.” She managed a small smile. “Thanks to you. You should come in and say hello.”

“I will,” he said. “But first, I want to show you something.”

He pulled out his phone and scrolled to a photo of the red-haired man. “Do you know this guy?”

Sloane gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “That’s Jeremy! Where did you—? How—?” Her face twisted in confusion.