DANTE

Three days after our conversation about Marcus, Viktor walks into my office with an expression I've learned to dread.

"We have a problem," he says without preamble.

"Torres?"

"No. Different problem." He sets his tablet on my desk, pulling up surveillance footage. "Emma Sinclair met with someone yesterday. It's a woman we haven't seen before."

I watch the video of Emma, sitting in a coffee shop in Brooklyn, talking animatedly with a blonde woman in her thirties. They're too far ...