The terrace on the top floor of Pittsburgh City Hall.
The late-night wind cut across Leo Wallace's cheeks like a knife.
He wore only a thin shirt, his tie loosened and dangling around his neck, swaying in the wind.
He clutched a phone, hot to the touch.
This was the twelfth call he had received tonight. On the other end of the line was Kod Montoya, the House Majority Whip.
Before this, Montoya's attitude toward Leo had always been one of condescending appreciation, like a veteran Beast Tamer watching a young lion—wild and difficult to tame, but with immense potential.
He had even hinted in private that if Leo just played along, there would be a place for him in Washington's future.
But now, that appreciation was gone.
What now echoed in Leo's ear was naked killing intent.
"Wallace."
Montoya's voice came through the receiver, devoid of its usual pleasantries, possessing only a metallic coldness.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?"
