A Raging Dawn by C. J. Lyons

star witnesses.”
    “You’ll need to offer his new attorney a good deal,” Voorsanger said. “I don’t know details, but as you know from Mr. Littleton’s previous statements, the men who coerced him to assault Ms. Nelson are rich, connected, and vicious. They’ll kill anyone who gets in their way or threatens them. Just like I’m assuming they killed her.”
    The four of them exchanged glances. Ryder shrugged. Dealing with animals was his main reason to crawl out of bed in the morning. Manny nodded, a single jerk of his chin. The three men stared at Rossi.
    “I saw Tymara,” Rossi reminded them. “What they did to her. We need to get them off the streets. Whatever it takes.”
     
    <<<>>>

    DEVON PRICE WAS late for his breakfast date. It was twelve thirty-eight, a few hours shy of what he considered a civilized time of day. After spending the morning trying to find a line on who killed Tymara, he wasn’t moving at full speed. If it hadn’t been for the trial, he’d still be in bed. But, turned out, as lousy as the morning had been, he was glad he’d taken the time to talk to the Tower residents. He hadn’t learned anything new about the Brotherhood, but his conversations had raised more questions. Questions he hoped Angela would be able to answer tonight.
    Always borrowing trouble. That’s what the Tower women who’d raised him had told him. This time he hoped they were right, that he was seeing trouble where it didn’t exist. But the itch along his spine told him otherwise.
    He stood inside the entrance to the chic Pan-Asian restaurant, ostensibly to remove his sunglasses. In reality he was waiting for the pause, that micro-moment of hush when women raised their gazes to admire him while their male companions straightened to acknowledge the competition. Not that anyone here could dream to compete with Daniel Kingston’s son, illegitimate or not.
    It never failed. Devon wasn’t used to it, but in the month since he’d returned to Cambria City and had taken over Kingston Enterprises, he’d learned to expect it. All part of the game he had to play, which was to maintain the illusion of power and control the Kingstons had cultivated for generations. He gave the other diners a lazy glance, basking in the glow. So very different from the way his father had treated his bastard son as a child. Or the way he had treated Devon’s mother.
    Chuckling beneath his breath at the irony, he followed the hostess in her tight silk dress. She stopped and indicated a private booth at the rear of the restaurant, dark enough that his weary eyes wouldn’t be subjected to glare.
    Before she left, he slipped his card into her palm. Not his business card. His personal one. She jumped, her porcelain calm shattered, her expression bordering on fear.
    “Er,” she stuttered, “I’m sorry, Mr. Price.” He folded the card into her palm as he raised her hand to his lips, kissing the flesh immediately above her wedding ring. A promise as well as a performance for the others watching.
    “Keep it,” he murmured, staring her down.
    “But—” She was shuffling, too polite to yank her hand free, anxious to get away.
    “I’ll expect you tonight.” He released her, and she ran away, teetering on high heels, his card crumpled in her sweaty grip.
    “Hope you’re not going to torch the place if she refuses,” said Gena Kravitz, his dining companion, her chopsticks waving in the air. “I like the food here.”
    He hid his irritation that she’d ordered and begun without him. Knew it was one of her power plays. Why was it everything in this city boiled down to a few people in power playing games? At least when he’d worked with Philly’s Russian mob, they’d been honest about their brutality and the consequences of failing to meet their expectations.
    “For you, I’ll simply organize a kitchen-worker strike,” he said with a gracious flutter of his hand. “Most of their busboys and dishwashers come from the Tower.”
    If