Healthy people can get lost in their own thoughts. Me? I got pink elephantitis and it refuses to loosen its hold.
After the incident, I can’t recall much except a lot of beer and tears. Kade dragged me out of my sister’s spare bedroom, drove me upstate, and put me to work in his club. At first, he bitched like an old woman, claiming I ruined his life, but eventually, we hit it off.
I became his old lady, his possession, and it’s my fault because I didn’t want to make any decisions about my life. Depressed, I didn’t give a shit if someone else grabbed my life’s reins and drove the buggy.
The sun peeks over the horizon, forcing my thoughts to the present. Done woolgathering, I gather up my emotional baggage, stuff it in my mental trunk, and toss it overboard.
If all you stupid-ass feelings will stay put, I will let you out next time we visit Dr. Ellen. There, we will talk and talk and talk until you are fucking sick to death. After, you will turn into normal memories which will not need to be on lock down. Understood?
I’m surprised my bargaining works but am also thankful. Hours of self-reflection are not my idea of fun and games. Hell, I must be tired. Usually, I’m a glass half-full kind of woman but right now, my mood is bleak.
This is precisely why I turn to my passenger and poke him awake. “Hey, comrade.”
The man’s brows furrow, making me suspect he understands English more than he lets on.
“You ever find any contacts at Cyber Vonya?” My fishing expedition harpoons an unexpected whale.
“Da.” One side of his mouth turns up in a fugly grin, chilling me to the bone.
This asshole’s a member of the infamous Russian hacker group, which means I’m bait. Holy shit, this day gets screwier by the minute. What if he’s acquainted with Mr. Scarface, the guy from Dash’s last bounty hunt? Once the FBI took charge, we never heard from him again. I’m guessing, he’s still in custody but who the fuck knows? Now that I think about it, the two have similar appearances. Brothers? Cousins?
If those two Russians are connected, I’m screwed.
Chapter 7
Dash
My dad’s jet taxis to a stop, I thank the captain, and race down the steps to a nearby idling black SUV. Knocking on the driver’s side window, I demand, “Let me drive.”
As I lift the door handle, Suds clicks the locks, leans over the cup holder, and opens the passenger side instead. “Hop in.”
Dammit.After a long plane ride, I’m raring to do more and go faster. It’s been seven hours since Lanita’s voice mail and the ache in my chest makes it hard to breathe.
“Have you heard anything?” Shuddering, all the things which might’ve gone wrong pass through my mind’s eye.
“Sam retrieved your cat.” My PI friend glances at me, pays for airport parking, and pulls out of the Hudson Valley Regional Airport onto a local road lit only by our headlights.
“Was the little guy hurt?” I’m not admitting it to anyone, but my white fur ball captured my heart forever.
“Nope. Moishe is one tough cookie. He was spitting mad, so we had to keep him in the carrier. Your cat reminds me of ours, Catrina. She was a gift from a hit man. Anyhow, she’s sweet as can be, unless she thinks you’re up to no good. Then, the claws come out. And by she, I mean my cat and not my wife, although true for both.”
I realize he means well, but I have no patience for rambling and focus on his cellphone clipped to a heater vent. The device reads fifteen minutes to our destination, but if I was driving, we’d be there in five.
My thoughts veer back to my missing woman and my throat tightens. “Dammit, if anything happens to her…”
Sebastian glances over, brows raised. “Hey, her message said her ex wanted her to pilot a plane to Mexico. By my reckoning, they wouldn’t want her hurt. She’s en route and as soon as she lands, we’ll collect her.”
Throat tight, I nod, and check my texts while he turns off the highway. The road changes from tar to gravel, then dirt.
After passing an apple orchard, we arrive at a trailer park, where I point out his RV. “That’s Kade’s.”
“Copy that.” Once the navy SEAL stops the vehicle, I jump out and pound on the metal door.
No response, I sigh. “The bloke’s probably at his club’s headquarters.”
Back in the SUV, I direct my chauffeur to a garage surrounded by over a dozen partially disassembled high-end vehicles.
Landy’s rat-bastard-ex, motions a couple of bearded, tatted thugs to join him. Another, under a Porsche, slides out and comes to his feet.
