No need for that. The tracker I’d hidden in her bag would show me exactly where she’d gone with whatever she’d stolen from Dixie’s flat. And I wasn’t talking about the elephant figurine. Wherever she went next, I’d be on her.
If I’d thought fear looked good on her, defiance was better.
I brought up the app on my phone.
Lovelyn’s blinking purple dot moved down the street, then a minute on, she must have lucked out with some form of transport as her dot quickened, if in starts and stops, the traffic worse for the weather.
More slowly, I followed, taking care not to get close enough to be seen. We exited the city centre and took a trip into the suburbs. Her tracker slowed, I got out of my car to trail her on foot. It took no effort to catch her up.
With her head down against the drizzle, Lovelyn hurried along a row of houses. Nothing shabby like where Dixie lived,but family homes with gardens and two cars in each drive. She didn’t notice me, which was shite considering how easily I’d grabbed her earlier. Her awareness needed to be upped a notch or three.
The lass reached a house and let herself in, clicking on lights and calling out a greeting, presumably to her ma. She didn’t emerge again, and the tracker remained still.
After a while, I returned to my car and drove nearer, parking so I could watch.
In Dixie’s place, Lovelyn had picked up something flat and slid it into her bag with the reactions of a sneak thief. My guess was she’d discovered a phone or a tablet, which she’d undoubtedly be trying to get into now. If she worked out where Dixie had gone, she’d go there herself, taking me with her whether she liked it or not.
Yet three hours on, she hadn’t budged.
It was getting late, for a daylight hours person, as I figured Lovelyn to be.
On my phone, I dialled a number.
It rang, and my sister answered, her voice hesitant. “Kane? I don’t think you’ve ever called me before.”
I considered her mindset. Her boyfriend had looked pretty ropey when I’d busted him out of the police safe house. Last I’d seen, he’d jumped into a skeleton crew car with my sister holding on to him. If I wanted a favour from her, I had to pretend to care.
“How’s Convict?”
She took a breath then speed talked about him needing hospital treatment, but he’d got the all clear and they were at her place. A fancy-as-fuck penthouse in an exclusive block in Deadwater city centre, bought for her by the grandparents we unfortunately shared.
“He says he’s fine. I doubt I’ll sleep tonight. I just want to watch over him. Knowing him, he’ll try to go back to work tomorrow.”
Despite myself, the smallest degree of compassion tried to break free in my chest. “Good to hear.”
Convict’s voice sounded over the line. “Aw, I didn’t know you cared.”
And that sentiment was crushed.One sentence out of his mouth, and I remembered exactly why I preferred violence to conversation. “Let’s not push it. I need a favour.”
Mila swallowed audibly. “Can we talk about the meeting?”
Early this morning, before the rescue mission in Leith, we’d attended a Marchant family will reading where we were supposed to hear our grandfather’s lofty words and legacy choices and, more importantly, get to vote on the future of the business.
I had so much pinned on that fucking organisation operating again, stalled after the grandfather’s death. It had gone to shite when the solicitor informed the angry mob of family members that they wouldn’t get paid any time soon. Not when there was a surprise new family member to be found. A missing relative Mila and I knew nothing about, but who had equal voting rights.
Darcy Marchant, aka Dixie the Dancer.
At least, my gut told me so.
I wasn’t prepared to discuss it with Mila yet. Or anyone else, for that matter. “Focus on your boyfriend. I’ll share when I have something concrete. In the meantime, call Lovelyn and ask her to meet you at the warehouse tomorrow. If Convict is back on his feet.”
Mila paused. “Lovelyn? Why?”
“For reasons.”
“You’re infuriating. What excuse do I give?”
“Tell her you need help with something important and that you’ll explain it then.”
