This is his home. Not one of the legally purchased ones that have financial records tied to his legitimate business, but his true home. I imagine he could even be keeping the artwork there, whereverthereis. With how hard it's been to find it and the extra measures he seems to be taking, I'm beginning to think that is exactly where he's keeping it.
"Anything?" Elijah wanders into the kitchen, his hair a mess as he rubs his eyes. He wound up drinking a few ounces of the whiskey Sev brought when it was clear he wouldn't get any shut-eye without it.
"She texted again." I pull up her message from earlier and the corrupted image files on the screen for Eli to see while I continue sifting through real estate records, looking for anything that seems off.
"And we're sure this is really her?"
"We have no reason to think it's not."
"Did you get these images?"
"Corrupted."
He sags. "I was worried about that. So, we still don't have a location?"
"Not yet."
But thanks to Trouble, we do know the approximate distance from the Girona airport and that it's on the coastline. I checked, and there are roughly two hundred properties in that radius. I intend to comb through any and all records I can find for every single one. There has to be something that will tip me off that a property is his.
We know the names of a handful of his shell companies already.
I know I can find it. I just have to look hard enough.
The metallic sounds of Seven repetitively cleaning the arsenal of weapons in the living room reach us, and Eli grimaces. His voice is low when he asks, "How long has he been at that?"
"Hours."
No weapon has ever been cleaned as thoroughly as those weapons have, and that's saying something since that shit is usually my job.
"I've got it," I say in a low growl. "I need to move, anyway."
I scrape out of my chair and draw the pack of cigarettes from my coat pocket.
"Sev," I call, and he looks up from viciously wiping down a firing rod. I toss him the cigarettes, and he catches them. "Keep an eye on things here for a minute, would you?"
His dark eyes narrow. "Why? Where are you going?"
"I'm stiff as fuck," I say, tentatively rolling my aching right shoulder back. I've barely gotten up from that desk other than to take a piss. "I need a run."
"Is that safe?" Eli asks, and I glance out into the morning sun through the windows and the beach below.
I lift Sev's ball cap from the hook by the door and pull my gnarled bun through the opening at the back, jerking it down to shield my face from view. I'm already in a moisture-wicking black long-sleeve shirt that covers all my tattoos. It'll be hot as fuck under the Spanish sun, but I don't care. I need to move.
"There's a reason we picked this area," I remind them. "There's nothing for miles in either direction. There won't be anyone to see me."
Sev reassembles the small Ruger LCP and brings it to me with an ankle strap. "Just in case."
I grunt my agreement and bend to strap it on beneath the ankle of my sports pants. The bulk of it is a little visible beneath the thin fabric, but I doubt anyone's going to pay much attention to my fucking ankles.
I tap my smartwatch. "Call me right away if there's anything new."
Sev nods, pulling out his hooked blade to flip it back and forth between his fingers as he sits at my command station.
The sun is scorching already as I make my way down the switchback stairs to the beach below the craggy white cliff, but fuck, it feels so good to move.
The villa we rented isn't tiny, but somehow, all night, it felt like the lime-wash walls were closing in on us. The quiet was enough to make me go mad.
It'sonly day two, I remind myself, doing a quick stretch once my bare feet hit the sand.
