“Do you want me to get us some food? This may take a while.”
I look around at several of the restaurants in the area. “Yeah, go ahead. You choose.”
“Excellent.” He slides out. I have a clear view of Fissure and the blonde, and I watch them eat a four-course meal. About halfway through, Garik returns with falafels for us.
“Falafels?”
“I had a craving.”
I eat mine, noting it’s just as flavorless as I remember. I could go another seven years without eating one—or maybe nothing tastes good because I can’t find my woman.
Where the hell is Rosalie? I work the phone, calling many of my new followers, and so far, nobody has found her. I have to admit that Ella is good. Even Merlin hasn’t tracked Rosalie down. I called him, and he’s begrudgingly helping us because she might be in danger. However, there’s true panic in his voice when he relates that so far, he hasn’t located either one of them. If he hasn’t, then nobody else has. That’s some reassurance.
Finally, about midnight, Howard and the blonde emerge. He gives her a long kiss and grabs her ass at the curb, and then the valet brings a Porsche for her. She gets in and drives off.
“That didn’t end the way I thought it would,” Garik says.
“Ditto.”
Fissure waits and the valet drives up his BMW. He tips the guy and gets in, driving away. Garik pulls away from the curb, and we follow him through the city, away from his home.
“Where do you think he’s going?” Garik asks.
“I don’t know, but the farther it gets away from the city, the easier it’ll be to take him out.”
We reach a rougher part of town with several dive bars and restaurants, until Howard pulls behind a long-ago burned-out building. Garik turns around the block. We both exit the vehicle in a hurry through the rain, toward the back of the building where we see Fissure meeting with a member of Twenty-One Purple. The guy’s wearing head to toe purple, so definitely not incognito.
They exchange an envelope, and the guy nods over at what looks like a snowmobile trailer. It’s dented and rusted out, but there’s still the outline of a snowmobile on it. The Purple member takes the envelope and hurries away. Howard makes a call on his phone and walks over to the trailer, opening a side door and looking inside.
Garik angles his head from my right. I blink. There are several kids, all dirty, all young, maybe five or six years old, huddled in the back. “Fuck,” Garik says. “They’re trafficking kids?”
“Apparently,” I note. “Stay here.”
Howard slams a door and then walks toward his BMW. I keep to the building as he lifts the phone to his ear to speak. “Yeah, I’ve got them. Straight from the southern border. They’re in the trailer. Pick them up and make the deliveries now. And next time, Albert, this is your job, not mine. I don’t give a shit if your wife is in labor.” He clicks off.
I reach for the knife in my boot, and I’m on him before he can blink, flipping him around, pulling his hair back, and slicing his neck. Blood spurts over the top of his car, and he gurgles, shuddering wildly. He’s dead before he hits the ground.
I wipe the knife off on the top of his jacket. It’s one of my favorites, and I’m not leaving it with him. I stick it in the sheath, making a mental note to sterilize everything later. Not that I’ll be a suspect in this one. There aren’t any cameras here, and the authorities are going to find not only him, but his phone records about those kids.
I walk back toward Garik. “Garik, do you have a burner phone?”
“I’ve got two.” He pulls one out of his pocket.
“Good.” We move through the rain back toward the car. “Call in an anonymous tip to the cops about those kids in the trailer, and disguise your voice.”
He nods. “I’m already on it.” He quickly makes the call. We dodge into the vehicle and quickly leave this desolate area.
I arrive at Rosalie’s house and climb up to her suite, ditching my clothes and taking a shower. The place feels empty without her, and I’m seriously irritated. It’s nearly dawn, which means wherever she is, she’s not coming back. It’s also Saturday, so there’s no need for her to go to work. If she thinks she’s going to ghost me for an entire weekend, she’s lost her mind.
A knock sounds on the door, and I open it with just a towel around my hips. Seven men stand on the entryway. “Where is she?” Merlin asks.
“I don’t know. I need you to find her.”
Percy scrubs both hands down his face. “Do you think she’s been kidnapped?”
“No. I think she’s with her friend Ella, and I think she’s putting herself in danger.”
Wally winces. “Yeah. There’s a lot of chatter, people trying to find them both after that disc showing Hendrix being arrested was released. They figure since Rosalie’s your lawyer, she had something to do with it.”
