I arrive at the diner, and I park my bike wherever I can. I couldn’t give a single fuck if somebody stole it. I want my little hummingbird back.
And somebody is going to give me answers, or I will burn down the entire city.
I spot the fire chief and stalk over to him.
“You.” Pleasantries are overrated now. “What happened?” He is holding his own, I’ll give him that, but my blood is running cold, and no fire can put it out. Not until I have her in my arms. I have every single politician in my pocket, but the fire chief and I go way back. I helped him track down the fucker who tried to murder one of his employees. He is indebted to me for the rest of his life.
And I’ll make sure to cash in on that debt.
“The current owner told us that somebody came up to him and smelled gas. He called it in and made sure that everybody got out,” he explains. While he explains everything, I can’t help but notice the similarities to months ago, when I called about a possible gas leak in Lana’s apartment.
No time to ponder on that, I need to find her.
“Then what happened?” I ask him while Oliver is standing beside me, listening intently.
“All the gas stoves were on, and that’s how the place got set on fire. It’s arson.”
“Shit.” I hear Oliver say. I couldn’t give a fuck about this piece-of-shit diner. I need to know if Lana was there.
“Did anybody get hurt?” I ask through gritted teeth and a heavy heart.
“No. But somebody definitely broke into the diner before we got in. Listen, M.” He pulls Oliver and me aside so that nobody will hear us. “This person did all of this so fast that he must be an expert. The way it got started so fast is insane.” His implication is blaringly obvious. He is talking about people likeme.
“I understand.”
“There is also one more thing.” He pulls a piece of paper out of his pants pocket and gives it to me. “Everything is destroyed, except for the fireproof metal lockbox. It was unlocked, so we checked it for clues. There was some money, and that.” He points to the paper in my hand.
“Why are you giving me this?” I ask him as I open the note.
“Because it’s addressed to you.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “This will not go into evidence, and I’ll make sure nothing is linked back to you. I have to go now and finish up everything.”
“Thank you,” Oliver answers for me as I am frozen in place. My breathing is becoming shallow and tight—like the air is still in my lungs. My hands start to tingle from the cold and the anger I feel. I hand the paper over to Oliver so he can read it.
“How many places do I need to burn down so you’ll come out of your hiding place? Your little hummingbird is next.” For a moment, I don’t hear Oliver saying anything, then he speaks in a hushed tone. “Fucking hell. M, he knows everything.”
“Don’t you think I know that?!” I yell at Oliver while I turn around to face him. I’m hyper-focused on three things—Lana’s father, the destruction behind me, and the message—and everything else blurs out. My heart is pounding painfully in my ears, and I break out in a sweat. The city goes still.
“Man, we need to get everybody together. Where could she be?” he asks me. I get my phone out and send a message to the entire team, asking them to gather at my penthouse. I turn my attention back to Oliver.
“She went to Emin’s home to help him set up a hen fucking shithole.”
“You mean a henhouse? Like for hens and shit?”
“No, dumbass, for hemorrhoids. Of course, for hens!” I try to take a deep breath, but I fail miserably. “If we know that she is there, why can’t we find her? Didn’t we have a tail on her?”
“We did, and she went into Emin’s house while he was away. Our guy didn’t see her leave the house for like two hours.” Oliver breathes in and out, probably wondering how to tell me what happened next.
“Just spit it out!”
“Fine. Emin got back home, and after twenty minutes, he walked out of the home and started looking for something or someone. Our guy then heard him yelling for Lana.”
“How the fuck did she disappear? It’s not like she vanished into thin air, for fuck’s sake!”
“Look, Emin went away to look for her down his street, and that’s when our guy went in and saw that Lana wasn’t there,” he explains. I control my breathing, but not my rage. Breathing returns in a harsh drag, pulling the shock apart and leaving only heat. Rage is simmering through me, controlled but scorching, turning every thought razor-sharp.
Perspective.
I check my phone, and I haven’t gotten any calls from Lana, and when I try to call her, it goes straight to voicemail. Emin’s home is also in a part of Sarajevo where there are no surveillance cameras or anything like that.
