“Then I’ll talk. I cleaned up your mess at the warehouse. The woman is a nobody. Bit of a sad story. Looks like they picked her up a month or so ago and after?—”
“I don’t care.” A sob story isn’t going to help me right now.
“Right. Forgot you were fucking ice cold,” Pidge mutters with an amused snort. “I’ve got the financials for the other two. Shouldn’t take me long to track down who paid them, but they were definitely mercenaries. It’s no accident they came after Aerin. Luring her out to kill her and make it look like a drunken accident is one hell of a way to secure a paycheck.”
“Were they local?”
“Out of state. One had an L.A. driver’s license. The other had a fake from Ohio. A bad fake, by all accounts.”
“When you have a name?—”
“I’ll call you,” Pidge replies. “Don’t worry. You’re racking up a debt here, Falco.”
“You know I pay my debts.”
“Sure. A reminder here and there can’t hurt. How’s the girl?”
I glance back at Aerin, who is now sitting up on the bed with her hands wrapped around her mug. “Hungover.”
“Lightweight,” he snorts. “Anyway, that’s all I’ve got.”
“Right. I’m switching numbers. I’ll be in touch.”
As soon as the call ends, I break down the small black phone into multiple pieces, snap the SIM card in half, and dump half of it in the trash here. The other half goes in my pocket and I’ll toss it later.
From inside my bag, I pull another phone and fresh SIM card.
Setting them up takes less than thirty seconds, then I text Pidge’s number about the weather.
He replies with a thumbs-up emoji.
The next few hours pass slowly. Giacomo’s still missing, which could mean any number of things.
He’s either dead or he’s up to something.
The eldest child of Guido and a bit of a black sheep by all accounts.
What little I know of him involved drink, drugs, and a lot of bad decisions, but Aerin clearly idolizes him.
He’s her only comfort in what appears to be a very cold life.
She takes another shower in the late evening and starts an argument when I refuse to let her close the door.
This time when she showers, she pulls the curtain fully closed around the bath and eventually starts humming to herself.
Another argument later ensues when she tries to pee and I still refuse to let the door be closed.
“Pervert,” Aerin snaps at me, her eyes glowing with anger.
“You lost your privacy privileges,” I remind her. “You’ve made it clear that if I take my eye off you even for a second, you’ll create a mess I have to clean up. So the door stays open where I can see and hear you.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“That’s life.”
“Is that how you got your rocks off in the army?” Aerin demands.
My jaw tightens. “Door. Stays. Open.”
