"Yeah," I say, though I'm not entirely sure what handling her is going to look like. "I've got it under control."
"Keep me updated. And Ice Pick? Don't let her become a liability."
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone for a moment, then in the direction Ava's car disappeared. A liability, that's what Vulture’s worried about. But standing in this garage, adrenaline still humming through my veins from the confrontation, I'm starting to think the real liability might be the fact that I'm already more interested in this woman than I should be.
I swing back onto my bike and head toward her apartment. If she's being tailed by hired muscle, she's going to need protection whether she wants it or not.
And I'm going to be the one providing it.
Even if it kills us both.
I park down the street from her building, keeping watch. She makes it inside without incident, and I see her apartment light flick on the third floor, corner unit. There’s no movement in the windows, and no sign of the SUV.
My phone buzzes. Text from Zip.
Zip:
Need backup?
I type back quickly.
Me:
Not yet. Keep your phone on.
Zip:
Always do. Don't do anything stupid.
Too late for that. Getting involved with a journalist who's investigating the same trafficking ring we're trying to dismantle, that's the definition of stupid.
But something about her pulled at me. Maybe it was the way she didn't back down. Maybe it was the conviction in her voice when she talked about the missing women. Or maybe I'm just tired of standing by while innocent people get hurt by the same kind of monsters who took my sister.
The thought of Elena twists something dark in my chest. I couldn’t save my sister. But I’ll be damned if I let history repeat itself while I’m breathing. She was fifteen years old and disappeared from a party. She was found three months later in a shallow grave two states over. The trafficking ring that took her was dismantled eventually, but it didn't bring her back.
I've spent the last eight years making sure that doesn't happen to anyone else. The Saints Outlaws might run guns and deal in gray areas, but we've got lines we don't cross. And human trafficking is so far over that line it might as well be in another country.
If Ava's investigating the same ring the Reapers are tied to, if she's got evidence that could blow this thing wide open, then maybe she's not the enemy.
Maybe she's the key.
My phone rings, it’s an unknown number.
I answer. "Yeah?"
"Is this Ice Pick?" It’s a female voice. My hopes surge, but just as quickly I realize it’s not Ava.
"Who's asking?"
"Someone who knows Ava Langley is in trouble. She gave me your number to call if anything happened."
That tells me everything I need to know. Ava doesn’t give her number to just anyone. Women like her build quiet networks. Lifelines.
I sit up straighter. "What happened?"
"She didn't give me details; she just said if she didn't check in by midnight, I should call you. It's 11:45."
