Soph:
Yeah. I’m following you via GPS. I have confirmation from Abate’s assistant and his personal calendar that he’ll be at Jennings tonight. They’re expecting you. I don’t, however, have visual proof he’s there yet.
Busboy I spoke to swears Abate usually arrives an hour before a meet, since he enjoys a quiet whiskey before fleecing ditsy idiots out of their parents’ money. Since I hadn’t caught him on the premises via CCTV yet, I called his office pretending to be you. His assistant said he’s been in a meeting all afternoon, but not to worry. He’ll be with us on time.
Me:
Kinda ballsy of you to call to confirm his appointment with death. Didn’t feel you were coming on kinda strong?
Soph:
Nah. We’re dumb socialites, remember? I said how I was at the salon and that my nail tech was running five minutes late. I apologized and chattered on about how I hoped he wasn’t sitting there waiting for me already. That’s when she told me about the other stuff.
Side note: you doing okay? We can postpone this until you’re in a better headspace if you need…
I drop my head back and close my eyes, breathing out a noisy sigh that hits the ceiling of the car and bounces back down again to tickle my chin.
Opening my eyes again, I tap out a response.
Me:
I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it, and I have no interest in postponing anything.
Especially if Archer is right and these men, these sick, predatory middle-aged pricks intent on buying little girls, are expected to shop for a new supplier soon.
It’s time to neutralize them.
Me:
Abate will be easy, since he’s accustomed to dinner with dumb women in private rooms inside a dark restaurant. I’m more concerned with those we haven’t found yet.
Soph:
I’m working on it. My men have Sheppard and Roux in their sights. And we caught whispers that Dirkse was returning to Copeland soon. He’s pissed his purchase fell through and his money has gone bye-bye. His anger will lead him right to us.
You’re a few minutes out. Your driver’s name is Burke. He’s not mine, not like Jay and Romeo and Spence are mine, but Burke comes with military training, and he’s for hire if you need backup. If you get stuck or need a hand, rely on him. He’ll get you through.
Another text pops through, the ribbon dropping from the top of my screen. But where I expect to see Sophia’s name, I startle and almost toss my phone at the sight of Archer’s name instead.
Emotion balls in my throat and steals my ability to breathe. To think. To swallow.
Warily tapping on his text, screens jump and leave me staring at a rock.
A singular, heart-aching, soul-shattering rock.
And then… nothing else. No bouncing bubbles to indicate he’s texting. Nomorerocks. No words. No picture. Just nothing.
And then another text arrives from Soph.
Soph:
I need your head in the game, Chief. I never, ever send muscle into a situation they’re not ready for. I’m not in the business of getting people dead. Not MY people, anyway.
The car slows in a busy, bustling restaurant district where patrons walk arm in arm along the sidewalk. Men wear suits, despite the heat, and women wear dresses a little like mine. Music plays somewhere in the street, and as we come to a stop outside Jennings, I’m left staring at the not-at-all discreetly placed camera facing the road.
Here’s hoping Soph shut it down.
I meet Burke’s steady gaze in the mirror and force a small smile. “Thank you.”
