Page 132 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

I finished my cigar in peace, or something close to it.

Winston’s threats meant nothing tonight. Not here. I ordered another Pappy, let the burn settle my nerves, and told myself the conversation had gone exactly as I’d needed it to.

Winston still didn’t know where the money was.

That ignorance was the only leverage I had left.

My phone buzzed against the table. Tyler. One of six men on my payroll who existed specifically to watch things I couldn’t watch myself.

I answered without greeting. “Talk.”

“Boss, we got a problem.” His voice was tight, clipped. Tyler didn’t rattle easy, which meant whatever this was, it mattered. “The transport route changed two hours ago. Nobody told me. Nobody told Desmond either, and he’s supposed to be running lead on that shipment.”

“Changed how?”

“Original route had it going through the warehouse on Tchoupitoulas, same as always. Rahsaan’s people rerouted it to some storage facility out by Kenner. I only found out because one of my guys clocked the trucks going the wrong direction and called it in.”

My hand tightened around the glass.

“And the safe location?”

A pause. The kind of pause that told me the answer before Tyler said it.

“Empty, boss. I sent somebody to check twenty minutes ago. Whole thing’s cleared out. Not a dollar left.”

“What about the guards? The two men Rahsaan posted?”

“Gone. Nobody’s seen them since this afternoon.”

I sat there for a moment, cigar smoke curling toward the ceiling, and let the pieces settle into a shape I didn’t want to see but recognized immediately.

Rahsaan had moved the money.

Not repositioned it for safety. Not adjusted for security concerns after the warehouse shootout. Moved it—quietly without a word to me—and pulled his men off the old location like he was closing a door behind him.

“Keep eyes on Kenner,” I said. “Don’t approach. Just watch.”

“Copy.”

I hung up and dialed Rahsaan immediately.

It rang four times before going to voicemail.

I tried again. Same result.

A third time. Nothing.

I sat with the phone in my hand, watching the ice melt in my bourbon, feeling something cold settle in my chest that had nothing to do with Winston’s threats.

Then, my phone buzzed once. A text.

Rahsaan: You said arrogance gets men killed. I’m just making sure it’s not mine. Don’t bother watching Kenner. I have the money somewhere safe.

I read it twice.

Then a third time, in case the words might rearrange themselves into something less final.

They didn’t.