Page 72 of Wicked Fortune

Traffic.

I suck in air as I sit bolt upright. She’s describing a snarl of traffic.

The note is more than a clue, the note is an indictment.

Human trafficking.

Elias Trent and Joel Carradine are tied in with human trafficking, and somehow Jenny got sucked into the middle of it.

That’s what the note means, I’m certain of it.

What I don’t know is Matthew’s role. Is he aware? And if so, is he complicit? Or is he trying to shut it down?

Most of all, did he have anything to do with Jenny’s death?

The last thought sends a wave of bile up into my throat, and I shake my head, unable to believe it. I know Matthew. It hasn’t been long, but I’ve come to know him intimately. People I respect know him, too. Damien, Nikki, Bree. He’s a good man. A talented man who built a business by clawing his way up from nothing.

And yet there was that conversation with Joel Carradine.

I tell myself not to jump to conclusions. I don’t have all the facts. The only truly concrete thing I have is Carradine’s resume and the strange feeling that there’s something funky about it. But what?

I have no idea, and I don’t know how to figure it out without going to the FBI or whoever is in charge of shutting down traffickers. But I can’t do that without dragging Hardline into all of this … and I can’t drag Hardline in unless I’m one zillion percent sure.

Which means I need to find someone who knows about this stuff. Someone who would recognize the signs of a trafficking operation but isn’t part of the government. Someone who⁠—

And then I remember.

Ryan Hunter.

The new dad who was one of the guests of honor at the party where I’d almost drooled over Matthew. He’s the head of Stark Security, a private security firm he owns with Damien. He’d been a huge help when Bree was kidnapped. And I know he’s done lots of international security work.

Surely he could help me.

And even if he can’t, I have no better option. So I do a quick search for the main number, then dial.

“Stark Security. How may I direct your call?”

“Um.” It’s only as the line is answered that I realize it would have been smarter to ask Nikki for an intro call. Odds are that my cold call isn’t going to get me anywhere close to Mr. Hunter himself.

“Hello?”

“Right. Ryan Hunter, please.”

“One moment.”

There’s a brief hold-tone, then a male voice. “Mr. Hunter’s office.”

“Right. Um, hi. This is Aria Parker. I was at the party for little Maia. I’m Bree Bernstein’s old roommate, and, well, I really need to speak to Mr. Hunter.”

“Can I tell him what it’s regarding?” The voice is sharp. Efficient.

“I’m not sure. That’s kind of why I need his help. If I could just explain it to him. I think—well, I think my friend was murdered, and I think⁠—”

“Hold on for one minute.” The voice is gentle now, the “busy office” tone traded for one of compassion.

“Um, yes.” But by the time I speak, the hold-music is humming again. But only for a moment. Then the line clears and I hear a firm, confident voice saying, “Aria? What’s wrong?”

A wave of relief crashes over me with such force I have to shut my eyes. “Mr. Hunter?”