Michael
Beside me, Katie makes a small sleepy sound and curls deeper into my side. My arm tightens around her while I reach for the phone with my other hand.
Marco. I answer quietly, careful not to wake her. “Talk.”
“We found him.”
Every bit of sleep leaves my body. I slowly slide out from under Katie, easing her hand off my chest before standing. She shifts once beneath the blankets but doesn’t wake.
“Where?”
“West side motel. We have eyes on him now.”
I walk toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind me before turning the shower on low enough to cover my voice.
“Is he alone?”
“So far.”
I lean against the counter, jaw tightening. Sal. After all this time running, the fucker is back in Los Angeles sitting in some rundown motel.
“What’s he doing?”
“He hasn’t left the room yet.”
Sal already knows exactly what happens when I get my hands on him. If he catches even the slightest hint that we’re closing in too fast, he’ll run again.
“Listen carefully,” I say. “When we move, we do it clean.”
“Understood.”
“I don’t want a scene or fucking gunfight in the middle of Los Angeles. I want him breathing.”
“You think he’ll talk?”
“Oh, he’ll talk.”
I stare at myself in the mirror. That bastard stood in my house, drove my car, and looked me in the face while feeding information out. And the whole time I trusted him around Katie. That part still makes my stomach turn violently.
“When we get him,” I say calmly, “you bring him here.”
Marco pauses. “To the estate?”
“Yes. To my office.”
“You want me to call Enzo in?”
“He’ll already be around. He’s driving Katie to meet Rosalia. Fill him in.”
Enzo’s dependable. He’s smart enough not to ask questions he doesn’t need answers to, and most importantly, Katie already trusts him.
I open the bathroom door slightly and glance toward the bed.
Katie is still asleep, one leg tangled in the blankets, curls that have fallen out of her ponytail spread across my pillow. I close the door.
“Keep eyes on him,” I say. “Nobody moves until I say so.”
“You got it.”
I end the call and reach for my watch. Movement behind me makes me turn. Katie is in the doorway. Her curls are going every which way. Her eyes narrow.
“You’re dressed.”
I walk over and slide one arm around her waist, pulling her against my chest.
“Go back to bed, Doll.”
She groans and presses her face against my chest.
“Where are you going this early? It’s like 5:00.”
“Early meeting at the office downtown. I need to prepare.”
Katie tips her head back just enough to study my face.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
No, Doll. There’s a traitor sitting in a motel room across my city waiting for me to put my hands on him, but I lean down and kiss her forehead anyway.
“I’m fine.”
Her arms slide around my waist lazily. “Don’t forget about movie night tonight.”
That catches me for a second because she fully expects me to come home and spend the night tangled together under blankets while she steals all the snacks and talks through half the movie.
My hand slides into her hair gently. “I remember, Doll.”
“You promised.”
“I know.” I kiss her forehead again. “And don’t forget you’ve got your little book club thing with Rosalia this afternoon.”
Katie squints at me. “You make it sound so lame when you call it that.”
I grin slightly. “You spend three hours drinking wine and judging fictional people.”
“That is not what we do.”
“That’s exactly what you do.”
She fights a smile against my chest. “We analyze themes.”
“Mm. Sure you do. I saw the book you were reading for this week. I know about you and your dirty cowboys.”
Her hand slides beneath my jacket, fingers brushing the side of my shirt. “You’re making fun of me before six in the morning. That’s not nice.”
A quiet laugh leaves me. Murder, betrayal, docks, federal pressure, a traitor sitting across my city waiting to be dragged into my office and somehow this woman’s biggest concern right now is movie night and defending book club.
I tilt her chin up gently.
“Have fun with Rosalia today.”
Katie softens at that, her arms tightening around my waist. “I will.”
I kiss her slowly just because I can. Then I rest my forehead against hers.
“I’ll be home tonight.”
By eight in the morning, I’m sitting in the back of the SUV in a parking lot while two different crews keep eyes on the motel. I read updates on my phone as Marco sits in the driver’s seat. Sal’s too smart to sit still this long unless he’s waiting for something or someone.
Marco’s phone buzzes.
“What?”
“Back exit.”
I’m already opening the SUV door.
“How long ago?”
“Less than a minute.”
We move fast, but I know before we even reach the alley that it’s over. Adam is standing near the back entrance looking furious.
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
Shit.
“How?”
“Maintenance corridor connected to the building next door,” he says. “By the time we got around front, he was already on a bike.”
Marco swears beside me. I stare down the alley for a long moment.
Fuck.
Marco and I move between offices, warehouses, and the docks while phones ring nonstop around us for the rest of the day.
Every lead turns into another dead end. Traffic cameras lose the motorcycle three blocks from the motel.
The plates come back stolen. Burner numbers stop pinging before noon.
By early afternoon, frustration settles hard beneath my skin because every trail we touch feels scrubbed clean before we can get to it.
By three o’clock, I’m sitting in my downtown office staring at surveillance stills that tell me absolutely nothing useful when I finally remember movie night.
Katie’s probably still with Rosalia. Lunch turned into bookstore shopping hours ago if I know the two of them at all.
For a second, I consider calling her myself.
I picture her phone lighting up while she’s laughing about something stupid with Rosalia, and the idea of dragging this mood into her afternoon irritates me. Instead, I call Beatrice.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to be late tonight.”
“Ah,” she says knowingly. “Movie night.”
“Katie still out with Rosalia?”
“Yes.”
I lean back in the chair and rub tiredness out of my eyes.
“Don’t interrupt them. Just let her know later.”
“Of course.”
I end the call before she can say anything else and toss my phone back onto the table.