Chapter 50
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I stood on the balcony, inhaling the cold March air, hoping it would help me clear my head the way it did for Poe when he came out here to meditate. Stripping off my clothes was a bridge too far, but I had to admit the fresh air helped, although it wasn’t quite as peaceful as my spot in the woods.
I’d thought about walking there, tromping through the snow, sitting on the concrete platform where the bridge crossed over the little river.
But that spot wasn’t just mine anymore. It was where I’d told Maeve I loved her, where I’d made her come with my fingers before I’d brought her home to my bed. It belonged to both of us now. I didn’t want it to be the place where I thought about that motherfucker Ethan Todd.
And Todd was pretty much all I’d been thinking about in the three days since the two detectives had shown up at the loft to question us about the missing girls.
I wasn’t worried. We were covered, we’d made sure of that, along with Stacks, the Blades’ CPA who advised us about our money, and a team of lawyers who were mandated by law to keep our affairs confidential.
But none of that was the point.
Todd had sent the detectives to the loft. To the home we shared with Maeve.
He’d brought the battle to us, and I just couldn’t let that stand.
Couldn’t let it lie.
Except what other choice did I have? After Apex, Todd had disappeared into the ether again, no trace of him beyond the two videos he’d posted, during which he’d spewed his usual toxic bullshit, alone and with the callers who phoned in to his show to commiserate about all the people who were responsible for their miserable lives, which not coincidentally were always women.
The thought of it teased something in my brain, and I tried to grab hold of the thread, tried to make it more than just a whisp of an idea.
Two minutes later I stomped into the living room, an emotion flowing through my veins that, if not excitement exactly, was at least the hint of possibility.
“We can call him.”
Remy was reading while Poe played a video game. Maeve was on her computer, probably reading the comments on Todd’s latest video or chatting with other women who hated Todd as much as she did.
We were all dealing with our helplessness in our own ways.
Aloha was still digging into Todd’s phone, and while he’d uncovered a few interesting nuggets — including more of Todd’s known associates, a circle of rich, powerful men who were less than altruistic — none to it brought us closer to Todd’s whereabouts.
“We can call who?” Remy said without looking up from his book.
“Todd,” I said. “We can call into his show.”
Poe paused his game and Remy set down his book.
“What would be the point?” Remy wasn’t asking to be a dick. He wanted to know how it would move the needle, because there was no point expending time and energy to scream at Todd just because it would feel good.
And next to setting him on fire and grinding his bones to dust, screaming at Ethan Todd definitely held some appeal.
“He brought the fight to us,” Maeve said, clearly getting it. “We’re either going to take it or we’re going to bring the fight to him.”
“And calling in to his show is the only way to bring the fight to him when we don’t know where he is,” Poe said.
“Exactly,” Maeve said.
“But what would we be trying to accomplish?” Remy asked.
“Todd’s a loose cannon,” Maeve said. “That much was obvious from his debate performance.”
The Apex debate hadn’t been posted to the Ethan Todd’s social media accounts — a sign that he’d lost — but it had been posted by a couple people who’d been in the audience and who’d turned the clip into video takedowns of Ethan Todd.
It hadn’t been an obvious loss. There had been no ironclad points made by his opponent that had shut down Todd’s arguments, but he’d struggled.
His train of thought had been rambling and tangential, more rants than coherent arguments, and he’d raised his voice more than once, his tenor on the verge of mania.
It hadn’t been the triumphant return hoped for by his followers, and more than one of them had turned on him online, claiming Todd had lost his touch.
Served him fucking right.
“He’s obviously unhinged if he’s sending the police here,” Poe said. “It shines a light on us, but it shines a light on him too.”
Detective Rodriguez didn’t say Todd was the one who’d called in the tip, but we weren’t idiots.
He must have given the detective his name as a way to build credibility, although his name probably wasn’t the flex he thought it was, especially to a female cop who probably had to deal with more than her share of toxic male bullshit.
“I agree,” Maeve said. “Even in Romania, he didn’t seem stable.”
“Has he ever been stable?” Remy asked.
“Not exactly,” Maeve said. “But he was able to hold it together in public. He was able to come off as commanding and smart. He was a mess at Apex, and it’s been even worse on his last two shows.”
Remy thought about it. “You think we can get him to slip up? Drop a hint about where he is?”
“I’m not saying there’s a guarantee.” This was a real fucking plot twist. I was usually the one telling Poe and Remy to cool it, be patient. Wait. “But it’s the only way to get to him right now, and I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking sick of playing cat and mouse.”
I longed to feel Todd’s bones crumble under my fist, to feel his flesh open up under my knife. But right now we had exactly one way to tell him to his face what a fucking pussy coward sorry excuse for a man he was.
“Beyond sick of it,” Maeve said.
Poe looked at me. “I agree. We have nothing to lose by confronting him.”
We all looked at Remy.
Finally, he nodded slowly. “Okay, then. Let’s set out some cheese for the mouse.”