Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
GRAYSON
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I remember that Boden was texting me yesterday before the yacht took a turn and ended up pulling up to a dock.
I watched as three more men climbed on, and then they talked to the target for a few moments, shook hands and left.
It was a meeting, but I’m not sure what it entailed.
I need to get some listening devices on that yacht.
Reaching for my phone, I glance down at the new message notifications.
I have a few which is surprising to me.
Boden’s is from yesterday.
It’s a continuation of the conversation we were having about the women on the boat.
BODEN: All four girls have been missing for five years—presumed runaways from group homes.
Well, that fucking tracks.
Same modus operandi.
Teenagers who nobody would fucking miss.
Teenagers who were problems and nobody would come looking for.
Teenagers who would be easily written off as runaways.
That’s what we were, too.
That’s what every fucking kid taken by these pieces of shit was labeled.
BODEN: They went missing at fourteen and fifteen.
So they’re all technically adults now.
I can’t just ignore this information, though.
Maybe they like where they are, maybe they’re too scared to try and leave, or maybe they just don’t think there's life for them outside of the one they’ve been forced to live in.
Whatever the case, before I leave Miami, they will have the opportunity to make their own decisions.
I’m going to approach them and have a chat. Maybe I can help them.
My whole idea could be absolutely fruitless, but if I don’t try, I’ll always wonder what if . Even though they are adults, they’re still very much kids, and I have no doubt they have been through some shit. They deserve an opportunity for freedom, however that looks.
After responding to Boden, I check the other new texts. I have one from Theron and one from Merrick.
I’ve still not completely forgiven Merrick for the shit he pulled in the surveillance room. I understand that mistakes are made, and even though I can rationalize it and understand it in my head, emotionally, I’m not over it.
So, instead of touching Merrick’s name on the screen, I read Theron’s message first.
THERON: I’m hoping you’ll be done with this one within the week. After that, I want you to take some time off before the next one. At least a week.
Frowning, I stare at the screen, unsure why he would give me any kind of time frame. I want to ask him what the fuck he’s talking about but decide against it. Instead, I just respond simplistically.
I’ll try. But I’m not taking any time off.
Taking time off goes against every fucking reason I’m doing this. I’ll take time off after I’ve given them the information to take down every goddamn asshole on that thumb drive. So, the fact that he wants me to take a weeklong vacation after only finding the first one is bothersome.
Closing Theron’s text thread, I open up Merrick’s. Reading his message, I can’t help but feel… off. He’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t understand it.
MERRICK: Call me when it feels like it’s too much. Don’t do anything you will regret.
Instead of responding, I close the app and place my phone on the nightstand again. Merrick’s message niggles in the back of my mind. I know he’s trying to tell me something there, but I have no fucking clue what it could be.
Making my way toward the bathroom, I take a long hot shower, trying not to overanalyze what both Theron and Merrick have said, but I seriously have no goddamn clue what they’re trying to tell me.
When I’m finished with my shower and dressed, I grab my phone again before I head into the kitchen to make a coffee. Although I haven’t put any listening devices on the target’s yacht yet, what I have done is put a tracker on his fucking car, and it is on the move.
Lifting my warm mug to my lips, I take a sip of the dark liquid, hissing as it burns my throat on the way down, and watch as the target’s car moves. It doesn’t take long before it stops and parks in a parking garage that is across from… a nightclub.
Rolling my eyes to the ceiling, I almost laugh because how fucking cliché. The last drama we had with this group, or men of his ilk, was at a damn nightclub. Then we were stuck with it and running it for longer than any of us would have preferred.
However, I have to admit that it’s going to be a nice, diversified cash flow now that we have it leased out. I was able to follow all the girls to what appears to be their home. I know that it isn’t just a shared house where they’re roomies, hanging out and eating bonbons on Friday nights.
I need to watch that house a bit closer now that I know the location. With the target at a club in the middle of the day, I push off the kitchen counter, dump the dregs of my coffee into the sink, and fill the cup with water so it doesn’t stain before I head out of the rented house and get into the nondescript rental car.
It doesn’t take me long to get to the house. Weirdly enough, it’s only a few blocks from my rented one. In a really fucking nice neighborhood. Parking a few homes down and across the street, I watch the place.
What I want to do is set up some surveillance, but I can’t do that here. I’ve already clocked at least four security systems just in my line of sight. So I wait and watch. An hour into my waiting, I shift lower in my seat when I watch two of the women I recognize walk out of the house.
They don’t go far, mainly because one of the guards is close behind them. I watch as they walk over to a tree and one of them reaches up. That’s when I realize it’s an orange tree. They pick oranges, but neither of them seems relaxed or comfortable. Even from a distance, I can tell they appear to be holding their bodies tightly.
Something is wrong. Really wrong. And I have a feeling this is going to need my immediate attention, whatever it is. I can’t just walk away from the body language they are exuding.
NADINE
Humidity doesn’t seem to accurately describe the air around me. When I step out of the airport, the thick, soupy air hits me in the face, and I struggle to take in a breath. I cannot believe that people live every day like this. It’s beyond stifling. I don’t know what it is, but it’s almost so thick that you could chew it.
Walking over to my pickup area, I watch for the Uber I hired to arrive. A deep-purple Dodge Challenger. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to miss it, and a few moments later, I hear a car roar, and then it appears, pulling up to the curb directly in front of me.
The trunk of the car opens before a woman stands from the front seat, her eyes meeting mine from across the top of the car, a smile playing on her lips.
“Hey, girl,” she cries out. “Let’s get you loaded up.”
She hurries around to the back of the car, and I start to pick up my bag, but before I can do anything, she’s got it hefted up and tossed into the trunk. She looks over at me, slamming it down, then laughs softly.
“C’mon. I don’t normally do Uber, but I needed some extra cash. You get the front seat.”
I don’t know what’s happening here. Admittedly, this is my first time doing the whole rideshare thing. Sinking down into the front seat, I watch as she sits down in the driver’s seat, slams the door, then shifts the car into Drive before we’re off.
And off we are.
“Where are you going?” she demands.
I tell her the name of my hotel, something that Theron booked for me. She whistles, then shakes her head once, although I wish she wouldn’t move her head at all because she’s driving really fucking fast.
“My boss booked it for me. Is it fancy?”
“Way too rich for my blood,” she states. “But there’s a great club just down the street.”
I know there’s a club just down the street because Theron sent me a text while I was on the plane to tell me that the man I’m looking for has been at said club all day long and will be there this evening.
“Is there?” I ask, trying to sound surprised.
She jerks her chin in a nod, and before I realize what’s happening, we’re pulling into the entrance of the hotel. She turns toward me, smiling. “You decide you want to party while you’re here, let me know.”
I watch as she tugs a card out of her center console, then hands it to me before she’s out of the car and walking back to the trunk. Opening the passenger door, I slide the card into my back pocket, gripping my phone in my hand.
A bellhop walks out of the hotel and takes my bag from Lola. The only reason I know her name is from her card. Giving her a small wave, I thank her and scurry behind the bellhop into the safety of the hotel.
Maybe I’m not ready for this crazy plan, and maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t have tried to make this plan come to fruition all by myself.
Checking into the hotel only takes a few moments, and then I am given a key card and the room number. I’m also told that my luggage will be brought up shortly. For someone who has only stayed at motels, this is quite the experience.
I don’t know what Theron was doing booking me in a place this opulent. It’s far too fancy for me, and I’m not sure how to act at all. I would be better at a cheap motel somewhere sketchy rather than this posh hotel in this fancy part of town.
Riding up the elevator car, I wonder how much over the top this place can get. The ornate wallpaper and carvings. It’s just over the top everywhere I look. When the doors slide open, I step out into the hallway, my feet sinking into the plush carpet. I smirk, looking left and then right down the long hall.
Gaudy gold frames surround every piece of artwork that lines the walls on each side. There is also a set of plush chairs every so many feet with a table between them in case someone needs to rest on the long journey from their rooms to the elevator.
It’s wild.
As I move down the hallway and look for the room numbers, I am blown away because each room has a doorbell and gold numbers affixed to the door as if it’s an apartment, not a hotel.
I am afraid to enter my room because if I mess something up, I’m pretty sure I will never be able to afford to fix it. Once I find my room, I reach for the door and insert the key card. I turn the handle, then slip inside, closing the door behind me.
The moment I step inside, I am taken aback. This isn’t simply a room. It is an actual apartment. Walking into the living room, I look to the left, and there is a full kitchen. In fact, I think it might be bigger than the one in my apartment. Then, past the kitchen, is a small dining room table.
Through the living room, there is a hallway opening, and I see a bedroom. Not just any bedroom, but one fit for someone of a much higher status than me, and definitely with a whole lot more money than I have.
It has a gold-and-light-blue comforter with decorative pillows that look so fluffy. And then there is a small sofa, a full dresser with a television, and my… luggage. My bags have already been delivered and have been placed beside the bed.
This is insane, and I’m afraid that a girl could get used to this kind of treatment. I’m afraid that Theron has set me up for failure because I’m not going to want to go back to work. But then I think about Grayson, about starting a real life with him, and I know it’s a lie—I would go back right this second if it meant we were going together.