37. Cupid
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CUPID
Today sucks ass. Running the club while I’m worried sick with Vanessa out of my sight is giving me enough indigestion to burn down a city block.
The mandatory text updates from Cookie and Crypt every fifteen minutes are spread out far too long for my liking, and I’m internally chewing myself out for having not demanded they contact me every five minutes instead.
I’m on edge, listening to the clock on the wall of my office ticking away at a constant percussion, not nearly fast enough. The waiting is killing me, making me more agitated.
After I finish logistics with our buyer for Friday over the phone, I’m unable to stand another second apart from my woman and grab my keys off my desk.
I’m coming, Butterfly.
When I open my office door, I jump back. “GAAAHHH! Dammit, Crypt! You need to stop surprising me.”
Crypt stands in the hallway outside my office, his fist raised as if he were mid-knock when I opened my door.
“Uh, I did nothing,” he says, confused, with a raised eyebrow, or what I think is a raised eyebrow. It’s hard to always see his eye with his hair covering half of his face most of the time.
I run a hand over my tired mug. “You don’t need to. You’re scary enough as is.”
Suddenly registering my Butterfly is home, I ask, “Where’s my ole lady?”
“In your apartment. Cookie is standing watch.”
Relieved my Butterfly is back, I push past him, hustling toward the stairs with Crypt following right on my heels.
“How is she? Was her day good? Did you have any trouble?” I ask, making my way down the hall towards the back of the building to the stairs. I don’t look back at him, too eager to get back to Vanessa.
“Good. Fine. And yes,” he answers.
Caught off guard, I stop at the base of the staircase. “Yes? What do you mean? You texted all was good the whole damn day.”
“Psyche said it was nothing to worry about.”
The tightness in Crypt’s voice tells me he feels conflicted. “But you disagree?”
“I’ve had time to work through what bothered me about the exchange, and I’m reporting it to you now.”
“Very well. When did you run into trouble, and what was it?”
“A woman approached us outside the building of Vanessa’s first class. She seemed upset and relieved to see Psyche.”
“Upset and relieved?” I shake my head at my brother, not understanding. “Those are two opposite emotions.”
“I’m aware,” he says. “Her behavior was odd, and that’s why I paid attention.”
“Good. What did you observe?”
“Psyche doesn’t like her. She told her to get lost.”
Interesting. Granted, my woman has got a bit of an edge to her, but she doesn’t come across as someone who would be rude without good reasoning. “Why?”
“It seems the woman was someone who came between Psyche and her ex.”
My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. “You’re telling me the other woman approached Vanessa?”
“Yes, and this woman was insistent they go see Psyche’s ex.”
The fuck now?! “She wanted to take Vanessa to see the cheating jackwagon? Why?”
My enforcer nods. “Apparently, he’s been looking for her.”
“That sneaky sonofabitch,” I growl, ready to go ex hunting in Fort Collins. “Can’t believe he’d send his bitch to do his dirty work. What a prick.”
“She grabbed Psyche’s wrist like she was going to drag her to him,” Crypt adds, his lips thinning.
I snort, crossing my arms over my chest. “Bet that went over like a lead balloon. Did Vanessa break out the claws?”
“It headed that direction, but I intervened,” he says with an apologetic tone.
“Probably for the best,” I say with a disappointed sigh. “We don’t need Vanessa getting into trouble with campus security. Did the woman back off after you got involved?”
“Yes, but she said she was going to inform Boden Psyche was back on campus.”
My eyes narrow, trying to make sense of the interaction. “I don’t understand why his sidepiece wants to connect them. Usually, a homewrecker wants the man to stay far away from his ex.”
“There’s more,” he says, his face growing grim. Crypt reaches into the inside pocket of his leather vest, retrieving a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it, handing me one student ID photo he had taken off my desk the day before.
I take the photo from him, staring down at the young woman in the image. The name on the ID lists Anna Riley Sutherland.
My eyes snap back to Crypt. “Is this her? Is this our Riley?”
“I can’t be sure. The hair is different, no longer brown but bleach-blonde.
She looked familiar to me when she approached us today, but I couldn’t place her.
I had a nagging suspicion on the drive home that she was the woman from the suspect list. After scanning through the images, I stopped on this one.
Same nose, same face shape, same eye color.
She even has the same small scar on her chin. ”
“Same woman,” I say, confident Crypt’s observations are correct. He’s a stickler for detail.
“We still don’t know if she’s the Riley working with the Russians,” Crypt points out.
“What are the fucking odds she’s not?”
Crypt’s face puckers, as if he’s doing the math in his head.
“It was a rhetorical question, buddy.”
“Oh, gotcha.”
“If this Riley was hooking up with Boden, she could be really butthurt he still wants his ex over her, angry enough to suggest Vanessa be taken for the trafficking ring. It’s an extreme reaction, but bitches can be like that sometimes.”
“Do we let Psyche know?”
If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s my woman going full Terminator on her ex for getting her into this mess. She’ll raid poor George’s deli to retrieve all the day-old bread and cannon-launch them at Boden’s head until he’s unconscious on the ground.
Having him in a coma will be unhelpful. We need his sorry ass to lure Riley to us.
“Not yet. Not until we know more about whom we’re dealing with.”
My enforcer frowns, possibly not agreeing with my choice, but following my instruction with a nod of confirmation like the loyal brother he is.
“Do me a favor?”
“What do you need, Prez?”
“Round up the crew. We have church.”