Chapter Four Receipts, Rage, and Bad Desire #4
The loss of his body heat made her feel exposed.
She answered. “What?”
Vasha was crying.
Hard.
“Makayla, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Makayla closed her eyes. “Vasha, if this is another apology—”
“They took Renzo.”
Makayla’s eyes opened. “Who took Renzo?”
“I don’t know. He called me scared. He said Calia found out about the flash drive. He said if anything happened to him, I should tell you the money didn’t come from Calia.”
Jarvis’s face sharpened.
Makayla put the call on speaker. “Say that again.”
Vasha sniffed. “The money didn’t come from Calia. Renzo said he thought it did, but it came through a law office account.”
Makayla looked at Jarvis.
He said one word.
“Selene.”
Vasha’s breath caught. “Is that him?”
Makayla ignored the question. “Where is Renzo?”
“I don’t know. He said he was going to bring me something. Then I heard noise. He yelled, ‘Tell Makayla Calia is bait.’ Then the call cut off.”
The room went silent.
Makayla felt the words settle.
Calia is bait.
Jarvis took a step closer to the phone. “Vasha, did Renzo mention a location?”
“No.”
“Think.”
“I am thinking!”
“Think harder.”
Makayla cut him a look. “Back up.”
Jarvis’s eyes stayed on the phone.
Vasha cried quietly. “He said something about the old west dock. Like, ‘I should’ve stayed away from the west dock.’ That’s all.”
Jarvis’s face changed.
Trevon appeared in the doorway like he had been summoned by the shift in air. “What happened?”
Jarvis looked at him. “West dock. Renzo may have been grabbed.”
Trevon’s expression turned grim. “That’s Calia’s old route.”
Makayla frowned. “Old route for what?”
Jarvis did not answer fast enough.
Makayla’s eyes narrowed. “Jarvis.”
He looked at her.
“The west dock was how Calia moved stolen cash out of my businesses,” he said.
Makayla’s stomach tightened. “And if Renzo says Calia is bait?”
“Then Selene is cleaning up loose ends and letting us chase the woman she wants us focused on.”
Vasha whispered through the phone, “Makayla, what do I do?”
Makayla looked at the phone.
Her hurt was still there.
So was the anger.
But Vasha sounded small and scared, and Makayla remembered all the years before this one terrible day.
“Go to Auntie Zella,” Makayla said. “Stay with her. Do not leave this house. Do not talk to anybody else. Do not answer unknown numbers.”
Vasha sobbed. “You still want me there?”
“No,” Makayla said honestly. “But I want you alive.”
Vasha cried harder.
Makayla ended the call before softness could weaken her.
Jarvis was already moving toward the door.
Makayla grabbed her jacket. “I’m coming.”
“No.”
She laughed. “We doing this again?”
“This is different.”
“It’s always different when you want control.”
He turned on her. “The west dock is not a day party full of witnesses. It’s empty warehouses, water, and people who don’t call police when they hear screams.”
Makayla stepped into his space. “And Renzo has answers.”
“He might also be dead.”
The words hit cold.
Makayla held his stare. “Then his answers might be dying with him.”
Jarvis’s jaw flexed.
Trevon looked between them. “We don’t have time.”
Makayla pointed at Trevon. “Thank you.”
Trevon sighed. “That was not me taking your side.”
“It felt supportive.”
“It was logistical.”
Jarvis looked at Makayla for one hard second.
Then he said, “You stay in the car unless I say otherwise.”
Makayla grabbed her purse. “I love when men tell jokes under pressure.”
“This is not a negotiation.”
“You’re right. It’s transportation. Let’s go.”
Jarvis looked like he wanted to lock her in the blue room.
For one second, after that kiss, Makayla wondered if he would try.
Instead, he moved aside.
“Stay close,” he said.
Makayla walked past him, her shoulder brushing his arm.
“Try to keep up.”
The west dock sat on the forgotten edge of Morrow Bay, where the city stopped pretending it was pretty.
Warehouses lined the water, old and rusted, some empty, some used by businesses that operated better at night. The air smelled like salt, oil, and wet rope. Gulls cried overhead. A gray sky pressed low, turning the river dark.
Jarvis’s SUV parked two blocks away.
A second vehicle pulled behind them.
Trevon handed Makayla a small black device. “Panic button. Press once, it alerts us. Hold it down, it records audio.”
Makayla took it. “This better not shock me.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Good. I’m in a mood.”
Jarvis checked something under his shirt at his waist. Makayla saw the movement but did not ask. She was not ready for all his answers.
Three guards spread out ahead.
Jarvis turned to Makayla. “Car.”
She opened her mouth.
His eyes hardened. “Makayla.”
The way he said it stopped her, not because it scared her, but because underneath the command was something raw.
The kiss had changed nothing.
The kiss had changed too much.
Makayla pointed toward the nearest warehouse. “Five minutes. If nothing happens, I’m getting out.”
“No.”
“Four minutes.”
He stared at her.
“Fine,” she said. “Three, but you made me negotiate myself down.”
Trevon looked at Jarvis. “We need to move.”
Jarvis stepped close to Makayla. Close enough that the guard by the next car suddenly found something else to look at.
“Lock the door,” he said.
“You think a lock stops people?”
“No. But it slows them down long enough for me to get back.”
The words landed between them.
Makayla nodded once.
Jarvis left with Trevon and the guards, moving down the side street toward Warehouse 17.
Makayla sat in the SUV with her fingers around the panic button and watched them disappear around a rusted fence.
One minute passed.
Then two.
At two minutes and thirty seconds, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She looked at the screen.
He kisses like control, doesn’t he?
Makayla’s blood turned cold.
Another message appeared.
Tell Jarvis thank you for leaving you alone.
Makayla looked up.
A figure stood near the corner of the warehouse across the street.
Not close.
Close enough.
A woman in a gray coat.
Sleek hair.
Makayla’s hand tightened around the panic button.
The woman lifted one hand in a small wave.
Selene Rusk.
Makayla held down the button.
Recording.
Alerting.
Then she opened the car door.
Because hot rage made noise.
Cold rage planned.
But sometimes both of them opened the door at the same time.
Selene smiled from across the street like she had been waiting years for Makayla to grow into the problem she had always expected.
Makayla stepped onto the pavement.
Behind her, the SUV door stayed open.
In her hand, the panic button recorded everything.
Selene called out, voice smooth as polished glass.
“Hello, Makayla.”
Makayla lifted her chin.
“Selene,” she said. “I’ve been looking for your dirty hands.”