6. Mandy
MANDY
The café in Billings I’m at is the kind of place where the waitress refills your cup without asking and doesn't care if you sit for three hours nursing the same lukewarm sludge. No one looks at anyone else too long, which makes it the perfect place to disappear in plain sight.
They also have donuts. Sure, they’re stale, but a stale donut is better than no donut.
I'm tucked into a corner booth with a view of the door and the parking lot beyond—not that anyone will find me here. I have my phone in my hand and the notebook hidden on my lap, open to the photograph on the last page. I’ve spent two hours trying to match her face to wedding announcements, fundraising galas, and ribbon cuttings in Washington.
After I ran Montana, I’ve been going through every state alphabetically.
No luck for far, but I’ve got three states to go.
It’s been five weeks since I found the notebook. Why a man like Cole Turner has a notebook like this, I have no idea. For kicks? To keep some sort of fucked-up journal of his special girls? I don’t know.
But it’s here, and I’ve tried everything to figure out who she is. I’ve searched police, hospital, and FBI databases. I’ve reverse searched the image using facial recognition and AI software.
Nothing. And I’m running out of time.
I close the notebook and set it on the table. I open the Billings Gazette on my phone to do my daily cursory search. As I reach for what’s left of the second glazed old-fashioned donut I ordered, the main headline catches my eye.
LOCAL MAN FOUND DEAD IN HOME
Richard Pemberton, 52, head of Pemberton Vale Capital, a private equity firm, was discovered deceased in his residence in the hills outside Billings early this morning. Authorities are investigating the death as suspicious. No further details have been released at this time.
That's cop-speak for "we don't know what the fuck happened." Good. The less they know, the better. I wiped everything down, left no prints, no DNA. Pemberton's house is isolated enough that nobody heard anything. By the time they piece together his connection to Turner's network, I'll be long gone.
Assuming I live that long.
My phone vibrates. Swallowing the mouthful of donut, I glance at the screen and see Gabriel's name. I answer on the second ring.
"It's Thomas Ashford looking for you," he says without preamble.
I pause, coffee cup halfway to my lips. For years I’ve been trying to connect Ashford to Cole Turner’s trafficking ring.
There’s been whispers of his activity and complicity but no evidence and no way to get close enough to him to get proof.
Look up “elusive billionaire” in the dictionary and there’s a shadowed silhouette of Thomas Ashford.
I’ve spent the past ten years since Gabriel pulled me out of that nightmare hunting down anyone associated with Turner and his business.
We got Turner finally five weeks ago—the man is currently a guest in one of Gabriel’s dungeons, hopefully pissing himself and cursing his existence—and I haven’t managed to tie Ashford to anything.
My pulse kicks up at the thought that this could be my break.
Setting the coffee cup down, I lower my voice, careful not to repeat the Ashford name out loud.
He’s based on the East Coast, but I’m not fool enough to think a man that rich and connected doesn’t have his dirty fingers in pots all over the country. "What does he want with me?"
"I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."
God, I hope it’s because I’ve finally gotten too close to ignore. I’ve spent years trying to find a way into Ashford’s world, and now that arrogant bastard hires someone to deliver me to his front door. It’s like my birthday and Christmas all wrapped in one. "Does it matter? He won't find me.”
"Don't be too sure." Gabriel's voice is calm, measured. "He hired Hendricks."
My stomach drops. The café tilts sideways for a second, and I grip the edge of the table, trying to breathe while my brain attempts to process what Gabriel just said.
Hendricks.
Fuck.
I think about him chasing me, and my thighs clench. Then I think about what Hendricks does when he catches what he’s hunting, and they clench harder.
Fuck.
"Mandy?"
"I'm here." My voice comes out steady. Professional. Like my pulse isn't hammering and my hands aren't trembling. Like I don’t need to stick my fingers into my pants and relieve the sudden throbbing ache thinking about Hendricks coming after me.
"Why would Ashford want you, Mandy?" Gabriel asks point blank.
“Beats me.” It’s either because of someone I just took out, the questions I’ve been asking, or the notebook; otherwise, he’d have come after me long ago.
I’ll need to go over the photos in there again.
I’ll also have to check into Ashford’s social circle to see if I can find the girl there. I feel a jolt of hopeful energy.
“Why don’t I believe you?” Gabriel asks dryly.
“Because you’re suspicious,” I say. Really, it’s because he’s smart and he knows me.
Gabriel sighs heavily. "You aren’t hunting him, are you?"
"Should I be?" I ask carefully.
“You are. I knew it.”
I hear his expensive shoes clacking on tile and then a muffled command to someone before he returns his attention to me. “Well, it was nice knowing you, Mandy. See you in the next life.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
“What kind of flowers would you like me to send to your funeral?”
“You’re so dramatic sometimes.”
"I’m a realist,” he said with uncharacteristic gravity.
“You stepped into something bigger than you can handle.
We're talking Thomas Ashford here." Gabriel exhales the way he does when he’s trying to keep his cool.
"Mandy, my brother gives Ashford a wide berth, that's how scary the fucker is.
And Ashford's hired Hendricks. He’s going to find you. "
I mentally run through my options. There aren’t too many. "So what are you saying? That I should run?"
"No."
"Hide?" I cringe at the thought.
"No."
"Then what?"
Gabriel's quiet for a beat. "Go to Hendricks."
I laugh. It's sharp and humorless, echoing in the nearly empty café. The waitress glances over, and I lower my voice. "You've actually lost your mind. You just said he’s hired to deliver me to Ashford."
"Yeah, I don’t get that since he works with your sister’s boyfriend, but if anyone can get you out of this—"
I close my eyes. I already know what Gabriel's going to say. I don't want to hear it, but I know.
"—it's Hendricks, because you know I can't help you." His voice is flat. Final. "My brother has business dealings with Ashford. If I step in on this, it disrupts business and I'd be moving against an ally. I can't do that, not even for you."
Click.
The line goes dead.
The words hit harder than they should. Gabriel saved me—pulled me out of Cole Turner's trafficking operation after three years of captivity and turned me into something more than a victim. He made me capable and dangerous. By virtue of that, we’re close. Ish.
He's also the enforcer for his family, and his older brother runs the Reyes cartel with an iron fist. Family politics trump everything.
Especially me.
Something twinges in my chest. Stupid, because it’s not like I expect anything from him.
Sticking the last morsel of donut in my mouth, I sit there in the booth, staring at my phone as I chew. Thomas Ashford hired Hendricks to find me. Which means Hendricks is already looking. Which means I'm running out of time.
Opening the notebook, I trace a finger along the edge of the girl’s photo. So is she.
I could run—disappear. I've done it before, lots of times. But running won't save this girl. Running won't stop whatever Ashford's involved in. And running sure as hell won't get me answers.
Which leaves me with one option.
Shaking my head, I close the notebook and tuck it back into my bag. “This is going to be the dumbest thing I've ever done,” I mumble, gathering my things and scooting out of the booth.