Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“Here.”
I look over my shoulder and find him on the threshold of the veranda.
With Pearl.
And she’s alive.
I slowly stand, eyes batting back and forth between them, smoke leaving my mouth on my exhale. Is either of them going to speak? Apparently not, but Brad jerks his head, an order to go inside. So I go. Curious. “Goldie,” Brad says, looking at Pearl, a silent order to watch her. He thinks she’ll bolt? He lowers to a chair at the table, joining James and Ringo, looking as stressed as I’ve ever known him to look.
“Where did you find her?” James asks, appearing unusually worried.
“On a train heading out of Miami.” Brad picks up the packet of Marlboros on the table and lights up. “She’s not saying much.”
“And you haven’t tortured her for information?” I ask.
He lifts his eyes while he holds the flame at the end of his smoke, sucking. He’s warning me. I’ll take it. “King called her on her cell.”
“The cell Otto supplied?” James asks.
“Yes.”
“The one you had a tracker put on?” I ask casually. Because how else did he find her?
“Yes, that one.”
“And why did you have a tracker put on Pearl’s phone?”
He snarls. “Because I was suspicious.”
“Why?”
“Because a man showed up at the club looking for her.”
“Who?”
“She said her family sent him. Something about her father’s estate. Her parents weren’t murdered in a burglary. Her father died in a drunk-driving accident.”
“So she lied?”
“Yes,” he grates, every question being thrown at him being answered with a tight jaw.
James’s hand appears in midair before us, distracting us both. Winning our attention. “Can we ask how King got Pearl’s mobile phone number if Otto gave her the new phone?”
I raise my brows. Brad maintains his fixed glare. “What happened to her old mobile?” I ask.
“She said she dropped it.”
I rest back, wondering, thinking. “Why won’t she talk?”
“Is she scared?” James asks.
“Of whom?” I ask. “King?” That infuriates me. “She should be fucking scared of us.” I rise slowly from the table, and Brad’s eyes follow me up. “If she’s set us up, she has to die. Simple. So are you going to fix this, or am I?”
Brad stubs out his smoke on the tabletop and gets up. I take that as his answer, and he stalks off toward Pearl.
“What’s he not telling us?” I muse, not liking his lack of talking or emotion.
“What did I miss?” Otto asks, breezing into the café, all smiles. Makes me want to knock it off his face.
“Pearl ran,” James says. “But you already knew that, because Brad called you to track her.” Both of us hold Otto in place with accusing eyes. It doesn’t faze him. “King called her on her cell after Brad found her on a train. She won’t talk.” At that moment, a bang rings out, and we all look toward Brad and Pearl, seeing his fist balled on the table and her back pressed into the back of the chair. Fuck, he looks livid. Good. So am I.
“How’d King get her number?” Otto asks, opening up his laptop.
“That’s what we’d like to know.” It could be as simple as Pearl gave it to him. It would be pretty fucking dumb of her, but I’ve got nothing else. “Anything on the bug on mine?”
“Nothing.”
I pout across the table at him. “Do I get to call you Stepdaddy yet?”
“Fuck off.”
James smiles, getting up and going to the fridge, collecting some beers. Beers and brainstorming. What the fuck is going on? “We pulled her out of a hangar at Winstable, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, my head hurting.
“Could have been planted to get in on the Poles,” Ringo muses.
“But why?” I scowl toward the decking.
“Or maybe she was planted to get in on us,” he adds.
“What does King want with us?”
“If he’s working with the Russians and Mexicans, maybe Pearl was his in. Someone on the inside to feed information to King who in turn feeds it to Sandy and Luis.”
“His in is supplying them. He doesn’t need Pearl spying on us. She needs to start talking.”
“Or else?” James asks, looking at me expectantly. “For fuck’s sake, Danny.” He slams a beer down and pulls his phone out when it chimes. “Ah. She knows I’m alive.” He scowls. “They’re at the salon.”
I growl. “What does my wife not understand when I say don’t leave the fucking house?” She better not argue with me when I put my foot down about St. Lucia. I check out on the veranda. “How long do we give them?” I ask, getting up and going to the doors. Brad’s sitting opposite Pearl, arms on the table, looking way too patient for my liking. I give him a gesture, like, well? He shakes his head. “For fuck’s sake.” I go back to the table and sit. Be patient, be patient.