Sean then flew his Cessna to Houston late Monday afternoon. When he landed, traffic from the small airstrip to her condo was miserable, but it was still light when he arrived.
Mona lived on the top floor of an upscale complex in a trendy downtown area. Prostitution clearly paid well.
Sean had kept tabs on Mona over the last two years. She was a survivor—and so was Sean. In San Antonio, Mona had run call girls and specialized in blackmail. She had several important people on her go-to list if she or her girls ever got into trouble. Mona wasn’t violent, she didn’t work underage girls or deal drugs, but she was certainly no saint. And when she made an alliance with a ruthless criminal, she ended up on the FBI’s radar.
She found herself on Sean’s radar when she threatened Lucy.
They had a truce: because Sean had looked the other way so Mona could disappear—and the FBI could apprehend a fugitive—she agreed never to return to San Antonio. He told her no more blackmail. Prostitution was illegal, but if she ran a clean operation, he’d keep his mouth shut.
She had some dirt on him. Nothing that would be easy to prove, but he didn’t need rumors circulating about what he may have done. And Lucy knew what happened. He’d told her without details, only the outcome.
Some things were better left unsaid.
So he and Mona had a truce, a quid pro quo relationship that was mutually beneficial, though they didn’t communicate much because they didn’t like each other.
Sean knocked on Mona’s door at six fifty Monday night.
She opened the door and stared at him. “Took you long enough.”
“You’re lucky I came at all.”
He walked in, she slammed the door behind him. He looked around. Nice place, new construction—not more than five years—clean and sparsely decorated. Mona looked good, too—wore jeans and a thin, shimmery short-sleeved dark tan sweater that matched her skin. Minimal makeup, hair expertly braided. She looked much better than she had when she’d run girls in San Antonio.
Maybe not dealing with the scum of the earth helped.
“You’re lucky I called you at all after you ignored me all weekend,” she snapped back.
“Tell me what’s going on, Mona. No games.”
“I saw that little bitch.”
He sighed. “Are we going to play twenty questions?”
“Elise! Elise Hansen! Or Hunt … or whatever the fuck name she goes by. First time was Friday night, I was making arrangements for a special party, walked back to my car and wham! she was right there, in my face. Looked right in my eyes, turned, and walked away. I was so stunned I didn’t say a word, thought I was wrong, then I went after her but she just vanished. It shook me, Sean. She is a piece of work—you don’t know the half of it. I thought she was just this little skank, but she’s a psycho. I called you on Saturday morning, but then thought okay, it was nothing, I didn’t give a fuck you didn’t call me back. But Saturday night, there she was again. I was coming in late—took care of a girl who’d been roughed up, then took care of the bastard who bruised her—”
“I don’t want to hear.”
“I didn’t kill him. I cut him off, made sure everyone knew not to do business with him—he wants to get his jollies by hurting girls, he can fucking do it somewhere else. And she was here. In the lobby. Just sitting there as if she were waiting for someone. She saw me, smiled, and walked out. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, and then I called you a hundred times on Sunday and you ignored me!”
“You’re sure it was her?”
“Yes.”
“And she didn’t say anything?”
“No.”
He narrowed his eyes. “No? You’re holding back, Mona. If you want me to help you, you need to tell me everything.”
“I wasn’t going to call you again, I was so angry that you fucking wouldn’t pick up your phone, then this morning I found a note.”
He was really getting ticked off by Mona making him ask for everything. “What note?”
“See for yourself. My desk.”
Mona walked into the kitchen. He watched her, made sure he could see her at all times, before crossing the room to her desk.
The desk was bare, except for a laptop computer. “What game are you playing?” he asked.
“Top drawer.” She poured herself a Scotch and downed it.
Sean opened the drawer. Paper, pens, pencils, bills, a couple of flash drives. He saw an envelope with a childish scrawl