“I have a body.” He paused for a count of five and then added, “Relax. I didn’t kill him. I want to, and if you don’t get here soon, I just might let myself. He’s in the trunk of a car that I’m stealing from him. I don’t know what to do with him, but we can’t exactly just let him start making all those free phone calls he’s entitled to.”
Joss believed in rights—he believed in rights even for the guilty—the very fucking guilty, in this case. But he also knew that if this guy went and lawyered up right now, he’d be making phone calls that would endanger their case . . . and lives.
That was a pickle, he supposed.
One he was glad Jones would have to juggle.
“I’m starting to think you enjoy this,” Taylor muttered. “All of you. Complicating my life has become a pastime in this unit.”
“Nah.”
“If it’s not a pastime, it sure as hell ought to be.”
“Oh, it’s a pastime. But you said has become. It’s more like always been. We love seeing you get a little hot and sweaty and smoothing down those ties you like to wear. I told people that was the one sign you showed when you were getting pissed—you smooth your tie down. Dez used to make you do it three or four times a day.”
Taylor didn’t sound amused as he said, “I’m not smoothing my tie right now. I’m about ready to take it off in preparation to strangle you with it.”
“Nah, you won’t do that. Then you’d have to find somebody else to stick in here, and you can’t exactly stick your lady in here, can you? Call me when you’re ready to meet.” Joss hung up and glanced around. He didn’t see anybody, sense anybody.
It had been a fun thing, rolling the body in a blanket and then lugging it out to the car. If anybody had looked, really looked, they would have figured out what he was moving, but fortunately, nobody had seen.
He was ninety-nine percent certain that no cameras could have caught it, either. He had a few small gadgets on him, but he’d get more sophisticated ones after he hooked up with Jones. His scanner told him there was nothing in the area currently. More than likely, it was correct.
More than likely.
Now he just had to worry about getting out of here without being stopped. Get this bozo to Jones. Get back here. Get some rest. Figure out how he was supposed to pretend to kidnap three girls . . .
Think about her . . .
FOURTEEN
BACK to the warehouse.
That was where Joss found himself on his first full day working as a slaver. Broker. Whatever the PC term was for somebody who kidnapped women and girls and arranged for them to be sold to the highest bidder.
Ideally, he figured he could be out looking for his “mark” except there wasn’t going to be a blind mark.
He already knew how this would play out.
All he had to do was wait for Jones to get in contact with him and then he’d lay things out.
First, though . . . back here. Back to where he’d had that crushing weight of grief.
Now that he had Dez’s unique ability to gab with ghosts, he could find whoever was lingering here and maybe help them along.
Plenty of voices were screaming at him, but he ignored all of them, pushing through the cold weight of their presence to get back to the one spot where he’d felt all that grief. All that anguish.
And it was there . . .
Just there.
He could feel all the grief.
All that pain and anguish . . . bracing himself for her presence, he waited.
And he waited. But whoever he was waiting for, she never showed up.
* * *
“WE’RE going home today.”
Jillian stared at Cullen, her blue eyes unreadable. But the pout on her face was unmistakable.
“I don’t want to go home,” she said, slumping in her chair and glaring at him over the breakfast table.
“Too bad,” he replied, keeping his attention half focused on the closed door.
Taige hadn’t come out of there all morning.
If she thought she could hide all day—
“She’s not hiding.”
Cullen jolted, caught off guard by Jillian’s comment. Sighing, he passed a hand over his face, and then he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “Jilly, you know better than that. Thoughts are private.”
“I know.” She shrugged. “But I hardly ever hear yours and well . . .” She