brings up a police report oddly similar to the one Theresa forced through the system the first time Megan was ‘killed.’
“Was there a body?” Rocco asks, jumping into the conversation.
Ellie immediately shakes her head. “A significant blood pool was found, and brain matter was embedded in the carpet, but no body.”
I take a moment to consider Theresa’s objective. It’s clear she’s running the same ruse she did on Maddox, but I have no fucking clue why.
Two seconds later, a lightbulb switches on inside of my head. “Who was arrested for Megan’s murder?”
“An arrest warrant for a local woman is being drawn up. Her name is…” Ellie scrolls through the information on Smith’s laptop, seeking a name. The wind in my lungs expels with a grunt when she discloses, “Isabelle Brahn.”
Rocco sounds as uneased as I feel when he says, “That bitch is playing at something.” He lowers his voice to ensure his next set of words are only for my ears. “Theresa didn’t ask Ellie to wait here for no reason. She wanted both you and your time occupied.”
I jerk up my chin, agreeing with him. “But for what reason? And how did she know I’d be out looking for…” Anger burns up my words.
She didn’t pick this location for no reason.
She’s fucking playing me.
“I’m going to kill her.”
My arm is clutched for the third time today. It isn’t Smith this time around. It’s Rocco. “You’ll never win the game if you keep letting your opposition blind you with false razzle and dazzle.”
“She’s playing me.”
He doesn’t deny what I’m saying because he knows it’s the truth. “Because she needed you distracted. Find out why, and then you’ll have all the pieces you need to win.” When the groove between my brows doesn’t budge, he chuckles out, “You’re always running a million miles an hour, Dimi. Slow down, take a breath, and look at the entire picture.”
He nudges his head to Ellie and Smith during his last sentence. They’re no longer going to war with words. They are working together, side by side, their natural connection making it obvious they don’t just make magic between the sheets. They could be just as explosive outside of them if I’m willing to give them a chance.
“If this backfires—”
“It won’t,” Rocco assures, slapping me on the shoulder. “Because firecrackers don’t implode with despair. They make a starry night seem bland.” In a rare show of affection, he pulls me into his side and whispers, “They’ll come out of this, D. They’re too strong not to.”
8
Roxanne
The dry throat I’ve been struggling to ignore the past seven or eight hours becomes unbearable when the dark-haired stranger pulls his car down a long, dusty driveway. I haven’t seen a house in miles. There may have very well been ranches dotted along the many roads we traveled, but with winter arriving early, the sun commenced lowering over an hour ago. Farmers aren’t a fan of burning the midnight oil, so I may have missed their ranches during our drive. Even the house we’re approaching is scant on lighting. Only the flickers of a candle on a second story can be seen.
I swallow harshly when the black-haired man gleams a blinding grin. “It’s not the Ritz, but compared to where you’re going, it’ll seem like it.” He tosses a lint-riddled sweater into my chest before grunting for me to hurry up and get dressed. “If you walk in like that, you won’t make it through the night untouched. Castro won’t like that. He always gets first dibs.”
The burn of my throat is horrendous. I’ve heard that name before. It was mentioned by members of Dimitri’s crew many times when they discussed the crew holding his daughter captive.
I’m grateful I am about to meet the little girl I haven’t stopped thinking about since Dimitri showed me her photograph, but I’m also worried. This place is derelict and rundown. If my confines are worse than this, there’s only one place I’m going. Straight to hell.
The stranger does a final glance at the shadows between my legs before he throws open the door of his truck and steps down. As he makes his way to my side of the retro-vehicle, I slip the sweater over my head, breathing easier when it falls to my knees. I’m not just grateful to have my modesty back, I am thankful for the warmth. It’s a lot colder here than it was in Hopeton.
“Did this region have early snow as predicted over Thanksgiving?”
It’s the fight of