any signs of her father.
“I’ve narrowed it down to some properties owned by his mate, Gregor Howard.”
“I knew Gregor was lying to me.”
“He was staying in a rental property owned by Gregor. Vander searched it, but your father had already left. Vander questioned Gregor, and he said that he gave your dad access to several places. He’ll turn up soon.”
She swallowed. “What if Antoine or Rhoda find him first?”
Ace didn’t reply.
Harlow shook her head. “It’s damn hard being angry and loving someone at the same time.”
“I know.”
The understanding in his voice had her turning her head.
Ace sighed. “When I was younger, my kid brother tried drugs for the first time, and OD’d.”
“Oh, Ace.” She touched his hand.
His jaw worked. “He’s alive, but he suffered brain damage. The Rodrigo I knew, my best friend, he’s gone. He’s in a home. I see him every week, and we all go there for birthdays and Christmas.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m still angry at him. We always talked about how bad drugs were, and not to get involved with them. He’ll never stop being my brother and I’ll never stop loving him.” Ace stared at his screens, lost in his own pain.
Harlow bit her lip and decided to change the subject. “Any word on my mother?”
“She’s fine. Rome said she does a lot of yoga, and drinks a lot of green smoothies.”
Harlow smiled. “Sounds like Mom. Wait, Rome’s watching her, so is he attending the yoga retreat?” Her brain tried to imagine big, bad Rome in a downward dog, and failed.
Ace snorted. “I highly doubt it.”
She stared at the screens. “Now what?”
“We wait.”
Ugh. She dropped into the chair and idly swiveled it.
Ace watched her and shook his head. “You’re bad at this.”
“I prefer to do, to get things done.”
“Chill, querida.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Imagine that pretty dagger in your hand.”
“You charming a lady with your dagger, Latin Lover?”
The female voice made Harlow swivel. A smiling young woman stood in the doorway. She was tall, long, and lean, in black jeans and a blue shirt.
She was gorgeous, with gleaming, dark-bronze skin, and black hair cut super-short and shaped against her head. She had a long, graceful neck, large, dark eyes, and lips that Harlow would kill for. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she was striking.
“Ah, gatinha, give me some credit,” Ace drawled.
The woman sauntered in and perched on the edge of the desk. She crossed her long legs. “I don’t know, give you some tequila, and your endearments get very raunchy.”
“I’m Brazilian. It’s in my blood.” Ace nodded his head at Harlow. “Harlow, this is Magdalena Lopez. She’s like the little sister none of us ever wanted.” He reached out and patted Magdalena’s thigh.
The woman wasn’t looking at Ace, so Harlow was pretty sure he missed the flash in her eyes. It was clear Magdalena didn’t appreciate the little-sister comment, but she hid it well.
“It’s Maggie. People who call me Magdalena die in their sleep. Painfully.” Maggie broke into some rapid-fire Spanish.
Ace fired back, the language a little different, and the accent slightly more guttural.
Harlow assumed it was Portuguese. “You understand each other?”
“Close enough,” Maggie said.
“What’s gatinha mean?” Harlow asked.
Maggie rolled her eyes.
“It means kitty.” Ace grinned. “Because this one has a thing for birds. She’s our rotor head.”
“Beats being a computer nerd,” Maggie shot back.
Ace sure as hell didn’t look like a computer nerd, and didn’t seem worried by the jibe.
“Rotor head?” Harlow prompted.
“Helicopter pilot,” Maggie said. “When I’m not running my drone and helicopter photography business, I fly the Norcross boys where they need to go.”
Norcross boys? Harlow tried to imagine how Vander felt about being called a boy by a woman younger than him.
“Why are you here today, gatinha?” Ace asked.
“I needed to see Vander about maintenance for the Sikorsky. I’m on my way out.” Maggie smiled at Harlow. “Don’t let him charm you into seeing his dagger. He isn’t choosy who he shows it to.”
Ace cursed in Portuguese and Harlow smiled. “We were talking about an actual dagger. A stolen one.”
“And Harlow belongs to Easton,” Ace added.
Harlow scowled. “I don’t belong to him. I’m not an object.”
Ace held his hands up. “Figure of speech, querida.”
“Easton. Hmm, good for you,” Maggie drawled. “He is one long, cool drink of water.”
Ace’s brow creased. “He’s too old for you.”
“I’m twenty-six, Ace, not sixteen.” Maggie jumped off the table. “Well, good luck with the dagger. I’ve got to go.” She waggled her eyebrows. “I have a date.”
“A date?” Ace frowned. “With who?”
“A big, buff guy I met