A Wicked Song - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,22
my phone on the charger.
I’d like to believe the caller was Gio, but Gio doesn’t accept defeat. He’d call back the minute he got my voicemail, well, unless of course, he couldn’t call back and he thought the message went through. Still, it feels “off” for lack of a better word. I check the time of the garbled message. It was at three in the morning. That’s not a client. That’s not a telemarketer. I change my mind—it had to have been Gio.
Or Sofia which is more disconcerting than a missed call from Gio. What, is she’s trying to tell me something is wrong with him? Or worse, that he’s dead?
Pushing to my feet, I start to pace, confused now, unsure what to think. I dial Gio and the call, once again, lands in voicemail. Is he in trouble? My gut says yes and that’s actually good news. If he’s in trouble, he’s not dead—not yet, at least. Sureness firms inside me. We’re bonded Gio and I. I would know if he was dead. That was him who tried to call me.
Comforted by this certainty, but more determined than ever to find him, to get him the help I have to assume he needs, I head to the bathroom. First things first, I set out to inspect the injury I don’t have time for. The wound is nicely stitched, though quite large and throbbing. Thankfully I’m allowed to get it wet, so I force myself to ignore the ugliness of it that is starting to freak me out, and head to the shower.
Once I’m under the water, my mind starts racing. Kace offered to help me hunt for Gio, but a) I don’t want to take his money and b) is that even a safe option? In response to those questions, my mind starts ticking off more questions: am I putting Kace in danger just by being close to him? Despite Kace’s good intentions, could his people at Walker Security potentially be after a big payoff I might represent?
The water runs cold and I am chilled when I grab a towel. I am also without an answer to one of those questions. With some struggles, thanks to my injured hand and laden arm, I dress in black slacks, a red silk blouse, and my new black heels. I’ve decided I need to just have an honest conversation with Kace about me, my family, and the danger we present. In the meantime, the business attire is for a reason. I will not let him pay my way to find my brother—okay I might let him help, but I will pay him back. Time is too critical where Gio’s safety is concerned for me not to allow him to help, no matter how much that kills me.
A few minutes later, I’m in the kitchen with a pot of coffee brewing when I spy the box on the counter with the Jerry’s Bakery logo. I open the lid and find a dozen or more delicious-looking iced cookies. I’m immediately reminded of my promise to text Jenny, but Kace didn’t give me her number. I shoot him a text instead: Can I get Jenny’s number to text her?
While I wait for his reply, I fill a coffee cup, pour in white mocha creamer, and dare to make my breakfast the breakfast of champions: a pink iced sugar cookie. I’ve almost finished it off, promising myself I will not indulge in another when Kace replies to my text with nothing but a phone number. I frown with the cold reply and inhale on a pinch in my chest.
“I will not read into this,” I promise myself. “I will not read into this.” I stare at the message again and repeat, “I will not read into this.”
Almost as if he heard me, my cell phone rings with Kace on the caller ID. Nervous energy thrums through me as I answer and say, “Hey.”
“Hey, baby. Sorry to be slow to reply. I was in the shower. Traffic was hell. It took me forever to get home.”
“Are you going to make your meeting on time?”
“Not even close. I had to call the donor, who is thankfully fighting with his ‘bitch of an ex-wife,’ his description not mine, and was running late as well.”
“Well then,” I say. “That’s something, I guess.”
He laughs that low, rough, wonderful laugh of his that is both masculine and musical, as crazy as that might sound to someone else. “Yes, it is.”
“Is she a