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“Well done.” I go into the settings and change the code to something I’m not going to forget. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He shakes his head. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I was hired to find a girl.”
What’s left of the air in my lungs leaves. “By whom?”
He shakes his head again. “I don’t know. They email me.”
I look down at the phone briefly. Then back up at him. “You should have turned the job down.” I pull the trigger and turn away from the spray of blood, pushing through my legs to stand as I open the email app on the cell. There’s nothing. I open the call log. Nothing. My heart beats a bit faster. Messages. Nothing. “Fuck,” I bellow, throwing it at the wall.
The door crashes open behind me and Nolan scans the mess I’ve made. “Oh fuck,” he whispers.
Poor Nolan. He’s come at the perfect time for me, the worst time for him. “What the fuck are you doing?” I yell, getting him up against the tile wall. “Fucking Ella? I’ve fucking told you.”
“Brad, please, wait,” he says, looking utterly terrified. It would usually tug at my heartstrings. Not today. I wedge my gun under his chin. “You’ve completely disregarded my orders. And on my desk? And why the fuck does she have two phones?”
“It’s her boyfriend, he?—”
“Cody, yes, I know.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“So are you, Nolan. What the fuck are you doing? You fancy yourself as a bit of a porn star, huh?”
“It was just?—”
I press the end of my gun harder under his chin. “A bit of fun?”
“No, not just a bit?—”
“Shut up.”
“I can explain.”
“Does now look like a good fucking time?” I release him and point at the body. “For fuck’s sake, Nolan.”
I get my phone out and take a picture of my victim’s mashed-up face. “Clean it up,” I bark, picking up the pieces of the cell and pocketing them. “And not a fucking word to anyone.” I walk to the door and stop, looking back. “I mean anyone, Nolan. Not Danny, not James, no one.” The last thing I need is them pressing for information on the dead dude in the restrooms, or why the hell he’s looking for Pearl. “And maybe I won’t share your shenanigans with Ella in the office.” Fuck me, we’ll be another dancer down, and I haven’t got time for that shit. “Whatever the fuck’s going on between you and her, end it.” I leave the restroom—ironically feeling worse—and dial Pearl, lifting my phone to my ear, passing Mason. “If anyone asks, nothing happened.”
He nods, getting me a drink and a wet towel. I check my knuckles. Split. My suit. Splattered. I frown when I get an automated voicemail, swigging back my drink before wiping my suit over and dabbing at my bloody hand. I need a smoke. “All right, boss?” Des asks as I stalk past, pulling out my Marlboros.
I can’t speak. I light up and pull hard, taking the nicotine hit deep into my lungs and breathing out long and slowly.
Who’s looking for her? Her parents are dead, so who the fuck is she hiding from?
I dial her again and roar when it goes to voicemail again, swinging my fist into the wall. Cursing. Fuck, that hurts. I shake it out and call Esther, hardly wanting to admit that I’m worried. Really fucking worried. Where the fuck is she? Why is her phone off? “And who the fuck is looking for her?” I yell, pacing up and down.
“Brad?” Esther says in answer.
“Are you at home?” I try to calm my voice. Try. Don’t succeed.
“Where else would I be?”
“Who’s there?”
“What?”
“Just answer the question, Esther.”
“Would you like to change your tone?”
