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“That looks like something from Fallon, that part,” I say.
“Yeah, it does.” He looks at me, then the others. “Fallon MacNamara believes this little-known group is behind the darker levels of El Cabeza.”
“And the Smith Group is responsible for organizing drugs for revenue at the college and the whole trafficking ring.” I stop, reading on silently, my stomach turning.
I want to throw something, because what I’m looking at is disgusting, vile, and I missed it. What does it say about me?
Professor Walker is listed here as someone who procures girls for trafficking.
“I’m sorry,” Tizio says, so only I can hear. “I know you liked him.”
“You knew. Instinctively, you hated him.” I bite my lip. My stomach rocks queasily.
His eyes meet mine, and he lifts one corner of his mouth. “I didn’t like he liked you and saw those pictures.”
It’s the one thing that makes me want to laugh because it’s so honest and heartfelt, and I want to fling my arms about him. I don’t. Of course, I don’t. I sit there and read on.
I see a name—the head of the Smith Group.
Because my head’s still in hacking mode, I can see it’s an anagram. I push back the chair stumble up, and let Leo take the seat and my computer. They’re going to come up with a plan and stop everything.
I can’t tell them who it is.
A bunch of big men with guns isn’t the answer here. It can’t be.
It says this person is a power holder in El Cabeza and broke off to run their own offshoot.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask Mia. If I don’t leave now, I’m going to freak the fuck out, and they all have too much on their plates without that happening.
She frowns but points. “Down the hall, third door on your right.”
I nod, thank her, and take off. I need to settle. I need to think this through. They won’t work it out, at least not right away.
An offshoot isn’t the main thing. It can be stopped, the Smith Group, without bloodshed.
Can’t it?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I have to . . . I have to do something. I can’t sit on this, but I can hold off, right? They’re going to go after the ring leaders, pull them apart, and make them pay. Someone will give up the head of Smith Group. I just need to think.
If they all rush in and take out most of the players and miss the head of this Smith Group, then one anagrammed Rue El Cabeza will get away. But there’s so much testosterone in that study that getting them to listen is an uphill battle, and they’re not going to pay attention to computer geek me.
Someone, it seems, needs to do something to distract the ringleader. Remove that piece, and it all falls apart. I think that someone’s got to be me.
I need to work out how. Find the best way.
I sit on the toilet lid and breathe slowly. I’m almost at a decision when my phone starts to vibrate.
“Laura?”
She breathes and says in a rush, “Oh my God, Karlee. Where are you?”
“I’m . . . I’m not home.”
Laura’s voice drops. “I think I’m in trouble. Can you come?”
I swallow. “Where are you?”
