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Ace hands the photographs to me. I examine them, but I don’t recognize the man climbing into the silver Buick, or the house he’s walking into.
“Seems this guy used to own a container yard in Los Angeles. He had contracts with Oscar Lang and the Santangelos.” Ace shuffles through the papers before handing them to me, and I read over the information Nathan’s hacker dug up for us.
“So, we’re headed to LA?” Romeo asks. “It’s gonna take us days to get there.”
Ace shakes his head. “He lives in Michigan now.”
Tuning them out, I read about Mason Michaelson. I thought I’d found the transport company that Lang and his sick band of fucks used to transport people around the country, and I made sure that the two men who owned it suffered before I stuck a knife in their skulls. But I guess it stands to reason that they used more than one company given the scale of their operation.
Nathan’s hacker friend got all this in just two days? Damn, she is good. I’d love to meet her, maybe buy her a drink sometime. “So, your source thinks this guy could have coordinated transport of the people being trafficked? And if he worked with Lang, he probably worked with the other guy too?”
“If that’s what the information suggests, yes. She wouldn’t steer you wrong, I promise. And when she found out why you were hunting this man down, well, she was more than happy to help.”
I hope my smile conveys at least some of my appreciation, and I suspect Nathan has no idea that I’m behind Mia’s kidnapping. He wouldn’t be looking at me the way he is if he knew. I wonder if his body is as chiseled as his jawline. My gaze drops lower, roaming over the crisp white shirt that fits snugly across his chest. Yeah, he is. Maybe in another life…
“Keres,” Ace barks, and I realize he must have been talking to me and I didn’t hear a thing. His eyes flash and his hands are clenched into fists. Is he pissed because I was looking at Nathan? I mean, the man is hard not to look at, even if he isn’t my type. Too clean-cut and respectable for me. Serves Ace right for drooling over that waitress yesterday.
“Yeah?”
He scowls at me, and for some reason, a shiver runs the length of my spine. “I said do you recognize that guy at all?”
“No. But I already told you that I never met any of them.”
“Lorenzo mentioned you had something else for my hacker friend to look into?” Nathan says, cutting through the growing tension.
Romeo digs into his backpack and slides the DVD he took from Jeremiah’s apartment across Nathan’s desk.
“One of the leads we chased had that in his possession. There’s a woman on it. A group of guys. We have no idea if it’s an amateur movie or someone being gang raped. If it’s real, then I doubt the woman in it was left alive.”
Nathan’s eyes narrow. “You think it could be a snuff film?”
Ace nods. “That or a bad porno. I sure hope it’s the latter.”
Nathan rubs a hand over his jaw. “I’ll have Jessie take a look at it and get back to you.”
Ace offers his thanks while Romeo drains his coffee and places his empty mug on the desk. “Looks like we’re headed to Michigan. After we get some food because I’m fucking starving.”
Before we leave, I take one last look at Nathan’s exquisite painting. I can almost hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and feel the warm sun on my face. I’ve never seen a beach like this before. It’s the kind I imagine when I think about where Phoenix and I will go once this is all over.
Nathan stands beside me and bumps his arm against mine. “You really like this painting?”
“It’s… I can’t explain it. Something about it captivates me.”
He sighs. “Yeah, me too.” Pity I don’t have time to find out the story behind that sigh.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
ACE
We finally stop for the night just outside of Cleveland. Keres pulls off her helmet, and her dark hair falls around her shoulders in long tumbling waves.
I can’t take my eyes off her as she saunters toward me, hips swaying seductively in her skintight leather pants. Biting my lip so hard I draw blood, I fist my hands by my sides so I don’t reach out and grab her. Blood thunders in my ears. My cock strains uncomfortably against my zipper as she sashays right past me.
“Asshole,” she mutters under her breath, and my very last shred of patience, resistance, sanity—whatever the fuck you want to call it—snaps. Before I know what I’m doing, my hand darts out, circling her wrist. I squeeze hard, my grip on her slight arm so tight I’m sure it will bruise her soft skin, but I’m way past the point of caring. I yank her toward me, and she stumbles, bouncing off my chest. She’s all smiles and thank-yous for that rich lawyer just because he got his hacker friend to dig up a little information, but all I get is constant fucking sass. I saw the way she looked at him, and even the memory of it makes jealousy burn in my veins.
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
