“Drink?”
“Of course. The good stuff.” He sits down on the couch. I pour two shots of scotch and take a seat next to him. We clink glasses then down the brown liquid. We both know it’s meant to be sipped, but where Slade and I stem from, we live by a motto:Enjoy it fast and while you got it. You never know if and when you’ll get it again.
“So you going to tell me why you’re in New York?” I ask as I get up to pour another drink. This time on the rocks.
“Working a cold case. Missing girl. Parents can’t let it go. They hired me a few weeks ago.”
“Ooo, tough.”
“Yeah, poor people.”
“How long has she been missing?” I hand Slade his glass.
“About a year now.” He swirls his drink.
“Any new leads?”
“None. She seemed pretty clean-cut. Good grades, no drugs.”
“Think she got snatched up by traffickers?” I ask after I swallow a mouthful of scotch.
“Man, I really fucking hope not.” He takes a slow, calculated sip.
“Well, if anyone can find her, you can. You’re like a fucking bloodhound.”
“I’ve got all my contacts looking into it, but I can always use another set of ears, eyes, and hands. Interested?”
“Is that why you reached out?” I raise my eyebrows, not completely surprised.
“Not the only reason but, yes, partly because I would like your help.”
“My help or Endeavor’s help?”
“You work for the heavy guns.” He shrugs. “If we could utilize their resources, it may be beneficial.”
I stare Slade down. Endeavor is a highly organized, highly classified organization. The fact we are even speaking about it openly could get me blackballed from the entire secret service community.
“I tried to get you in, and you turned me down,” I remind him.
“I like working on my own. And let me remind you, if I wasn’t such a loner, you might be dead.”
He’s got me there. He saved my life, plain as day. I’ll owe him forever.
“Fine,” I huff. “Give me all the information you have on her. I’ll run it through the channels and see what we can find.”
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” Slade slaps my knee. “Partner.”
“Associate,” I correct him.
“Drinking buddy?” He offers an alternative.
We tap glasses.
“Always.”
I AM ON MY SECONDdrink.
I’m standing at the bar alone, in a low-lit lounge waiting for Tara to show up. After an afternoon with Slade shooting the shit and strategizing on his missing person case, I texted Tara, worked out a time to meet, and then watched the seconds tickby until I couldn’t take being cooped up in my hotel room anymore. Which is why I am here an hour early, waiting. Waiting, like an obedient dog for his afternoon snack. A snack that I plan to devour.
