That’s Ferraro’s territory. “When?”
“Take your time. Bury your friend. We’ll see you there in two days. December twenty-eighth, at noon. I’ll call you that morning with the exact address.”
Two days? Fuck that. “I’ll come to you now. Wherever you are.”
“You’re not listening to me, and you need to if you want Blake to survive. You’re going to drive yourself to Staten Island, and that’s where we’ll meet.”
They don’t want to transport me there themselves. Why would they? It’s risky. Lyle’s right to be afraid of me, so he wants me to deliver myself straight to the man who’ll pay Lyle his finder’s fee. “She doesn’t need to be involved in this. I’ll go there whether you hold her hostage or not.”
“They said you're a smooth talker, but I don’t know about that. It feels like you’re feeding me shit. We both know that if I let her go, you’ll take her and run.”
And kill him and all the men he’s managed to involve in this suicide mission.
“Whatever they’re offering to pay you, I’ll pay you more.”
“Ho ho ho.” He laughs. “Is that right?”
“Name your price.”
“Three million.”
“Done.”
He laughs again. “I’m just fucking with you. I don’t want your money. I see this as only the beginning of a fruitful relationship.”
“Ferraro will never work with you. He doesn’t—“
“This conversation’s getting boring. Goodbye, Nero. Drive safe.” He hangs up.
Squeezing the phone inside my hand, I resist the urge to throw it through window.
I need to figure out their route and intercept them before they get to New York. If I don’t, Ferraro will kill me, and Uncle Lyle will get to keep Blake, and that’s not a fucking option.
I pull up the map on my phone and try to figure out their most likely route.
They want to meet in two days. The most direct route would take twenty hours, so they’ve got plenty of time to spare. If they’re smart, they’ll probably hide somewhere during the day and drive during the night to minimize the chance of anyone seeing their hostage.
There are a hundred cheap motels they could stop at, and I’ve got no way of determining which ones to check.
Rage and frustration pulse against my temples. I need to figure this out, but how?
I walk outside and glance around the street. The neighbors on the other side of the road aren't home. Their driveways are empty, which means no witnesses.
How the fuck am I supposed to track Blake down?
Desperation starts to build inside my gut.
I brought this onto her.
I was so fucking sure my past wouldn’t catch up to me that I got careless. Stupid. I put her in danger.
I clench my jaw, my vision narrowing. I need to focus.
This is what I used to do. Solve problems. Fix shit when everything goes wrong. I might be out of practice, but it’s in my blood.
First things first, I’ve got to bury Sandro. I can’t just leave him here. He deserves a burial.
Ten minutes later, I’m digging a grave at the far end of my backyard. The soil is stubborn and iced over, but I force my shovel through it until I have a shallow grave.
