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The driver stopped at a large mansion built of stucco and red clay shingles.
“Hey,” Rock said. “This is hardly a place where we can keep a low profile.”
“I was instructed to bring you here.”
“Instructed?” I demanded. “Who the hell are you? Who knows we’re here?”
“Diamond,” he said. “She’s been expecting you.”
Diamond?
What the hell?
“Her son left for the US yesterday,” the driver said. “He’s the one you need to be concerned about. Diamond is on your side. Most people here are on your side, but we still have to be careful.”
“Who says there’s any side?” Rock said, trying—but failing—to remain calm.
“There is,” the driver said, “Mr. Wolfe.”
Fuck. Whoever this guy was, he already knew who we were.
“Who the fuck are you?” Rock demanded.
“My name is Remy. I’m a friend.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. And you’ve got my identity wrong. I’m David Bush, and this is my brother Mike.”
“As you wish. Follow me, please.”
Rock and I had armed ourselves before we left Honolulu and paid off the pilot of the puddle jumper to let us on. I knew how to shoot, but I was depending on my big brother if push came to shove. He’d had a lot more experience than I had.
We followed Remy into the house where an older woman was waiting.
“Thank God you’re here,” she said.
“Who the hell are you?” Rock demanded unceremoniously.
“I’m called Diamond,” she said, “but my real name is Irene.”
My eyebrows nearly flew off my face. “Irene Lucent?”
“Irene Lucent Wolfe. Yes.”
“So you do exist,” Rock said.
“I do, though your father kept me hidden.”
I looked around tentatively. The house was beautifully furnished in a Pacific island theme. “You live here?”
“I do.”
“Remy mentioned a son,” I said, putting two and two together in my mind. If she had a son…
“Yes. Your father’s son. You have an older brother.”
I steadied myself before I lost my footing. Rock, though, was steady as…well…a rock.
“What’s going on here? You need to start talking now, lady. Where’s Zee? And what is this place?”
“Easy,” she said. “Jordan—that’s your older brother—is in the states. That’s why we planned this for now.” She turned to me. “Zee is here.”
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. “She’s here? Where? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” Diamond said. “Just a little shaken.”
“Why?” I demanded. “Why did you bring her here?”
“To get you here,” she said frankly.
“Then you’re the one who left the coordinates in Father Jim’s bible?” Rock said.
Diamond furrowed her brow. “Father Jim’s bible? No. We left a napkin in the bathroom where Zee was taken. Didn’t you find it?”
“No,” I said softly.
“We also left a voicemail on your work phone with coordinates,” Diamond went on.
“We haven’t been using our work phones,” Rock said. “We think they’re probably tapped.”
“Which means someone else might know we’re here.” I shook my head. “Damn.”
I took the dreaded beanie off my head for the last time and riffled my fingers through my hair, which now stood on its own and needed a good wash.
Diamond and her son no doubt had a story to tell us—one we needed to hear. Quickly, too, because others may well be on their way here.
All of this was important. Our lives depended on it.
But only one thing pervaded my mind.
I grabbed my pistol out of its shoulder holster and pointed it at Diamond.
“Take me to Zee,” I demanded. “Now.”
37
Lacey
At Rock’s and my attorneys’ request, I wasn’t venturing anywhere. I stayed in the hotel suite, which monitored my every move—along with anyone else who came in contact with me.
I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I jumped at the knock on the door.
I checked the peephole.
Moira Bancroft, one of the Wolfe staff attorneys.
The attorney in whose office Zee had found my pink handkerchief and a stack of my old business cards.
I sighed. Why not open the door? If I could get her to talk, I’d have it all documented.
I opened the door. “Good morning, Moira.”
“Mrs. Wolfe.”
“Lacey, please. Would you like to come in?”
She nodded and walked into the living area of the suite.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee?”
“No. I won’t stay long, but I do need to talk to you.”
“Of course. Have a seat.” I gestured to the sofa and chairs.
She took the sofa, so I, rather than sit next to her, sat in a chair across from her. “What’s on your mind?” I asked.
She cleared her throat and fidgeted, lacing and unlacing her fingers. “I just wanted to tell you face to face… I did not steal your handkerchief or your business cards. I hope you can believe me. I have no idea how either of them got into my office.”
“Relax,” I told her. “You’re an intelligent woman and an excellent attorney. If you had stolen them, you certainly wouldn’t have left them out in plain sight.”
“Yes.” She nodded, her eyes wide. “But I didn’t steal them.”
“I want to believe you. Do you have any idea how they got there?”
