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“Is the Realtor meeting us there?”
He nodded, checking his phone. His assistant had contacted the listing agents directly, setting up the appointments. They had three houses ahead of them, with three different realtors. He checked his watch. “We’re going to be a little early. Feel free to slow down a little.”
She snorted, and it was so different from Gwen’s reserved polish that he had to take a moment, the grief warring with the love in his heart.
“So, no murals,” Dario said, opening the car door and getting in.
“It wasn’t so much the murals as what was on the murals.” She sucked the red straw loudly, her cheeks hollowing from the effort. “I mean, I don’t want to look at painted grapevines all day. If it was something cool, like graffiti or abstract art, then maybe…” She paused, then shook her head. “Nah. No murals.”
Dario took a sip from his Slurpee, the cherry flavor bringing him back to middle school afternoons and cleaning windshields for cash. He mentioned it to Bell, and she smiled, settling into the passenger side.
“I bet we would have gotten along, had we both grown up at the same time. Two poor kids, working crap jobs for money.” Her smile wilted a little, and he spoke quickly, before she walked too far down memory lane.
“I wouldn’t have been your friend.”
She frowned at him, twisting in the car seat. “Why not?”
“I would have fallen in love with you. Probably made a complete fool of myself and caused you to run in the other direction.”
She smiled, and her teeth were faintly stained in an adorable shade of blueberry. She leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I hate to break it to you, but you did make a fool of yourself with me.”
He frowned. “I only remember studly acts of valor and coolness.”
She increased the volume of her whisper. “Nobody cool says ‘coolness’ anymore.”
She reached out and poked him, and he couldn’t stop himself from trapping her hand and pulling her into him. His mouth covered hers, a kiss filled with cold and sugar. Her hand fumbled, reaching out and grabbing his shirt, her mouth pressing harder as she surged forward, across the seat, her need overtaking her.
“I love you.” She murmured the words in between kisses, her focus on his lips, the gas station fading into the background as their contact heated up.
“I love you too.”
And he did, so much it scared him.
THE FBI
They found the warehouse in a shell corporation that was linked back to Hawk in a complicated tier of paperwork. If they hadn’t known what to look for, if Dario hadn’t told them of the ways that Hawk creatively structured entities, they could have missed it.
“Move in silently. We can’t run this again if we fuck it up.” Agent King nodded at the other men, his gaze drifting over the group, many of who he’d worked with for decades. They were older than most in the Bureau, but that was the way he liked it. They wouldn’t get trigger happy and shoot the wrong person, or express an opinion when he gave an order.
He lowered his sunglasses and hunched over, passing quietly through the grass and toward the large aluminum building, one big enough to hold a thousand women, though Katy Dunning’s statement indicated the number was closer to eight. Eight women, kept away from their families. Eight women, tortured and imprisoned. Eight women who probably hadn’t had food or possibly water since Hawk’s death. Eight women who could be moments from rescue.
Tightening his hold on his weapon, he quickened his pace, his eyes darting across the building’s exterior, searching for movement.
Eight women. Eight lives that were about to be saved.
Twenty-One
BELL
The second house was massive, the sort where Dario could scream his lungs off in one corner, and I wouldn’t hear a peep from the other. We parked beside the Realtor’s minivan and I eyed the white stucco home. It was beautiful, topped with red tile roofs, and dotted with arched windows, flowering planters, and surrounded by palm trees.
Dario turned off the car and I could hear the sound of a fountain gurgling.
“It feels so peaceful.”
Dario pointed to a tree-lined hill that ran along the side of the property. “Don’t be fooled. That berm was built to hide the highway. Jog through those trees and you’ll be smelling exhaust and weaving across six lanes of traffic.”
I tilted my head and realized, barely audible over the fountain, I could hear the sound of cars. Five o’clock traffic, buzzing along the interstate. “Is that why it’s available?”
He smiled and reached for my hand as we approached the front door. “The location is actually a plus. I could be at the casinos within fifteen minutes. Assuming the road noise doesn’t bother you.”
I shook my head. “I can barely hear it. And the lot is beautiful.”
