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26
Cole
Finishing up with Jack and the crew at the restaurant build, I check my phone for the millionth time. Still no word from Lyla. As I slide into the truck, I send her a text.
“Did you see the email I sent you about the Moretti projects?”
I wait two minutes and nothing.
“They accepted the bid, and I’d love your input on the locations I’ve found. Let me know what you think. You don’t have to work the design if you don’t want to. Just wondering what you think. Could be fun.”
I shift into drive, getting a bad feeling. She might still be upset or the asshole from Chicago could have figured out where we live. I speed the entire way home, checking my phone for a reply and praying she’s just taking a nap or something else innocent. God, I pray she’s safe.
I slam into park once in the garage and bust through the door.
“Lyla!”
No answer. I run upstairs and open every door to find no one else here. I call her phone; it goes straight to voicemail. I’m pacing around the living room when the front door swings open. I grab the baseball bat beside the couch. I go to swing and almost smash Marcus in the face.
“Dude, what the fuck?” he says, stepping back.
“Motherfucker,” I whisper, grabbing my chest.
“What the hell is going on, man? Why did I get some creepy as fuck voicemail from Lyla? Where is she?”
He walks into the apartment and looks around. He’s about to go upstairs when I say, “She’s not here and I don’t know. I’m losing my fucking mind with worry. What message?”
He turns to face me, brows furrowed, and pulls out his cell phone from his pocket. He unlocks it as he comes closer, then her panicked voice fills the room.
“Marcus! God, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to call you, and I can only pray you actually listen to this, but I need help! Please find Cole; he knows what’s going on. Tell him they grabbed me at the first site, and I’m in some black SUV. A forties-something guy with dark hair and a beard shoved me inside and it’s locked. I thought he was the client and…”
The call drops and I’m fuming with anger and clenching my fists. “Son of a fucking bitch!” I swing my arm and bust a lamp into a million pieces, wishing it was the face of this son of a bitch.
“Now tell me what the fuck is going on and what kind of trouble you got her into so I can kick your ass and find her.”
“Fuck you! This isn’t on me.”
He doesn’t listen and before I can finish, his fisted knuckle lands square on my jaw. Losing balance for a second, I come back up and at him, swinging my fist and smashing his nose. Taking no time to recover, he grabs me around the waist, taking me to the ground. We roll for a while until his head hits the corner of the island. He gets in another shot as I try to get on top of him.
“Fuck!” I find the leverage I need and pin him to the floor. Elbow on his throat, I say, “Will you please listen to me. This shitstorm is from Chicago. A guy has been harassing her for information on her old business partner. Turns out he didn’t just screw her over; he got himself and now Lyla mixed in with some possibly mobster fucking guys, and they don’t believe Lyla doesn’t have anything to do with it. Now I’m going to get up and you’re going to chill the fuck out so we can figure out where she is and kill these motherfuckers. You in?”
His dark skin is so red I know he can’t talk so he just nods. I get up slowly, expecting a last-minute hit, but it doesn’t come. Marcus grabs his throat and takes a few deep breaths. I wipe my bloody lip with my hand, mixing blood from the two. I growl at the time we’ve wasted and go around the island for a towel. I throw him one too and swipe mine under the water.
I clean up fast and catch him up on the calls, the letter, and the warehouse. He plays the message again, and I check my email. Maybe she didn’t see my message and went straight to the first location on the email I sent. I tell Marcus this, and he grabs the bat I almost hit him with. I have a much better idea and call Roger as we load up in my truck. It takes us fifteen minutes, but luckily Roger is already back from Chicago and meets us. He steps out of his SUV and opens the back. Several pistols and shotguns as well as a few automatics are laid out in display.
“I have some really bad news on my lead in Chicago, and this is probably the worst time to tell you, but you need to know who we’re up against here.”
Marcus and I share a concerned look, but I nod. “I need to know everything.”
“I found Cathy at her house in Chicago. Cathy was seeing Howard when the shit came out to the public.”
He explains the last part to Marcus since I knew all about the trip to see her and I was hoping for good news.
“Anyway, I found her at home, the place had been ransacked, and her body was tied to her bed.”
I take a deep breath, trying not to pass out. Marcus is just as shaken and holds on to the side of the truck for support. Roger goes on to tell us he dug a bit into her and Howard’s relationship and even spoke to Detective Graves without him knowing he was working the case too. Played dumb at a local bar before his red-eye back here. Graves is a smart man, but the scene of Cathy’s bedroom had him hitting the hard liquor. He innocently gave up the name of a local crime family by the name of Moretti, and I almost threw up.
I tumble back and round the hood to get a moment to myself. I stay close enough to hear the conversation, but my head is throbbing. I sent her right into their arms. Part of me wanted to hurl myself off a cliff into the ocean; the other side was furious and wanted heads to roll a lot more.
“Apparently, the family is more like the mob of Chicago, and Howard was working with them, laundering their money through Lyla’s restaurant without her knowledge. The problem is Graves can’t touch them. The family has a wide net of supporters all the way up to congress.”
I find my balls and swallow my nerves and make my way back around. “There here. They set us up, hired my company for three locations, and I told Lyla. This is the first of the three and where I think she meant when she called Marcus.”
Marcus nods and plays the message for Roger. He gets out his own cell phone and plugs in a few things.
“Where are the other two locations?”
I tell him, but he doesn’t think they would take her there. Instead, they just watched and waited for us to show up at those locations. His phone dings and says he has a lead on a house that’s here and owned by known friends of the Moretti family and worth checking out. He suggests we all go together so I shove a couple pistols into my boots and get into the front seat, ready to tear up the entire town to find her.
