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Hey babe, you guys sound amazing. The pics I posted are already blowing up. I didn’t want to interrupt, but I got a call about the case. I’ve been cleared! They’re ready to unfreeze all my accounts. They just need me to come down and sign some papers. I’ll be back in a little bit. Love you!
I should be happy.
This whole mess is almost over. It’s what we want. For Lacy to not have to jump through hoops. We’ve been wondering if she will be able to travel with the band considering her status with being investigated by the FBI. Can she fly? Will they let her leave the country? This will solve all that.
But I’m not happy. I’m terrified. The last time she went to meet with that fucking agent, she came back near catatonic. A month later, and she still has nightmares about the girls in those photos.
Brandt reappears at the sliding glass door, only he’s not holding a plate full of food as I would expect. He’s wringing his hands in front of his stomach and keeps shifting his eyes behind him like his mom, the famous Mrs. Liu, is going to jump out and bust him with a girl or something. “Dude. You need to come in here.”
Ignoring him, I pull out my phone and dial Lacy.
“Seriously, there’s someone here to see you.” Geoff glances back into the apartment, and I follow his eyes to a severe-looking woman standing in the center of the living room.
The phone rings and rings, but Lacy doesn’t pick up.
Dread raises up like floodwaters in my chest. Something isn’t right.
The note clutched in my hand, I stalk back into the living room. If I wasn’t so terrified, I would laugh at Geoff, sitting on the sectional with his hands in his lap and staring at his feet that are jumping up and down like they have a life of their own. I don’t blame him, everything about the lady standing awkwardly in my house screams cop, and I’m pretty sure Geoff has come illegal substances on his person.
“Mister Flores, my name is Agent Christine Templeton with the Federal Bureau of Investigations. I’m looking for Lacy Falluci.” Severe isn’t a strong enough word for this woman. She stands stock straight with her hands poised at her hips where a gun is holstered on one side and handcuffs on the other. As if she’s prepared to arrest you at any moment. Her dark skin is totally free of makeup, and a jagged scar slashes across her face from left temple to right jaw. Black hair pulled back into a tight bun so tight, it pulls her face taut.
I notice these facts about the woman while my heart speeds to dangerous levels and my body prepares to fight whatever threat is being leveled at Lacy. “She’s with Agent Rose.”
Templeton doesn’t utter a word, but her eyes say this isn’t good. “Did she tell you where she was meeting Agent Rose?”
Words stick in my throat, and I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll vomit them and my breakfast up onto the floor. Instead, I shake my head and hand her the note.
Her eyes scan it once. Twice. Three times before she turns to two men I hadn’t noticed standing sentry at the door. “Get techon the line. We need to locate a phone.” She turns back to me. “I assume you have Ms. Falluci’s number. I’m going to need it to ascertain her current whereabouts.”
“What are you talking about? Just call your coworker and find out where the fuck he’s meeting her.” Anger rises in me like hot steam, searching for any way to release, and unfortunately for this FBI agent, and maybe my continued freedom, it seems to be coming out directed at her. “What the fuck is going on? You assholes steal her life, threaten her with imprisonment, then traumatize her with photos of her father and those poor girls, and now you’re pretending like you don’t know where she is.”
“I’m not pretending, sir. Agent Rose was suspended from his position with the FBI over a month ago. He has no reason to be meeting with Ms. Falluci right now. That means she is in grave danger, and you need to give me her phone number, so we can feed it back to headquarters, and they can track her location.”
All the air leaves my lungs at once as I rush to recite Lacy’s phone number. One of the agents at the door repeats the digits into a cell phone, then we all sit around and wait what seems like forever but is probably only thirty seconds.
“GPS and cell towers confirm her phone is at an office building in the Meatpacking District.” The blank-faced FBI agent at the door turns in unison with Agent Templeton and the other guy who has yet to speak.
I follow close behind.
“Where do you think you’re going Mr. Flores?” Agent Templeton places a palm in the middle of my chest, and I sidestep her touch. Anyone else’s touch beside Lacy’s makes my skin crawl. Especially now with not knowing where she is or if she is in danger.
“I’m coming with you to get my girl.”
“That is very Liam Neeson of you, but no, you’re not. This is a delicate situation. We will call when we have Ms. Falluci safelyin our custody.” The agent isn’t a large woman, but she has a commanding presence which brokers no negotiating.
We’re wasting time.
“Fine. But if you don’t call in an hour or less, I am alerting all of Lacy’s social media followers that she has been duped by the FBI. Millions of people follow and love that girl. You may not care who we are, but I guarantee none of your bosses wants to deal with that public relations disaster.”
Templeton sniffs, regarding me with what might look like respect, nods, and turns to exit the building.
“You really not following them?” Liam leans against the kitchen island, his arms crossed over his chest and a look of strain etched onto his face. The resident quiet one of the group knows something about loved ones going missing. His best friend from high school disappeared almost ten years ago, but he’s never given up hope he’d find her.
“Fuck that.” I give the agents exactly a thirty-second head start before the guys and I climb into Geoff’s SUV parked at the curb and head toward the Meatpacking District.
Chapter Thirteen
Lacy
