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He sighs and adjusts his glasses. “Given the situation, your word isn’t enough to convince the judge to change his mind. But I’ll try again.”
I stalk out of the office, banging the door shut behind me. A gray, foggy twilight hangs in the air.
As much as I want to storm into the police station and demand to see Hannah, they’d probably arrest me for disorderly conduct. I sure as hell can’t help her if I’m locked up.
I get into my SUV and drive to Zodiac. Not for a second do I think Eddie’s going to show up back at his fucking club, butsomeonethere knowssomething.
I’m going to find out who and what.
A few plainclothes police officers hang around, staking out the place. I go in and sit at the bar. If I didn’t know Eddie was MIA, I’d think everything was business as usual. The club is half-filled with an after-work crowd of men, drinking and shouting at the nearly naked women gyrating onstage.
I order a scotch and scan the customers, narrowing in on a skinny, weaselly guy on the far end of the bar. I remember him from my last visit when I’d asked the bartender if Maurice was there. He’s the fucker who put the drugs in Hannah’s apron and told her to deliver them to Eddie.
Grabbing my drink, I approach him and take the barstool beside him. He gives me a nod of acknowledgment.
“Maurice, yeah?”
His expression turns wary. “Who wants to know?”
“I got some people who might be interested in what you have to offer. If anything.”
“Maybe.” He takes a gulp of his beer. “What’re you looking for?”
We go back and forth in pseudo-code before agreeing to meet later that night for an exchange. Not for a second do I think Eddie will show up, but it’s a start.
And right now, astartis all I have.
* * *
For the next week, I bust my ass tracking down Eddie’s connections in the city, throughout the state, and all the way to South America. I drag up every single contact I’ve ever had in the underworld and prowl around the shittiest neighborhoods to get whatever scrap of info I can.
I call in favors, make payoffs, rough up half a dozen lowlifes. I buy and deliver drugs to earn trust. I track the dealers down to Los Angeles to get a handle on their trafficking route.
Grudgingly, I admit it’s for the best that I can’t visit Hannah in jail. I’d lose my mind if I had to see her behind a pane of glass. I wouldn’t be able to touch her, kiss her, hold her—
I force myself to stop thinking about her. I need to stay laser-fucking-focused on what I have to do to get her out.
After I’ve gathered as much intel as possible, given the limited time, I dig out the business card Sheriff Peterson gave me.
I place a call to Mark Sommers, the DEA special agent in charge who’s been investigating the Venado cartel without much success.
“Peterson told me to expect your call,” he says after I give him my name.
“Did he tell you what I want? And what I can offer?”
“Not all the details, but an idea,” Sommers replies. “I did my own investigation on you. You’ve got quite an impressive record.”
“And?”
“I’m interested, Mr. Armstrong.Veryinterested.”
“Good. Let’s talk.”
ChapterNineteen
Hannah
“Good luck, Miss Clark.”The police officer pushes open the front door of the station.
