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Watching everything unfold before my eyes, I let my imagination create the full picture. “Did anyone see our unsub in the club?”
Ally scrunched her nose. “Well sure, probably, but there are two issues with that. A: We don’t know if the other person is a girl or a smaller guy. B: We checked the CCTV footage in the club, and it’s so dark in there with so many people bouncing around that Quinn said he couldn’t see shit. Doger is pissed. He keeps asking for club access to talk to the owner, but that guy won’t give us permission. His burly bodyguards won’t even let anyone talk to him face to face.”
I frowned. Of course, that pretty boy wouldn’t want to be bothered by the police. His business was probably shady as hell. Quinn walked up to us, his brow drawn, and his lips looked more pink than usual, suggesting he may have been chewing on them.
What had him so ruffled?
“So what did we figure out, ladies?” he said, masking his lapse in demeanor. I didn’t even think Ally noticed.
“Well, Miss Ally Wu is a freaking genius,” I said, watching her puff up like a peacock at my praise. “She followed a blood pattern to the back alley and saw that it didn’t add up. We’re missing a victim, and we’re missing a car from the scene.”
Quinn clapped a congratulatory pat on Ally’s shoulder. She was so short that he had to bend down. It made me giggle to myself watching the action. “Nice work, Wu.”
Ally had the biggest crush on Quinn, and I had to root for her, watching her blush. My phone buzzed, and I used it as an excuse to leave the two of them alone. Ally began recapping her genius to Quinn, who was smiling and watching her with interest.
“This is Ella,” I answered, standing by the frame of the door to the alley.
“Smella! I need you to meet me at the bar tonight. A client gave me big news about the dealer you’re trying to catch—Chopper or something like that.”
I gasped, lowering my voice and covering the mouthpiece with my palm.
“The Butcher? Cassie, how?” She seemed to be fidgeting. I could hear her shuffling her feet nervously and instantly became worried. “Cass, what’s going on? How did you get this information?”
I heard a slight pause, and then she sighed, frustration clear in her usually chipper tone.“It doesn’t matter how Ella. I have it, and if you want it, you’ll meet me at the bar tonight at eight.”
My stomach dropped, a feeling of dread lacing inside my throat, choking me.
Steadying my breath, I walked back over to the group. Quinn immediately noticed my expression and moved toward me with a worried look on his face.
“Ella? You okay?”
He had such a big brother way of speaking to me. It was, and I couldn’t help but want to tell him everything, but I couldn’t. For Cassie’s safety, I had to keep my mouth shut.
“Oh, nothing. I guess I just ate something weird.” Forcing a laugh, I waved away their stares. “So, I’m going to try and get the club douche to talk to us,” I said, not waiting around to be pestered again. I walked around the alley to the front, where big purple and gold doors awaited me.
Jesus, this guy loved to flaunt his wealth.
I braced myself, knocking on the massive entrance. The purple front covering the door felt like furniture that you might find in a 50s-style diner.
The door opened, and I tried to peer inside but was blocked by two humongous bodyguards. They were the tallest men I’d ever seen. One looked like a Samoan king, and the other looked just as much the bodybuilder sort. His beautiful dark skin only accentuated his solid build.
“Uh…” I stammered, astonished by the instant fear I had swirling around in my gut. I had to raise my head so far up just to look at the bottom of their chin.
Neither bothered looking down at me. They just stood like statues, their arms crossed and their bodies unmovable.
“Club hours are 9:00 pm to 2:00 am,” one said, still not bothering to glance at me.
“Well, I am not here for that. I need to speak to the owner of this establishment. My name is Ella Fox. I am a criminal analyst with the Rochester Police Department.”
Finally, the Samoan man slid his eyes down to stare at me. He turned his head, giving his partner a look with his eyes—a message, but one I couldn’t decipher.
The man with beautiful dark skin looked down now, too. My eyes squinted in the glaring sun to meet his glare.
“Mr. Vasiliev does not communicate with law enforcement,” he stated.
His voice was more of a rumble than a tone. It made the hairs on my skin stand up. Of course, this asshead wouldn’t talk to cops.
“Well, if Mr. Vasiliev doesn’t want to be seen as interfering with an open investigation of a homicide, I suggest he learn to gain some manners.” I scowled up at the stone-like men. They exchanged another look and shut the indigo-lined door in my face.
