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So why the fuck do I feel guilty?
Shit, it’s nearing eight in the morning, so I call my car, and grab my things. I’ve got an address, and though I’m not skilled at lock picking like Magdalena, I’m moneyed. I can make almost anything I want to happen.
It’s a drizzling, gray morning and I have the driver take me into Delacroix. I smooth the paper Damon gave me out on my thigh and call the number.
Her number. The Invisible Cat’s. MG Rossi’s. Her underground ad that took my people a few days to find.
I’ve got no idea who her partner in crime is, but she’ll have someone. They’ll be sleek, professional, bland, and—
“Whoever you are go fuck yourself,” a voice says as the call’s answered. “Unless you have a million dollars for me. If you do, give it over and then go fuck yourself.”
Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what the fuck I should say.
The voice gets tetchy. “Hello? Who is this?”
I stare at my phone on my other thigh.
Cat’s partner is a woman, rough at the edges, surly and lacking in anything remotely professional.
“Get a lot of business with that attitude?” I ask.
She snorts a laugh, and there’s a very high level of hostility in her voice. “I’m not looking for fucking business. At least not at this hour.”
“This is—” I fumble for the name Damon wrote, it’s on the back of the note, but before I can say it, she cuts me off flat.
“You know who you fucking called.” She pauses. “And you’re shit out of luck in hiring us to help you with your event you need planned. We’re booked up. Big fuckin’ job, babe. Find someone else. I need my beauty sleep.”
“I’m not looking to fucking hire you. I’m looking for Magdalena.”
Silence meets my words.
Loaded with all the fucking sides and extra hot sauce kind of silence. It’s silence that won’t shut the fuck up.
A part of me wants to hire this woman as a trainee henchman. Henchwoman? I don’t really have one of those per se. A mini-Damon?
“Your partner?” I ask.
“I fucking know who she is. How do you know her?”
“How and why,” I start in a low tone, “do you think?”
“I think you’re a fucking dick, that’s what I think,” she says. “This has to be one of the pretty boys. Hendrick or Jac. I’m going with the first. Can’t see the other one calling.”
“Hendrick. And you are?”
Suddenly she goes silent. “What do you mean you’re looking for her?”
“She didn’t text like I…requested.”
The woman puts me on hold. Then she’s back. “She’s not answering. She always answers. Mostly.”
“I’m—”
“Where’s Lena?”
“Not with me or you, then. Fuck.” I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “With Jac, I’m guessing, if she isn’t with you.”
“You can fuck right off. Asshole.”
