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“When you said you had other houses…”
“Not local,” Hans answers. “I had a condo downtown, above my club, but the manager and her family live there now.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Several months ago, the ownership transferred to an overseas entertainment company, so no one should be going there looking. And if anyone does, I have good security.”
I repeat the first part back to myself. “You have a club?”
“I just own it. I don’t run it.”
“Like a nightclub?” I don’t know why I’m so hung up on this.
“More of a venue. Concerts and stuff.”
This doesn’t sound like the sort of thing Hans would like. “Why?”
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “All sorts of people are always coming and going from a place like that. Can hardly tell who’s who half the time.”
His answer is cryptic. And I feel like it might have something to do with the reason he has body bags stored in the back of his truck.
I swallow, thinking about the body bouncing around in the back of the truck. “The guy I killed… He was a bad guy, right?”
I don’t know why I expect Hans to know the answer to that, but I want to feel better about not feeling bad.
“He wasn’t good,” Hans replies. “But I need to get some more information.”
“How do we do that?”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I gotta make a few calls.”
I pat my hoodie pocket, knowing that’s where I put the phone when I was still in the basement.
How did he…?
The phone starts to ring, and I see him look down at it for a second, like he’s deciding something, then he puts it to his ear.
Was he going to put it on speaker and then decided not to?
Even though the audio is going through the phone, it’s still connected to the truck, so the screen on the dashboard shows the call is being made to someone named K.
“Karmine,” Hans greets. “I have a situation.”
K is for Karmine.
Then I hear the unmistakable sound of a female voice on the other end of the line.
The jealousy I feel is so instantaneous I don’t even have time to register what I’m doing until I’m doing it.
My finger presses the screen on the dashboard, switching the audio to the truck.
It clicks over, the speakers humming with silence from the other end of the line.
“Hans?” the feminine voice prompts.
I cross my arms and glare at Hans’s profile.
He glances at me, and from his expression, I can tell he doesn’t understand what’s going on.
“Give me one sec,” Hans says, then reaches for the mute button.
“You called me!” Somehow the woman says it in a way that makes it sound like they know each other well. Like she’s dealt with this sort of behavior from Hans before.
