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I despise every square inch of road that separates me from Haven. I try her phone again. The only answer is voicemail.
Panic will get me nowhere.
But panic doesn’t follow instructions very well.
Gage slows down and pulls to the right, taking the exit leading to Haven’s neighborhood. The lights from emergency vehicles flash up the street. We’re close to the smoke cloud now.
“Conner.” Micah’s voice is sharp.
He doesn’t need to say more.
He sees what I see.
The worst of the fire has been extinguished and only a smoking, charred husk of a structure remains.
I know the place well. I’ve been there many times.
Before it became ashes it was a stripper club called The Back Door.
Chapter36
Haven
Sophie’s hideout is a shitty motel that was owned by Uncle Estes before he got snuffed out somewhere in Sicily. The building is a crumbling relic that looks like it’s being eaten alive by gnarled threads of ivy. He picked the property up for peanuts after the city condemned it. I suppose with Estes out of the picture, Talon has now seized all of his ground.
Talon’s greed, however, is the least of my worries right now.
My rearview mirror captures the haze of smoke from the fire at the club. Emergency sirens wail from every direction as they rush to the blaze. They’ll find the club in ruins and a dead man in the parking lot. Just another day on the east side.
The north end of Pearl Street leaves a lot to be desired. The parking lot that runs the length of the squat two story motel is a mess of broken asphalt, weeds and garbage left behind by vagrants.
Easing the car into the lot slowly, I keep my eyes peeled and the windows open. Other than a small, frightened rodent dodging discarded drug needles, there’s no sign of life. The only noise is the echo of howling sirens.
I’m trying to steer around the mounds of garbage. The last thing I need right now is a punctured tire. It’s difficult to picture Sophie cowering inside the decrepit motel. Most of the windows have been sloppily boarded up and some of the boards have been pried away. Urban artists and wannabe gangsters have tagged their illegible signatures all over the place.
Already impatient to be out of here, I call Sophie’s cell. “Hey, I’m outside. No one else is around. Come on out and let’s go.”
She’s crying again. “My suitcase is stuck.”
I grit my teeth and try not to scream. “What?”
“I found a closet to hide in and put my suitcase in there but it fell into a hole and I can’t get it out.”
“For fuck’s sake, leave the suitcase. You can buy new clothes.”
“I CAN’T because my mother’s doll collection is in here. She gave it to me before she died and it’s the only thing I have left of her.”
Maybe I’m awful but I’m half tempted to tell Sophie to call an Uber if she can’t get her ass out here in the next ten seconds.
She sobs softly. “Please don’t leave without me, Haven. You’re the only person I can trust.”
The parking lot is still empty. The buildings next door and the ones across the street are also abandoned. No cars have even passed by.
“Where are you?” I mutter.
“I got in through the door to the office.”
“Yeah, I see it. Wait there.”
