27. Wren

CHAPTER 27

Wren

“ H ow many people are coming tonight?” I asked Marianna. “I thought it was just me, you, Blane, Joseph, and Lola?”

Pablo was asleep in Blane’s guest room, and he’d already eaten dinner. Cat-Myrtle was around too, and she might help out with the mountain of food—Blane said she loved tacos, but they weren’t good for cats so we couldn’t give her too much.

“Vee said she’d drop by on her break.”

Aw, it would be good to see her. She was a real night owl—a while ago, she’d confided that a skin condition left her with blisters if she was exposed to UV light—so we’d never socialised outside of work, but she’d always been kind to me. I surveyed the array of dishes laid out on the counters. Tacos, burritos, enchiladas, tamales. A vat of pozole. Bowls of guac and sour cream. Marianna was getting ready to fry the churros, and Lola was watching with rapt attention, her face covered in chocolate sauce.

“We could feed everyone downstairs in the club and still have food left over. ”

Marianna scrunched her mouth to the side. “Maybe I did get a little carried away.”

“A little?”

Her regret turned into a cunning smile. “Well, you do need the extra calories this week.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Uh, you and Blane?”

“What about me and Blane?”

“Every time I see him, he’s wearing a self-satisfied grin, and you’re smiling a lot and walking funny.”

Please, somebody shoot me.

“Uh, I…”

“Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone. It’s good to see him happy after— Never mind.”

“After his girlfriend passed away?”

“He told you about that?”

I nodded as I shredded cheese to go with the tacos. Blane and Joseph better not have eaten much for lunch. Ten to eight, and I’d hoped they’d be back by now, not just because I missed Blane but because he’d told me they planned to visit Zion this evening. With every day that passed, my sense of unease grew stronger. Perhaps I should have gone to the police? Yesterday, Blane had not-so-casually dropped Vee’s detective boyfriend’s name into conversation—again—and I wondered how much she knew about Caria’s disappearance. Had Blane shared my secret? If it were only Jack Callahan I had to worry about, I’d spill the beans, but detectives didn’t work in a vacuum. He’d have a partner, plus he’d have to file reports—one whisper in the wrong ear, and Caria would be in big trouble.

But if Zion didn’t come through with the answers, maybe we’d have to take that risk?

Lola held out a churro dripping with chocolate sauce. “This is for you. ”

“Thank you, sweetie.”

“When is Blane coming back?”

“Soon, I think.”

“I miss him.”

“I do too. Why don’t you help me to put the cutlery on the table?”

“Okay.”

She skipped off carrying a single knife and fork, leaving me to bring the rest.

“She’s usually so shy,” Marianna said, glancing at the baby monitor, where Pablo slept soundly on the tiny screen. “When she’s here, she comes to life.”

“She’s adorable.” I watched her carefully set the knife and fork at the seat Blane always sat in. “But so full of energy. Honestly, I have no idea how moms get everything done.”

Marianna gave a musical laugh. “Through love, willpower, and sometimes sheer desperation. Could you text Blane and see how long he’s going to be?”

“Of course.”

I’d typed out half a message when the elevator dinged. My heart lifted along with it, but when I glanced toward the hallway, it wasn’t Blane and Joseph who walked through the door. No, a statuesque blonde was striding toward me as if she belonged here, but I was certain I hadn’t seen her around. Unless she was one of the three-hour girls here in the hope of a repeat?

The thought made my blood boil.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh, you sure can.” Her accent wasn’t American. Was it French? Or Italian? She looked polished in a European way. Chic. Her hair was cut into a short bob, pale compared to her deeply tanned skin.

“Do we know each—” The words died in my throat when she pointed a gun at me. It might have been small, but her hand didn’t waver, and I had no doubt she knew how to use it. My heart threatened to give out when I saw the men behind her, three of them, and their hard expressions said they hadn’t come over for tacos.

“You should have kept your mouth shut, Wren Gillebrand.”

My knees buckled, and I clutched at the counter for support. This was about Caria, wasn’t it? I’d bet everything I owned—which admittedly wasn’t much—that Zion had double-crossed Blane and sold us out.

“Bring them,” the woman ordered.

“The kid too?” a man with a scar slicing down one cheek asked, and I realised with ever-growing horror that Lola was standing in full view of the intruders. Thank goodness Pablo was safe in the guest room, for now at least. Please don’t wake up.

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

Where was security? There were doormen at every entrance to the club, including one by the alley door Blane occasionally used to come and go, and another in the small parking lot. Maybe the intruders had posed as guests and walked right past the velvet rope? But if that was true, they couldn’t march the rest of us across the dance floor, so how were they planning to escape? Would they shoot their way out? The men had guns too—I could see the bulges under their jackets.

“Please, just leave my daughter,” Marianna begged. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’re in no position to be making demands.”

The men advanced toward us. I wanted to yell at Lola to run, but where would she go? To the bedrooms? The men would soon catch her, and worse, they’d find Pablo.

That was when I spotted the knife on the counter. Eight inches of gleaming steel next to a pile of chopped lettuce. I dove for it.

An earsplitting scream came from the other side of the room, quickly followed by another, deeper yell as Marianna hurled the pan of boiling water—plus several half-cooked tamales—at the man reaching out to grab her.

Then all hell broke loose.