Chapter 20

20

Dmitri

I t takes me a few minutes to realize why I’m bummed before I’m even fully awake.

That’s right. Leah left.

And I’m an idiot.

I know why I couldn’t admit feelings. But I didn’t have to act like a jealous asshole. I didn’t have to tell her who she could and couldn’t hang out with. Shitstain Mick was controlling and he took advantage of her. Do I want to be like Shitstain Mick?

No.

She shouldn’t be paying for a hotel when she can stay here. I’ll let her have the bed, even.

It’s already nine a.m. Late enough for a phone call. I go into the kitchen to start the coffee. As the machine growls to life, I dial Leah.

No answer. The call goes to voicemail. It rang, so I’m pretty sure she hasn’t blocked me.

I stare long and hard at my phone like it has answers it won’t give up.

A bad feeling forms in my gut.

Holding my breath, I text, Please let me know you’re okay. I’m getting worried .

Nothing.

Fuck. Something’s wrong. She’d never let me worry, not like this.

She could be in the shower. Or working. She has some tutoring on Saturdays, I think. Or she could’ve gone to Gage last night. Stayed over with him or something. The thought is a bitter one, but it’s a possibility.

Ten minutes. I’ll wait ten minutes and try calling and texting again.

Still no answer.

“Fuck it.”

I dial Gage’s work cell, hoping he’ll answer.

Leah

The men carry me into the hotel room. I grip the edge of the doorframe. I know it’s pointless. They’re stronger. What can my knuckles do when these guys are strong enough to carry me through?

My grip breaks after only half a second.

The men don’t speak. The one guy is still covering my mouth. His hand smells like cinnamon and sugar and for the first time ever, the scent makes me want to gag.

I want to ask them why I’m here, but I already know. It has to do with Mick.

A strange calm comes over me. They haven’t shot me. They don’t want me dead. If I die, they can’t get their money.

I bet Mick had the same idea. They killed him anyway.

My throat tightens, but I force myself to breathe through the impending panic. I can only breathe through my nose because my mouth is covered. The breaths are too fast. The last thing I want to do is pass out. I force myself to count, to slow down my breathing, as the men bring me the rest of the way into the hotel room.

If I can’t control what they do, I can at least control my breathing.

For now.

The room is decorated the same way mine is upstairs—gray carpet, gray curtains, blue bedspread. This is a larger room, though, with a small sitting area and two king-sized beds.

They carry me to a chair and set me in it. My clothes are all twisted from my struggles, my hair never dried after my shower, and I didn’t put on a bra because of the fire alarm. My discomfort and disarray are the least of my worries, though.

The fire alarm shuts off. An eerie quiet replaces the shrieking wail. My head pounds with the echo. Or maybe that’s the panicked thudding of my heart.

The men step back. I eye the door, but I would never make it. One of the men moves in front of it, anyway.

I try not to look at their faces. If I see them, I’m a witness. Isn’t that how it works? It’s too late. I already know the guy in front of the door has a giant brown beard. His buddy who helped carry me in wears a baseball cap. He has a wispy attempt at a goatee and a pointy, upturned nose.

The third guy has stepped behind me. He’s blond, I think. The room isn’t well-lit, so I can’t make out any details. Probably for the better.

A lock clicking makes me quickly turn back around.

A door leads to the adjacent hotel room. It opens.

A man steps through. White-blond hair. He’s in his fifties. Artfully torn jeans, a punk band T-shirt. He looks vaguely familiar. He’s one of Mick’s older friends, but I never caught his name. He came by the apartment a few times. He always stared at me in a pervy way. I told Mick I didn’t like him and didn’t want him around. Mick shrugged and said, “Too fucking bad.”

“Randy,” he says, pointing a thumb at his own chest. “You recognize me?”

I nod.

“You want to know what’s going on.”

I find the courage to speak. My voice is hoarse after trying to scream on the way in here. “Yeah. As long as that knowledge isn’t going to get me killed.”

“Kill you? We wouldn’t kill you.”

“You killed Mick, didn’t you? Never mind, don’t answer that.” I don’t want to know anything.

He smirks. “It started off that you and Mick owed us money.”

“I didn’t owe anything,” I say. “I never borrowed from you. And why did he owe you money? He’s a gamer.”

“A gamer? No. He’s a gambler. The two of you gambled on our online platform. And sometimes he came to our hall. He put you up as someone who would pay if he couldn’t.”

“I never gambled,” I say. “Not once. This is bullshit, and you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you did or didn’t. He used you and your assets as collateral.”

I shake my head. Unbelievable. “How much is it?”

“It was twenty grand.”

“Twenty grand,” I repeat. That’s a lot of fucking money. Fuck Mick and all the shit he put me through, the shit he continues to put me through even though he’s dead. Taking a deep breath, I say, “I’ll pay you. I have a little money, not a lot, but if you let me go, I’ll get the rest.”

No idea how. But I’ll figure it out.

“It was twenty grand.” Randy shakes his head. “But then I remembered you. Your sweet little body, those sexy titties. The debt just increased.”

I’ll pay it. I’ll give them whatever they want, even if it takes years. It’s only money, and I want to live. “How much?”

He leers at my chest. “Fifty thousand.”

Anger fills my veins with heat. He’s jacking the price up because he has me in a bind.

“I don’t have that much money,” I say, “but I’ll find a way to get it.”

“We waited long enough for Mick. No more waiting. Besides, he assured us that in the event of non-payment, you would make yourself available.”

He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying. I fight the urge to cover my chest with my arms. I don’t want to look weak, or small. Gage said my body is powerful.

I don’t feel very powerful in this moment.

Randy wanted this all along. That’s why they grabbed me. Why he’s increasing the money owed.

“Mick lied to you,” I say in a clear voice. “He lied to me. Paying his debt with sex will never be okay with me.”

“I’d rather have you willing. I’ll give you a couple of hours to think it over. Nobody will find you here. We got time. Anticipation is half the fun.” Randy gives me an ominous smile as he speaks, lip curling, eyes full of menace. He switches his gaze to one of the men. “Take her into the bathroom. Tie her up.”

I scream as the big bearded guy grabs my arm and starts dragging me to the bathroom. He slaps me again, cutting off my scream.

“Gag her,” Randy says.

The blond guy leaves and returns with some duct tape. He places it over my mouth. I plead with him with my eyes. Don’t do this, don’t do this. He is completely unaffected.

My arms are yanked behind me, my wrists wrapped with the tape. They shove me so I’m sitting down against the counter beneath the sink. The cold of the tile floor seeps through my jeans.

Eyeing me, Randy saunters into the bathroom and leans down. His face is so close to mine, I can see individual pores.

“You will give in.” He slams the butt of his gun on the counter next to my head.

I shriek through the duct tape as the counter cracks. Shards of whatever it is—granite? Some kind of tile?—fall to the floor.

My heart thuds loud in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, I won’t be here. I’ll be in Dmitri’s bed, waking up and starting the last twenty-four hours over again.

Randy’s laughter fades as he leaves the room.

I wait a long, long moment before opening my eyes.

The counter next to my head is completely broken, with chunks on the floor next to me.

The men are still here, but they aren’t in the bathroom. They’re lounging in the bedroom, the TV blaring with sports announcers analyzing the latest big game.

They aren’t watching me.

I pick up one of the counter shards and tuck it between my bound wrists.

If Randy tries to do anything to me, he’s going to feel at least a little pain.

Gage

Dmitri’s name lights up on my phone. Not who I was expecting. I answer.

“Have you talked to Leah?” he asks without greeting.

If he didn’t sound so concerned and uncomfortable, I would use this opportunity to plant seeds of lust in his mind. I would find ways to encourage them to get together again.

But he sounds worried, so I simply say, “No. I have not.”

“She’s not answering my calls. She stayed at a hotel last night. I called, no answer. I texted, no answer.”

“Could it be that she’s angry at you?” I ask.

“Yes.” His voice is simple, genuine. “But even if she’s pissed, she wouldn’t ignore me when I say I’m worried and want to make sure she’s okay. We’re friends first, before all this fucked up shit you had us doing.”

“I see. We should contact the police.”

“Already tried. She hasn’t been missing long enough for them to do anything. Detective Wentz doesn’t even sound like he gives a fuck.”

“He ought to—Leah is connected to the murder he’s trying to solve.”

“ You should tell him that, because he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”

Even with my particular skills, I doubt I would be any more convincing. Dmitri’s concern and care for Leah are evident whenever they’re together, projected in every movement of his body, every inflection in his voice.

“I’m going to speak with my grandfather,” Dmitri says.

I frown at the city skyline beyond my living room window. “Is he in law enforcement?”

“No.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“I’ll speak with a security company I’ve worked with in the past,” I say. “Ironwood.”

Dmitri

When I say there’s more trouble, my grandfather hangs up.

Shit.

I call again, but it goes to voicemail. It can only mean one thing—whatever he has to say is potentially incriminating, and he’s not going to risk the phone.

I race to his house, my Mustang taking corners too fast, only pausing at stop signs.

He’s waiting at the front door when I arrive, wearing old jeans and a flannel shirt. He must have been gardening out back when I called. When I tell him about Leah’s disappearance, he frowns. When I tell him the detective wouldn’t help, his eyes flash with anger.

“Do not trust the detectives, Dmitri. Not at all.”

“What about Ironwood?”

He scoffs. “Do-gooders. You can trust them. But if you really want the problem taken care of? The Aseyev family can?—”

“No.” I might get desperate enough to use his connections, but at what cost?

But…Leah.

“Wait on calling your friends,” I finally say.

Granddad’s wire-brush eyebrows rise high on his forehead.

“Or,” I hesitate, “you could call them and ask them to be ready.”

“That I’ll do,” he says. “For your dear Leah.”

Gage

When I step into the Ironwood building, I’m directed straight up to Jaxon Marsel’s office.

He meets me at the door. His cheekbones are prominent over his tidy beard even when he smiles in greeting.

“I’m sorry to call you here on a Saturday night,” I say.

“You’re paying a high price for it.” He smirks, but then his dark eyes soften into concern. “Besides, Gage, we go way back. You know I’ll help you if I can.”

I hired Jaxon and Ryder when I first came to San Esteban. They helped me set up my apartment and all of its security. They’ve worked on the security protocols at Vice and Low Vice, as well.

I tell him everything that’s been going on with Leah, her ex, and the threats from the loan sharks.

Ten minutes later, we’re in an office with two women in front of dozens of computers.

“This is Leonie and Lin, two of our best cyber investigators,” Jaxon says.

“I’ve already pulled up all the traffic cams I can find surrounding the hotel,” says the brunette, Lin. She has a tiny mole at the corner of her mouth, and the side of her head is shaved. “Do you have a picture of the woman you’re looking for?”

“I don’t.”

“All right, what’s her name?”

“Leah Shreve.”

A few seconds later, Lin has pulled up Leah’s driver’s license photo.

I wonder if Lin’s access has been obtained legally. Traffic cams, driver’s licenses? I suppose it doesn’t matter if Ironwood is hacking into places if they have no intent of harm.

From there, Lin, Jaxon, and I stare at the three monitors closest to Lin as footage plays.

“A fire alarm went off,” Lin says, pointing. “You can see everyone rushing out here. Any sign of your girl?”

I don’t see her anywhere. Surely she would have left when the alarm sounded.

“If someone took her,” I say, “that’s how they did it. They would have gotten to her when she left her room.”

We watch and re-watch the footage. There’s no sign of Leah.

Dmitri arrives, escorted in by one of Jaxon’s employees.

“Were you able to get any help from your grandfather?” I ask.

He shakes his head of dark blond hair. “He told us not to trust the police, but that’s nothing unusual.”

There’s more to his words, but his demeanor is closed off. I won’t push it, not right now.

Dmitri points to the computers. “What is this?”

“We’re trying to find out when Leah left the hotel, and who took her. A fire alarm went off, so everyone leaves at eight forty-five.”

“Are all the exits covered?” Dmitri asks.

“Yes,” Leonie says. “I’ve been looking over the building’s blueprint.”

Jaxon speaks next. “No basement access or anything like that?”

“There is, but it’s covered by the cameras. Nobody left that way.” She points at the screen.

Lin rewinds the footage again. We watch it several more times. I start to pace, feeling caged as we watch. Too much time is passing.

“I don’t know.” Lin rewinds it yet again. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything. At least not around the time of the alarm being pulled. If someone took her, they got her out a lot earlier, or later.”

“Or she didn’t leave,” Dmitri says. “She’s still in the hotel.”

“As in, she’s being kept in the hotel?” I clench my fists. “How are we going to find her if she’s still there? We’re wasting too much time.”

Nobody says anything as we mentally deliberate the problem. Dmitri keeps glancing at his phone. I wonder if he’s thinking of calling his grandfather, or checking the time. We’re stumped, but Leah is out there somewhere, in danger. Scared.

We have to do something.

An idea strikes me. “Lin and Leonie, can either of you get into the hotel’s system?”

“Psh, child’s play.” Leonie swings her gray braid over her shoulder. She taps the keyboard a few times. “Here you go.”

“Can you tell me which one is Leah’s room?” I ask.

She clicks around a little more. “She’s on the fifth floor, 535.”

“Is there a map of the building?”

“Yeah, I have one here.”

Room 535 is located halfway down the hallway. There are rooms above, below, and on either side. If I wanted to harm someone or keep them captive, I wouldn’t do it there.

“Did anyone buy a group of rooms together?” I ask.

She scans the computer screen. I read over her shoulder, searching.

She taps the monitor. “This card number, 4401, bought a block of rooms. Three on the second floor, and one directly beneath the middle room on the first floor.”

“They’re trying to buffer against noise,” I say. “If someone took her, they would’ve taken her to that middle room on the second floor.”

“I bet you’re right,” Dmitri says, while Jaxon and the others nod.

“What’s the name on the credit card?” I ask.

Leonie clicks another button on her keyboard. I see the name at the same time as everyone else.

“Randall Wentz.”