Angie and another zoo attendant, both in their khaki uniforms, got Miguel up and out of the van—much more gracefully than we got him into it, I might add—and into a bigger cage behind the house.
“Miguel will be moved to the zoo in a few days after we have some time to check his temperament, his health, stuff like that.” Angie watched Miguel stroll around his temporary home, sniff a few things and flop down in the grass.
“Is there a chance Xander Rose will see pictures of San Diego Zoo’s newest male Siberian tiger and recognize him?” I said.
Angie snickered. “They never do.”
Rhys and I exchanged looks.
She smiled slyly. “You think this is the first time an exotic pet has been stolen from an idiot celebrity who doesn’t know what they’re doing?”
I smiled wide. “That’s badass.”
“All of these animals find homes in reputable zoos and animal sanctuaries, and no one says a word.” She shrugged.
“I’m glad we could help.” I smiled, just as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Back in the van, I slipped my phone out.
Unknown: I mean it. Get out of California. Don’t wait.
Rhys saw the look on my face. “The same number again?”
I nodded and pocketed my phone. “I mean, it’s gotta be Dad. Who else would it be?” I started the van and pulled out of the driveway.
“Whoever it is, they can relax. We’re going back to New York tonight.” Rhys pointed up ahead. “Take a left up here.”
Rhys navigated me to a chop shop where we paid to have the van taken apart, each part sold separately. We took a cab from there to San Diego International Airport.
We got our tickets and found a pair of seats in the airport waiting area.
Rhys pulled out his phone. “Email from Audrey. We got paid.”
About fifteen minutes before it was time to board, two men took their seats in the waiting room facing us, two rows of seats away. One of them was a tall, hulking man with impossibly broad shoulders, a prominent nose and a thick black beard. The other was quite a bit younger and shorter, maybe late twenties, with slicked back brown hair, a chubby baby face and an expensive suit.
I wouldn’t have even noticed them if the big guy hadn’t stared at me, a deep V-shaped crease forming between his dark, beady eyes.
Rhys leaned over to him. “Who is that, and why does he look like he wants to murder you?”
“The Muscle,” I whispered.
‘The Muscle’ was the nickname I’d given to one of Stan’s goons. He seemed to be very quiet, and Stan mostly just used him for heavy lifting.
The Muscle leaned over to his companion and said something to him. They were seated too far away for either of us to hear it, though.
The Suit looked up at me, his eyes growing icy cold and narrowing slightly.
Oh fuck.
“Is there a chance they could have slipped a gun past airport security?”
“I don’t think so,” I whispered. “Plus, why even carry a gun when you could just crush someone’s head in your giant hands like that guy on Game of Thrones?”
A few minutes later, our flight boarded. While simultaneously keeping an eye on them and avoiding eye contact, we found our seats—all four of us in first class. Thankfully, they were at the opposite end of the first class section from us and couldn’t watch us from their seats. Unfortunately, we couldn’t watch them either.
Rhys typed furiously into his phone. He had that same look on his face he did the night before when hacking into Xander Rose’s security system, so I just let him focus. He was forced to turn his phone off right before takeoff.
After our plane climbed steeply into the California sky, I leaned over to him. “What’s up?”
“I was able to find the names of our new friends by checking the airline database,” he whispered. “The big guy is Kenneth Baker. The younger guy is named Ezra Lamond.”
I winced, thinking hard. “I don’t recognize either of those names.”
Rhys slipped his phone out and showed me the photo he’d found online shortly before takeoff. It was a family snapshot from a golf game. Ezra was holding a nine iron and had an arm around an older guy.
An older guy named Stan.
Rhys put his phone away. “Ezra Lamond is Stan’s son.”
“Well, shit.”
A middle-aged man from across the aisle shot me a dirty look and then had the balls to say, “Sir, can you tell your girlfriend to watch her language?”
“Fuck off,” Rhys and I said in unison.
The man sat back in his seat, put on his complementary headphones and pouted.
Rhys leaned closer to me again. “They’re not going to New York, though. Well, I mean, they are but they’re taking a connecting flight from New York to Amsterdam.”
“To go get Stan’s body?”
Rhys’s mouth tightened. “I didn’t have enough time to do a thorough search, but I wasn’t able to find any death certificates for him. He might still be alive.”
I stared at him. “That’s impossible.”
“I’ll look again when we land, but it’s something we need to consider.”
I got up from my seat. “B-R-B. Gonna go throw up now.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
After a very long flight, we arrived at the airport in New York. We didn’t check our baggage, so we were able to avoid Ezra and The Muscle and get out of the airport as quickly as we could, hailing a cab and returning to my place.
“Oh, right,” I said when I unlocked the door. “It’s still a mess in here. I forgot.”
Rhys frowned at my scattered belongings and broken possessions. “You should really clean this up,” he said, winking at me as he slipped his laptop out of his suitcase and sat on my slashed sofa. He opened the laptop and used my coffee table as a makeshift desk, typing away like mad.
I closed the door and joined him on the couch. “What are you looking for?”
In mere moments, Rhys found a listing of all Amsterdam hospitals, their registry of current patients only a few minutes after that. A name jumped out at me right away.
“Stanley Lamond,” I read out loud, pointing at the screen.
Rhys copied some Dutch text beside Stan’s name and popped it into an online translator, reading the result off the screen. “Gunshot wound to the stomach. Critical condition.” Rhys looked at me. “He’s in a coma.”
Looking around my home, my stomach turned. “What if Carl wasn’t the only one in Stan’s crew who knows my address? What if they come back?”
The laptop keys clattered as Rhys typed. “I’m going to look into Stanley Jr. and see what kind of a threat he is.”
My phone buzzed.
Ruby: Hey, are you home? I was wondering if I could come over and talk to you about something.
That was a strangely serious tone for a text from Ruby.
Molly: oh god, you’re pregnant!
Ruby: hahaha Yes and it’s YOURS.
Ruby: But really, are you around?
Molly: Er, yes. I’m at my place. Are you at the office? I could come up there.
Ruby: Actually, I’m just grabbing coffee around the corner.
Molly: Oh. OK, come over.
Rhys looked up from the computer. “Ezra Lamond is a nasty bugger. He’s only thirty, and he’s got quite the little rap sheet already. Like father, like son, I guess.” He pointed at the screen. “I had a look at his browser history too. He’s been searching for things like ‘moving patient from Europe to US,’ and he’s been comparing a bunch of different wheelchair models and home care services.”
I was only half-listening at this point. Ruby wasn’t usually a “we need to talk” type of woman.
“Ruby is on her way over,” I said. “She said she needed to talk to me about something.”
Rhys’s eyes grew larger. “Is she pregnant?”
“No—”
“Is it yours?” He smiled, one of his eyebrows twitching upward in a sassy way.
“How would … no.” I frowned. “There’s a coffee place down the street if you want to keep working. We need to know as much about Ezra as possible.”
Rhys made a pouty face. “You’re trying to get rid of me before your friend comes over, aren’t you?”
“No—”
“You’re embarrassed of me.”
“No—”
“Obviously,” Rhys said. “Why would you be? I’m adorable.”
There was a knock at the door, and Ruby peered in through the window. I let her in.
“Hey girl,” I said. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” She subtly checked out Rhys before noticing my place was still a mess. But she didn’t mention it, because she’s a good friend and that’s what good friends do.
Rhys stood up, the laptop under his arm. “Hi. I’m Rhys. Nice to meet you.” He gave an awkward little wave.
Ruby smiled. “Hi. Nice to finally meet you.”
“I’m going to go grab a coffee,” Rhys said. “Can I bring you ladies a tea or a coffee or anything?”
Ruby, don’t be weird, okay?
She smiled at him cutely. “That’s so thoughtful. I’m good, though.”
As he nodded goodbye to us, Ruby openly admired his behind, her sweet smile curling into a mischievous grin. “He’s hot.”
“I know. He knows it too, which can be a little irritating at times.” I laughed.
“Great accent too,” she said, following me over to the couch, not even mentioning the various rips in the cushions. “I came by a few days ago, but you weren’t around. Were you guys away on a romantic getaway or something?”
“No, a work assignment. Well, eventually. First he took me to his cousin’s wedding—”
“What? Really? Already?”
I nodded. “I know. Then we flew to California to do an assignment there—”
“Ohmygod, that reminds me. Did you hear about Xander Rose’s tiger getting stolen? I love his show.”
I hesitated. “Yes, Ruby. I heard about it.”
She gave me a curious look. I could practically see the light bulb going off in her head. “Oh. That was you.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s pretty badass,” she added. “Actually, that is what I wanted to talk to you about… Business.” Her voice was quieter and her pacing slower. “I can’t keep you as a client anymore.” She bit her lower lip.
Whuuuuut?
“Uh, why?”
“Eli and I are dissolving Cedar & Watson. He got a job offer to join a prestigious firm in Chicago, and I’m hoping to find a job at a different firm where I won’t be the boss. Kind of a fresh start for myself, career-wise.” Her gaze broke away from mine as she picked at her thumbnail.
I considered my words carefully. “You make a shit ton of money from your clients, though, so I’m having a hard time understanding why…”
The look of pure guilt was all of her face.
“You’re going legit,” I said, “for Grace.”
“I’m in love with her. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” she said, her words speeding up by about three hundred percent. “I know we’ve only been together for a short time, but I think she might be the one. I didn’t even believe in the concept of ‘the one’ until I met her. She’s so good to me. I told her about wanting to dissolve the business and how it might affect our finances for a while, and she was totally cool with it. She doesn’t care about money. She just cares about us and our happiness. I feel like I owe it to her to start again and do things above board. Grace is trying to make detective, and if it came out that any of my clients were-were—”
“Criminals.” I frowned.
“Yeah. If she found out, she would never forgive me, and she would stop loving me and I-I don’t want that.” She paused, biting her lip again. “I’m so sorry. I can recommend a few other accountants who would be more than willing to help you out.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay.” My mind raced, trying to figure out how this was going to complicate my life even further.
“Your timing sucks, I gotta tell ya,” I said. “Remember Stan?”
“Yeah?”
“He’s alive. Turns out he has a son who may or may not know I still live here. And now there’s a video out there of me and Rhys stealing a tiger. And my dad is still in hiding for killing that guy. And—”
“Your life is always going to be complicated. There would never be a good time to tell you this,” Ruby said, a little more confidence in her voice. “But that’s what’s happening, and I needed you to know.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry about your dad and everything else,” she added. “But hey, at least you and Rhys are sleeping together now. That’s pretty good, right?”
“Yeah, it is good.” I shrugged and lowered my voice a little. “It’s so good.”
* * *
That evening, Rhys and I sat on my busted-ass sofa eating Chinese food we’d ordered in.
My dad is missing. I’m pretty bummed out about it, so why the hell would I cook a meal? I don’t even have any plates to put food on right now. Jeez.
“So,” I said through a mouthful of noodles, “I think we need to stay at least one or two steps ahead of Team Stan at all times. Going by the nasty looks they gave us at the airport, there’s a pretty good chance they think we shot Stan.”
Rhys nodded. “Almost certainly.”
“Right. Okay. So, if we were on Team Stan—”
“Gross.”
“—what would we be doing next?”
Rhys let out a long breath. “Well, Ezra and The Muscle are in Amsterdam. They are checked in at a hotel near the hospital where Stan is. Assuming Stan doesn’t make it or they can’t bring him back to America, they’re probably going to come back here and deal with us in ways I’d rather not think about.”
“Or one of them is going to go to London to come after you while another is in New York to kill me,” I suggested.
“Or they’re going to go back to California,” he said. “Or they’re going to look for your dad.”
“They’re not gonna find him. He’s really good at finding things, but he’s better at not being found,” I said. “When I was maybe thirteen or fourteen, Dad went missing. I just thought he was back in jail and Mom didn’t want to talk about it. The only reason I found out he was in hiding was because I kept getting cash sent to me from all over South America.”
Rhys smiled. “Your dad’s cool.”
I rolled my eyes, gathering up the empty Chinese food cartons and tossing them out. “I’d rather he was an English professor.”
Rhys joined me in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. “We should stay in a hotel for a while. I can keep an eye on Team Stan’s movements from there, and it’d be safer than staying here.”
“Plus,” I said, “my place is still a disaster. I can call a cleaning service and get that taken care of while we’re out.”
“Plus,” Rhys added, “I’ve never actually seen New York. I’ve been to your home and your old apartment and the airport and that’s about it.” He slid his hands around my waist and onto my bum, pulling me closer. “And I want to see New York with you.”
“I’m playing tour guide, huh?” I ran my nose against the whiskers on his chin.
“Oh, don’t you worry, miss.”
I squealed as Rhys picked me up, my thighs squeezing his hips, carried me back to the couch and gently threw both of us down onto it. “I know where I’m going.”
Yes, sir. You sure do.
* * *
We found a hotel on the Upper East Side with a wide range of room service menu items, a pool and a gym.
A lot of people have a sentimental value attached to their homes. I used to feel that toward my old apartment, but ever since Carl broke in and messed my shit up, I just wanted to avoid it. It felt dirty to me. My sanctuary had been violated. My safe place no longer felt safe. I hated Stan’s cronies for ruining my home for me.
<
br /> Hotels now felt much more like home than my actual home. That’s kinda sad.
We rolled our luggage into the lavish hotel room later that day.
“Ooh, snack bar!” Rhys exclaimed, whipping the mini bar door open to reveal cookies, mini bags of chips, Pringles and cold drinks. He looked over his shoulder. “I love hotels sometimes.”
I laughed and strolled over to the picture window behind me, taking in the view of the surrounding buildings. The building across the street from us looked like super nice condos. One of the units had an enormous window with its curtains open, giving a good view of everything inside.
I stepped closer to the window, so close my breath left a cloud of fog on the glass.
Antique furniture. An old map framed on the wall. An ornate wooden shelf lined with leather-bound books. A Chinese vase under a glass case in the corner. A marble statue in the other corner.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
CHAPTER NINE
“You’ve been staring at that condo across the street for four days now,” Rhys said, stretched out on the bed with his computer on his lap. “You need to stop.”
I bit my lip, adding up in my head how much all of this guy’s collectables could be worth. I had a pretty good idea, because I did some digging online while Rhys was asleep.
And I say “this guy” because the man who lived there made the occasional appearance, usually showing up in the evening to watch some TV, and then he’d flick the lights off and turn in. He was usually gone by the time I rolled my lazy ass out of bed mid-morning.
Rhys wasn’t exaggerating. I really had been staring across the street for four days.
I leaned my back against the window. “But I’m bored.”
“Well, what do you want to do tomorrow?” Rhys picked up a New York City guide from the nightstand. “We could go to the Met or—”
“Or break into a rich guy’s condo?”
“—or see Coney Island—”
“Or break into a rich guy’s condo?”
“Notice how I’m not even responding to that suggestion anymore? We can’t.” Rhys frowned at me. “We’re at this hotel to lie low, not get ourselves into hot water.”
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