Page 11 of Bratva Hunter

She shrugs. “I’m from here. My family owns the restaurant.”

“Cool.” I sip my Coke trying to be charming. “My cousin lives around here. She mentioned your place.”

“Oh? What’s her name?”

“Rosa.” I fake a ‘I’ve got a thought’ expression and reach for my phone. I scroll to her photo. “Here.”

She nods. “Oh. Anna. Her hair’s darker in the pic. She’s been here a couple of times. She likes the grilled chicken.”

“Rosanna, guess she decided to use her nickname. Was she in tonight?”

She gets up from the booth. “No. It’s been three or four days. She mentioned she was staying at a nearby motel.”

I feign surprise. “A motel? That’s weird. I thought she had a place.”

Shrugging, she stands. “I’ll put in your order.”

I flick through my phone. There’s only eight places she’s used her card, and she’s only used one of the burners for a total of eleven minutes. She’s used Uber a dozen times since she got here. Maybe she’s searching for something here in Denver? Could she not know she should be running? The server setsdown my food, and I inhale it. It’s good. I’m a foodie, and this is nearly the best Greek outside of Greece I’ve had.

Twenty minutes later, she returns to collect my dishes. “Will you live around here?”

I shrug. “Not sure. I travel a lot, so even if I live nearby, I’ll be gone all the time.”

She hands me my bill and flicks her head to a man calling to her from the kitchen. I toss down a fifty-dollar bill and head for the door. I would have enjoyed luring her back to her place and having her, but I need to move on.

My phone rings.

“Hello?”

“It’s Fingers. She used the card in Santa Fe.”

“Seriously? Who the fuck runs away to Santa Fe?

“They’ve got great art.”

Fingers is amusing with his thought process. “Yes, Fingers. Could it be that she doesn’t realize she’s being hunted?”

He sputters. “Then why did she leave New York in disguise?”

“Maybe she did something and didn’t want to be caught?”

Fingers stops typing. “Lemme do a little digging. If she took something that might explain why they want to find her.”

“Do that. I’m driving to Santa Fe.”

“Shouldn’t you sleep?”

I scoff. “Thanks, mom. I slept on the plane, but I appreciate your concern.” I end the call and hustle to the SUV, clicking on my map app to see that it takes five and a half hours, probably less being so late. How fast can I get there?

Old school classic rock blasts through my speakers. My map app notifies me if cops wait for me on my route. I don’t really care. I’m using my fake California driver’s license, so if they pull me over and give me a ticket, I’ll never get caught. There’s no way anyone has reported the SUV missing. I just need aplausible excuse as to why I have Ken Waterman’s Lincoln Navigator.

Chapter 3

FOUR DAYS BEFORE

ROSA

I step off the elevator onto my hotel floor in Denver. My room door is cracked open and my heart stops. I scramble to scan the hallway, looking for someone from my father’s life. My lighter brown hair is twisted into two braids falling down my chest. No one could possibly recognize me. My stuff is in my room. I foolishly left my duffel with the extra cash among my clothes on the bed. I’ve got my backpack on my shoulder with two grand or so in cash and the papers I grabbed with the cash from my father’s safe. How can I hide and still watch? I glance to the row of doors in the hall as my mind searches for an idea. The maid comes out of a room and back to her housekeeping cart as I smile, rushing toward her. “Oh, Thank God. I dropped my key at the front desk, and I need a shower.” I point to the door down the hall from my room as I duck my head. “I um, youknow, started.” Women have sympathy for other women when they have their period. She’ll pity me and let me into the room to shower. Though I’m just going to kill some time in there.

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