Page 100 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
“Benny…”
The change in Cristiano’s tone makes me pause. “I know you like Tess.”
I don’t look up for fear he might see something in my eyes resembling vulnerability.
“You have to talk to her eventually—I can’t watch you walk around looking like shit forever. But not yet. Give her some space and do it after the wedding.”
I straighten and inhale a long breath then look him directly in the eye. “Sure, boss.”
My blood is boiling as I walk out of the business suite, and that won’t do. I didn’t get to this point in my life by being a hot mess. I step outside and breathe in the warm air then take out my phone.
I notice a few missed calls from a burner, which I ignore in favor of calling Nino. He answers on the second ring and sounds out of breath.
“What’s going on? I haven’t heard from you in two days.”
“He’s gone,” Nino says, panting down the phone. “The fucker tricked me. He must have known I was following him—he waited until I was in the restroom of a diner then bailed before his food even arrived.”
“Fuck,” I spit. “When was that?”
“Tuesday, five in the afternoon.”
“So, exactly two days ago. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“I was on his tail. I almost got him twice. I only lost him for good this morning.”
My muscles brace and harden. “Where?”
“LAX.”
“You didn’t see which flight he was boarding?”
“I’m so sorry, Benito. I lost him.”
“What about the airport staff?” Tension grips mychest like an iron fist. “Couldn’t you have threatened someone? Got access to all the flight logs?”
“And alert the authorities over here? This isn’t New York, Benito. They’d have thrown me in jail and I’d be of no use to you there.”
I yell down the phone. “FUCK!”
“He’s coming to New York, Benito,” Nino says calmly. “We don’t need to be tailing him to know that. The most we can do is be ready for him.”
I inhale slowly, straighten my shoulders and smooth a hand down my tie. “Is he armed?”
A beat passes before Nino responds. “He wasn’t when he left, but there’s something else you should know.”
Irritation presses against my spine. “What’s that?”
“I got hold of his call history. There’s one number he’s been in contact with a lot. And it’s the last one he called before he left.”
“Whose number?”
“Well, that’s the concerning thing. There’s no owner data available. Nothing to say where it was purchased or when. It belongs to someone who knows exactly how to work the system.”
“It’s a burner,” I say.
“Has to be.”
“Where is this burner located? Where are the calls going to?”
