Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“As far as we know, Burian thinks you’ve been out all night burying that body. He’s not aware that I got involved, but he definitely knows the cops didn’t catch you. Meaning he expects you to call. You’re still in play.”
I shake my head rapidly. “Not going to happen.”
“All you have to do is reach out.” He carries my phone over to his laptop and plugs a cord into the bottom. “I’ll do the rest.”
“What are you going to do, trace the call or something?”
“Or something,” he says tapping away at the keyboard. How can a guy this hot be so good with computers? I mean, I know it’s an ugly cliché to assume all computer people are unattractive nerds, but I guess the stereotype’s been shoved into my brain from years of television and movies.
“What do you want me to tell him?” I ask, hating myself for edging closer.
“Mostly the truth. You got the body out, you drove it to the outskirts of town, you disposed of it. Don’t use those words. Don’t mention me. You’ll be fine.”
“I hate this. I just want you to know.”
“You’ll be great.” He wiggles the phone at me. “Go ahead.”
I take it, open my recent calls, and find my boss’s number. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I have it saved as Dimitry Boss Cell which needs to be changed to Burian Killer Russian. After only a few seconds of questioning all my life choices, I tap the call button, put it on speaker, and let it ring.
Lanzo doesn’t even glance at me as the call connects. He’s too hyper-focused on his laptop.
“Hello? Renata, is that you?”
“Hello, Mr. Dimitry,” I say, nearly calling him Burian, which would be very bad. “I just got home and wanted to check in.”
His voice is low. There’s no Russian accent, not even a hint. He sounds like any Midwestern dad, except he talks quickly, like he’s speeding as fast as he can straight to the point.
There’s no hint of surprise.
Like he expected me to check in with him.
“And how did the night go, Ms. Renata?”
“I found the surprise you left me. I wish you would’ve warned me beforehand though.”
“I’m sure.” He sounds almost amused. “And what did you do with the surprise?”
“I cleaned it up, as requested.”
A short pause. “In what manner?”
“There’s a lot of open land here in Texas. Do you want details?”
“No, better not say,” he murmurs. “I’ll admit, Ms. Renata, you surprised me. I half expected you to see my little problem and run away screaming.”
“I kept thinking to myself a hundred grand, a hundred grand. And now here I am, dirt under my fingernails, exhausted from not sleeping, and very much interested in closing out this deal.”
“I’m sure you are,” he says, chuckling gently. “Very well. You did your part, and I will make good on my promise. I’ll be in touch.”
“Wait, Mr.—”
But he hangs up before I can say more.
I curse, lowering the phone. Lanzo’s face is screwed up, staring at the laptop with so much intensity I think he’s about to burrow his nose right through the screen.
“Did you get what you needed?” I ask, moving to peer over his shoulder.
It’s just a bunch of streaming data, numbers and strings of letters, stuff I don’t recognize.
“More or less,” he says, looking frustrated. “Burian routed that call through half a dozen cell towers. I got a general idea of where he is, but it doesn’t really help.”
“Well? Where?”
“Dallas.” He hesitates. “The Dallas area. Within a hundred miles, anyway.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “So that was useless.”
“I got other information.” He slams his laptop lid, grinning up at me. “Any little bit helps.”
“Glad I could be of service then.” I unplug my phone and shove it into my pocket. “Actually, scratch that, no, I’m not.”
Lanzo hops to his feet. “Come on then, let’s head out for real this time. We have a couple stops to make before you meet Carmine.”
“The gangster boss, Carmine?”
“The one and only.” He walks to the door, looking happier than I’ve seen him so far. Which puts me in a sour mood. Anything that makes this guy happy is going to be trouble.
“Where are we headed first?”
“Your home,” he says, glancing back at me as he opens the door. “You’re going to need clothes, right? You’d better get packed.”
Chapter 9
Renata
I don’t know why I’m so nervous to head inside.
I linger at the back door, toying with my key for longer than I should, thinking about Grandpop in there going through his afternoon routine, probably worried sick about me. The home nurse isn’t coming for another hour, and if I’m lucky, I can be in and out.
I push inside, poking my head into the back foyer. I hear the TV on in the living room, playing a Western. The house I share with Grandpop, the same house I’ve lived in my entire life, is a simple three-bedroom rancher with two full baths and a kitchen dying for an upgrade. Everything works, but barely—I’ve been the maintenance man around the house ever since Grandpop got sick. It drives him nuts, but he can’t climb ladders, spackle, drill, hammer, whatever, the way he used to, so it all fell to me. I learned a lot in those first few months.