“Thank you.”
With a brisk nod, Juan faced his son. He said something in Spanish that sounded like an order. Arlo frowned, but he nodded and muttered something back. Killian had never been any good at picking up other languages, not like his father, but he suspected Juan was telling his son not to fuck up. He relayed the same message to the men before turning and marching out the way he’d come in with three of the eight men following. Arlo met Killian’s eye and the two exchanged a mutual displeasure over the situation before Arlo’s attention was drawn over Killian’s shoulder to Vi again. Vi caught his glance a second time and her frown was even more vicious than the first time.
“Got a problem, pal?” she muttered.
A smirk tweaked the corner of Arlo’s mouth, darkening his eyes. “I got something.” The remark was followed by the lazy glide of his gaze down the length of her. Killian felt his annoyance prickle and was about to tell the shithead to keep his eyes to himself when Vi beat him to it.
“I don’t something outside my species. Might want to find someone with low self-esteem issues and bad eyesight.”
With that, she folded her arms and stomped over to her usual haunting grounds, only to find her seat occupied. Killian hadn’t forgotten about Marco. He just wasn’t sure what the hell to do with him now. Normally, a slow and agonizing death came to mind, but this was Marco. He used to help Killian into the car when he was too small to get in by himself. He used to help with his seatbelt and made sure it was done up tight. He’d been in the family since before Frank. Since before Killian’s parents had even met. He was family. Had been. He had been family.
“Dominic!” Killian called without taking his eyes off the man waiting for his execution.
Dominic stepped on the threshold, hands clasped neatly in front of him. “Sir?”
Killian jerked a nod towards Marco. “Take him to the basement. Keep him there until I say otherwise.”
Bowing his head once, Dominic hurried forward. Marco was already on his feet, waiting. Neither man said a word as Marco was led out.
Killian glanced up and met Frank’s hard expression. There were extra folds on his face that hadn’t been there before and a flicker of grief in his dark eyes that Killian understood; he wasn’t the only person Marco had betrayed.
“You should go, Frank,” he said quietly.
Frank squared his large shoulders, lifted his chin, and gave a quick nod. “Yes sir.”
“Take Arlo and his men with you as backup.” Anything to get them out of his house.
“Yes sir.”
He stomped forward and the group fell into step in an efficient cluster out the door, leaving Killian alone with Vi.
“He took Juliette?” the girl asked.
Killian moved to his desk. “That’s what he says.”
Vi narrowed her eyes. “You don’t believe him?”
“I do.” He took a seat and stared at his monitor. “He doesn’t know who he gave her to.”
Vi edged closer and perched tentatively in her favorite chair. “Yeah, I heard that part. Phil said he’d been with you for ages. Did you piss him off?”
Killian looked up. “Why would you think I would piss him off?”
The girl shrugged. “Isn’t that how it usually works? Jaded employee kidnaps boss’s girlfriend to get even.”
It was almost laughable, but he knew she was being serious.
“Marco was my dad’s driver,” he explained. “He’d been working for us for years. He was family.”
“Well, I hope you kill him,” Vi decided without missing a beat. “No offense, but he’s the reason Juliette is missing and possibly hurt. I don’t feel sorry for him at all.”
How different the sisters were, Killian thought, studying the girl. Juliette would have begged him to spare Marco’s life, to forgive and forget. Or maybe not so different. He remembered telling her about killing Yolvoski and she had accepted that without batting an eye. The woman was forever surprising him.
“Do you think we’ll find her?” Vi’s voice was small and housed all the insecurities and doubts Killian had been struggling with.
“Aye,” he answered without hesitation. “I won’t lose her.”
The third video arrived two days later. Killian stood at his desk, surrounded by Arlo’s men, his men, and Vi. A map of the city lay open across the cleared surface and lines had been drawn in thick, red marker.
The last place Marco had seen Juliette was an abandoned district on the outskirts of the city near the river. Its only inhabitants were the homeless, drug pushers, and the occasional strung out prostitutes. Marco hadn’t lied about there being no surveillance. Frank and the crew had returned with absolutely nothing to show for it.
“I have some men in that area,” Arlo stated. “I’ll make some calls and see if anyone saw a van around in the last couple of weeks.”
Killian nodded. “Tell them the van would have been heading east. West is blocked off after the bridge collapsed.”
“Well, that doesn’t really mean anything,” Vi piped in. “Boats can still pass through in the spring when the lake isn’t frozen.”
Killian looked at her. “Boats?”
The girl shrugged. “Why not? You can easily get a van down that incline to the waterline and then get on a boat.”
She had the attention of everyone in the room. A slight tinge of pink worked up into her cheeks, but she remained firm.
“À la française,” she said like it was supposed to mean something to any of them. “Really?” she snapped when no one seemed to know what she was talking about. “I am the youngest person here and I rarely even bother going to school.” When it became apparent that she would need to explain, she huffed loudly. “À la française is basically French Style or In French Style, which I personally don’t understand, but I guess it’s supposed to be romantic. It was that whole district.” She tapped the map where Killian had drawn a ring around the spot Marco had dropped Juliette off at. “Back in the day, when the bridge wasn’t a heap of scrap metal dumped into disgusting brown waters, à la française was like the New Orleans of the city. Parties every night, lots of sex, drugs, and midnight cruises across Harrison Lake. People would pay big bucks to get pampered and dine on one of the glamorous yachts. Around like the turn of the century or something, the bridge structure collapsed and the thing crumpled into the lake and the whole district was reduced to garbage and bums.”
“I remember something about that,” one of Arlo’s men pipped in. “Not so much the pampering, but a lot of the sections used to use the bridge to push their product. They would smuggle it to the water’s edge and…” He followed the blue gash of the Harrison up stream and stopped just where the lake branched off. “Unload around here. Caused a lot of turf wars.”
Arlo nodded. “That stopped when the bridge went down, cutting the lake in half and making it impossible to cross.”
“But you can still get around that,” Vi chimed up quickly. She snatched a pen out of the cup holder and bent over the map. “There’s an opening where the bridge ends meet the shore. Here.” She circled the spot and straightened. “You can easily walk through it to the other side. From there, it’s a ten minute walk to this really cute beach. It’s not really a beach, obviously, but it’s very romantic late at night when…” she trailed off when she glanced up and found everyone watching her. Her cheeks darkened. “Not that I’ve ever been there or anything.”
Killian stared at her, eyes narrowed. “I’m guessing Juliette doesn’t know about your … discovery?”
Vi faltered. “No…” She grimaced. “But aren’t you glad I never listen?”