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If I get too close, I’m spotted and she’s dead.
It’s the only reason I’m paying him attention.
“Smith? When were you going to tell me Dakota’s your daughter?” Jones asks, frustration in his voice as we watched the CCTV footage from across the road. It’s a camera he had put up in the night, I imagine. We’re in a work van. Slap some kind of industrial or maintenance signs on a van, and you can blend.
“When you tell me why this is so important to you.” Smith is not playing.
“Since we’re all in the van, and I haven’t killed anyone yet,” I say, “Jaxson Carter is going to die in prison, and this will get us the names of some players and send the rest scurrying to help?”
“Your—ah, Dakota came up with that idea, and Jones said she should put it out as the ones who helped on her media feed,” Malone says. “They won’t be welcome and they just might turn over more of them. Smart fucking cookie. And hot.”
I narrow my eyes at Malone.
“For fuck’s sake,” mutters Smith.
The anger burns like acid in my throat, my fingertips. Jones pushed her further onto the fame stage. Then again, it’s where she wants to be, right?
“The dickwad’s taking her to a private airport in Jersey.” Jones doesn’t look up from the computer he has. “Confirmation his jet’s being readied for Arizona. Some no-name area…”
“He’s got a place there.” Smith’s voice is low.
“Get my jet ready.” Jones barks this into a phone. Then he looks up at the driver. “The Brooklyn airport.”
It’s his private one.
And my leg bounces. I can’t sit still.
Too long. Too complicated. That’s what this feels like.
What did Dakota say?
“Simple is usually the right answer,” I mutter under my breath.
Her idea was simple. Reel Trent in by claiming I took her both times, she’s sure of it. Just like she’s sure he rescued her. He’d then make his move, get her alone. And that’s where we’d close in.
But now they added me as Jaxson Carter, and they’re using her online fame, using her more than they ever should. Now we’re fueling and chasing fucking jets and…
Would this man really have his collection so far away?
I catch Malone’s eye. “Can you find out how often he goes to Arizona?”
He nods and types on his phone. “Not often. Maybe every few years, has some properties…” He goes through the feed he’s got on his phone. “Spends more time in Seattle.”
Arizona means something.
“Think simple,” I mutter.
I look at her trackers. She isn’t heading to Jersey. Then I ask, “Any named properties?”
“There’s this place in Queens.” He shows me his phone.
Oh, fuck.
“Jones. Turn the van around. We’re going the wrong way.”
I choose my biggest gun and pray we’re not too late.
FORTY
