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Her brows knit as she shakes her head. “No, not at all. It was just the one-off role I played.”
When she sees the black look on my face, her smile dies.
“Is…something the matter?”
“Who’s the man who hired you,” I growl, my patience fading.
Kitamura’s brows knit. “I’m sorry, but what is this? What’s going on?”
Fuck it.
“The man who hired you is a murderous psychopath who used you to trick Freya and my cousin, and then kidnap them both.”
Kitamura’s face falls, horror washing over her. “That’sawful!” Then the second shoe drops as her own involuntary part in what’s happened hits her. “Oh myGod…” she chokes, holding a hand to her chest. “Oh myGod, and I—I helped him?—”
“You didn’t know,” I say coldly. “But right now, Kitamura, what I need isanyconnection to this man you may still have. Anything that might lead me to him.”
Her eyes dart back and forth, her face pale as she hugs herself. “I—I don’t know if I do. I only met him twice—once when he hired me, then once when he paid me, in cash.”
“Did he pay for your trip to New York?”
She nods. “Yes, but he just fronted me the money. I bought the tickets myself.”
I swear in English under my breath as I look away.
“Oh! I do have his number, if that helps?” she says nervously. “We talked details of the job on the phone a few times.”
I glance back at her. “That, Kitamura, would beverymuch appreciated.”
Five minutes later, after thanking her again and reassuring her that the Yakuza—she could tell from my arms—has no interest in her, I’m back outside, calling Oren.
He picks up after one ring.
“I need one more thing from you,” I mutter.
“Anything,” he growls. He’s heard by now what’s happened to Freya, Hana, and Kir.
“I need to find out if a number is still in use. If so, I need it traced to its last known location.”
It’s a long shot, but the number he used to communicate with Kitamura is different from the one he’s historically used to call me.
I’m just hoping to hell that he’s still got that phone on him.
“Done. What’s the number?”
I rattle it off to Oren. There’s a pause on the other end, then his voice comes through, slightly disbelieving. “Holy shit, it’s still active. I’m tracking it now.”
My pulse skips.
Another pause. “Norway.”
No…
“Looks like…a farm of some kind.”
My heart wrenches.
“Yep, got it. It’s a farm on Jordahl Lake. I’ll send you coordinates now.”
