Page 14 of The Voicemail

“Yes.”

“Does everyone here?”

“Pretty much.”

Luca makes a quiet sound behind me that he covers badly with a cough. Elena looks at him, genuinely baffled.

“Was that funny?”

“Yes,” Luca says.

“No,” I answer at the same time.

Luca’s mouth twitches. Elena stares at both of us like we’re insane. I nod toward the hallway where Adriana is waiting with a glass of water.

“Adriana will show you the room.”

She nods and follows Adriana, glancing back once before she turns the corner. She doesn’t trust me. She probably shouldn’t.

When she’s out of sight, Luca’s expression hardens.

“What did you find out about her?” I ask him.

“Very little,” he answers. “From what I can tell, she’s completely clean. She’s got her master’s degree in art history from NYU. She’s never had so much as a parking ticket. She’s been at her current job for three years. She started at the gallery right out of college and got promoted twice.”

I nod.

“What about the stalker?”

“I traced the IP addresses from the number. You were right, he’s one of Bianchi’s. Half the places he’s texted her from were Bianchi’s.”

“So, she’s just some woman who happened to land on the radar of one of Bianchi’s associates?” I ask, turning toward him. “That seems a little fucking convenient.”

“I agree,” he answers tightly. “Which is why I think you need distance from this girl.”

I take off my coat and look at the blood on my cuff. It’s not much. Enough that Elena noticed, though. I’m getting the feeling she’s a little too observant.

“She needed somewhere secure,” I tell him. “This is temporary. Just for the night.”

“You could have put her anywhere,” he says. I shoot him a look. “All I’m saying is, if this runs longer than a night, put her somewhere neutral and keep your distance.”

I look at him. He doesn’t back down. Few men do that with me. Fewer survive it.

“She’s a civilian,” he goes on. “She’s scared, and she’s connected to Bianchi somehow. We don’t know how yet. Putting her under your roof sends him the wrong signal. It makes him think she’s more important than she is.”

“He already thinks she’s important,” I remind him. “He sent someone after her.”

“We don’t know Bianchi did that.”

“We know enough.”

His phone chimes and he looks down at it. He smiles slightly and holds the phone out to me.

“Now we know a little more. I got this from your description.”

He turns the screen toward me.

A photo fills it. Grainy, taken from a security camera near Bellamy’s staff entrance. The man is angled away, but the build is right. Thick neck. Heavy shoulders. Dark coat. The same posture I saw in the hallway before he ran.