Page 39 of No Sweeter Poison

Oscar gives a firm nod of the head. “Should we do a full shut down?”

I consider it but shake my head. “No, it’ll cause pandemonium. But I want everyone up in security to scan the last hour of footage.”

He nods again and takes off in the opposite direction while I beeline straight for my imbecile fucking brother.

“So we’re sitting in the back of this jacked up Jeep and I turn to him and say, does being a prince really help you get—?”

I grip him by the ear, just like Mom used to do when we were younger. “Excuse us,” I announce to the group.

Diego, slightly tipsy, spills half his whiskey as he trails after me. “Alejandro, ow!’

Tucked into a corner, I turn and say, “Where’s Dahlia?”

It takes Diego a second to register my question. “Oh shit.”

“Fucking. Idiot.”

He spins on his heels, frantically searching the room. “I swear I just saw her. She was playing a game of cards with…fuck…”

I take a minute to steady my breathing. The chances of Sandro’s people being here are slim to none. Someone on the inside would have to flip in order for an infiltration of that caliber to go undetected and it’ll be a cold day in Hell before one of our people betrays us. Which means Dahlia either left of her own volition, she’s lost somewhere in the building, or someone else took her.

Something tells me she noticed a lack of supervision and made a run for it.

“This fucking woman.” Diego’s close on my heel as I make my way across the main floor. “She’s going to be the death of me.”

I cross the entrance hall and head straight for the valet when I see Jacinta exit the booth, out of uniform, and her purse slung over her shoulder. The evening shift must be switching with the overnight shift.

“Jacinta,” I call out.

She pauses and looks up. As I approach her, she bows her head. “Señor Narvaez.”

“The woman we arrived with earlier. About your height, black dress, red hair. Have you seen her?”

Her brows furrow a bit. “Not since earlier. Hold on, let me ask Enrique, he’s taking over my shift.”

She approaches the valet booth and I follow as Diego heads straight towards the exit and surveys the area.

“Enrique, did you see a woman leave recently? About my height, red hair, black dress?”

“American,” I add. “Probably spoke to you in English.”

Enrique smacks his lips together, deep in thought. “The only Americans I remember seeing were the Wesleys. In fact, I was in the middle of filing a report upstairs. I know you didn’t want them hanging around here anymore.”

Ron and Callie Wesley weren’t always a problem. Unfortunately, they got mixed up with the wrong kind of people trying to support their coke addiction and now they’re peddlers for Vito Russo’s sex trafficking ring. Nowadays, they scope out places for young, unattached girls with no one to notice they’ve gone missing.

“Did you see them with anyone?”

He shrugs a bit. “You know them, they’re swingers. There was a guy, Balkan looking, an Asian woman, and a girl, probably ten years younger than them, might’ve been Latina.”

“What color was her hair?”

“Reddish black? But—”

I take off, not waiting for him to finish his sentence.

TWICE IN ONE SUMMER

Dahlia