Sixty-Five

FSS had a fleet of planes and as soon as Ben’s Lear took off with Sabrina inside, Michael was hustled onto one of them. Within minutes they were airborne, flying in another direction.

He was alone, but that didn’t mean he was unobserved. A quick scan of the jet’s interior revealed several security cameras. Mapping out their trajectories, he took a seat to the right of the main entrance. There was a camera aimed directly at him, but the visual would be obstructed by the high-backed leather seats in front of him. Taking the window seat, he slumped into it, casually reaching into the breast pocket of the suit jacket Ben had insisted that he take with him.

His fingers closed around the same small metal case the Pip had been shaking only an hour before. He pulled it out. Nothing inside it would help him now unless he was interested in killing the pilot and crashing into the ocean.

Keeping his movements as small as possible, he pulled off his boot. Reaching inside, he lifted the insert that covered the heel. Hidden inside the molded compartment was a satellite phone. When Ben had given him the boots for his birthday a few months ago, he’d thought they were a gag gift. Now he was convinced of their practical applications.

Powering it on, the cell’s screen came to life. There was only one number programmed into the phone. Rather than place a call he knew would be overheard, he used the keypad to punch out a text message.

Your father took Sabrina.

He hit send and waited. After a few minutes, he tried again.

He’s taking her to Reyes.

No response. Fuck.

Ben. Answer me.

He dropped the cell into his lap and stared out the window. It had been Ben’s plane that Shaw used to take her. Maybe Ben knew everything.

Maybe he was in on it.

Ben, I swear if you had anything to do with this, I’ll kill you.

Calm down, Mikey. WTF are you talking about?

Only one person called him Mikey. Lark. He swiped a hand over his face. Just what he needed.

Go get him, Lark. Now.

Hold up … Shaw took her? To Reyes?

Quit talking and do what you’re told.

You quit being a bitch and let me help.

He focused on the words—what they meant. Once upon a time, Lark had been the only person he trusted. That trust had nearly cost him everything and here he was, being forced to trust him again.

Come on, man. Let me help.

Shit.

Find me everything you can about Pia Cordova. Known contacts. Where’s she’s been in the past six months. Financial activity. Surveillance photos. Everything.

If he was going to have any sort of chance at saving Sabrina, he’d need all the help he could get. There was a reason Reyes wanted Pia Cordova dead so bad. On the surface she was nothing but an overindulged party girl who spent her days working out her Black AmEx Card so hard you’d think shopping was an Olympic sport and her nights dropping ecstasy and doing lines of coke off the glass tables in the VIP lounge of whatever club she was at. Why she mattered was a mystery, but Pia Cordova posed some sort of threat that he couldn’t quite see. Not yet anyway.

The phone buzzed in his hand and he took a look at the screen.

Give me thirty minutes.