Daryl is already at my house, sitting at my kitchen table, a small mountain of scrambled eggs and a cold can of Coke in front of him. He’s reading information off his official FBI tablet. He doesn’t look happy.

I did what he asked. I’d come straight to my house, and I hadn’t told anyone, not even Ella, who I was meeting, but the fact that he’d ordered me around like I’m some agent assigned to his team rather than his friend, pisses me off.

If I’d wanted to be told what I can and can’t do, I would have continued working with one of the big, established software development firms rather than starting my own small, one-man design business.

Still, there’s no point in yelling at him. The only thing that will accomplish is making him angry. I know that while I manage to occasionally beat him when we spar, if we ever get into a real fight, my ass would meet the floor in seconds.

I nod at the Coke. “How can you drink that stuff this early in the morning?”

I’ve never understood how someone who works out all the time, partly because of his job but mostly because after watching both his father and grandfather die young due to health problems connected to weight, can suck down so many sugar-filled drinks. It’s rare to see Daryl without a familiar red and white can gripped between his fingers.

“Tastes better than coffee. Provides the same kick.”

I shrug and dig an apple out of the fruit bowl I keep on my kitchen counter. I crunch into it before taking a seat opposite Daryl.

He studies me with his big, dark eyes, taking in every aspect of my appearance. “Rough night?”

“Weird day followed by an…unusual night.” I shoot him a dark glare. “And you better have a damn good reason for demanding I drop everything and race over here, because just as you called my morning was morphing into something spectacular.”

Daryl cocks a brow and looks interested, but he doesn’t ask any questions about the roller coaster ride my life has been on since we parted yesterday morning. “Did you invest any money or sign any type of contract with Abutilon?”

“The call center Ella works for? No.” A bolt of curiosity spikes through me. Finding out that I was the father of a gorgeous and precocious little girl who has life-threatening health concerns had been so distracting, I’d completely forgotten about Daryl’s strange response when I mentioned the call center.

“Truthfully, I’m not really planning on it. That was just something I said to get through their door so I could see Ella.”

“Good.” Daryl looks genuinely relieved. “And you’re one hundred percent certain you didn’t sign anything?”

“Yes, absolutely positive. I called and told them I was an investor and that someone had recommended their business as a sound investment opportunity and that I wanted to check them out. I looked at some papers their pathetic excuse of a manager handed me, connected with Ella, and dragged her out of there. That was the extent of our interaction.”

“The fact you looked at company paperwork isn’t good, but it shouldn’t be that big a deal,” Daryl mutters, more to himself than me. “I should be able to keep you out of this mess. Probably.”

That gets my attention. “Yo, what mess?”

“Abutilon is a dirty company,” Daryl says in the same tone of voice most people use to announce that it’s laundry day or that they’re making lamb chops for dinner.

I gape at him. “Excuse me?”

“They’re dirty,” Daryl repeats.

“Yep, got that. You want to tell me what makes them dirty and how you know about it?”

Daryl rolls his massive shoulders and swipes his fingers across the tablet’s screen a few times before handing the electronic device to me.

“At first glance they look like a legit call center and about, I’d say, seventy-five percent of what they do is legal. The problem is that not only are they a front company for the mafia, but the remaining twenty-five percent of what they do crosses the line. They run a few clever cons, steal identities, and launder money through the company. I’m pretty sure that when we dig just a little deeper into their records we’re going to find enough evidence to file a tax evasion charge.”

The bottom falls out of my stomach and a cold fist closes around my heart. If I’d been a serious investor, would my intuition have kicked in, alerting me that something was wrong, or would I have blindly aligned myself with a mafia run business? And if my instincts hadn’t picked up on the problem, would I have found myself facing criminal charges and a lengthy stay in a state or Federal prison?

A shudder runs through me and I vow to make sure that I don’t even mention the word ‘investing’ again unless I’m in the company of a legit broker who knows a red flag when they see one.

“For years, there have been whispered rumors about Abutilon, but the FBI has only been watching them for the last seven months. They assigned me to lead the investigating team,” Daryl says.

Of all the projects Daryl could have been assigned to, of all the businesses in the city Ella could work for, they happen to hit on the one that brings them and me into the same orbit. Fate really is a funny old thing sometimes.

I dig my cell phone out of my pocket and activate the screen. “I need to call Ella.” I start taping the keypad, typing in the number I’ve already memorized. “Tell her she has to quit her job. Today.”

“You can’t.” Daryl reaches out and plucks the phone from my hand before I finish dialing. He doesn’t even bother powering the phone off. He simply removes it from the case, pops the backing, and removes the battery.

Fury and anxiety heat my blood. “Why the hell not?” I grab my phone back from him, and quickly start reassembling it.

“Because Ella is part of the problem.”

I’m so stunned I drop my phone. I must have heard him wrong. There’s no way he can possibly think that Ella, my Ella, would do something so stupid.

Daryl doesn’t wait for me to ask. “Ella is short for Eleanor Collins, right?”

I nod and wait to see which direction he’s going to take the conversation.

“Eleanor Collins has been one of the people my people have taken a special interest in. Based on the evidence we’ve managed to gather, she’s in bed with the mafia.”

I feel like I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole. If it was anyone but Daryl sitting across from me, I’d say they were full of shit. But it isn’t anyone else and I’ve known Daryl too long to think he would toss out an accusation of mafia connections if he didn’t have some really good evidence to back up what he was saying.

“Officially, Ella is employed as a phone operator and that does seem to be how she spends most of her time.”

“She also does freelance web development work,” I mutter.

“She does,” Daryl confirms. “Where things get interesting is when you dig into her background. A few times a month, Abe Bianchi, son of the Victor Bianchi who happens to be the leader of the Bianchi crime family, pays her a visit. Abe’s not as smart as his father; most of the guys in the Bureau are taking bets on how many months it will take Abe to run the crime syndicate into the ground when he takes over. I figure about six months. But Abe’s lack of skills isn’t stopping Victor from grooming the kid to take over.”

“What does this have to do with Ella?”

“Abe goes to her apartment a few times a month. He doesn’t enter the place, but he hangs around outside waiting for her to get home.”

The knot in my belly draws tighter. I can’t stand the thought of someone like that breathing the same air as Ella and Kelsey. Needing something to do with my hands, I finish putting my cell phone together and press the power button.

“The fact that he goes there is bad enough, especially given the fact that the Bianchi family is tied to Abutilon, but the really damning part is that on the third Friday of the month, she gives him a bag full of cash. We’re currently in the process of getting a warrant for her bank records so we can try to determine how much money she’s giving him and where it’s coming from. What we do know is that this routine has been going on for five or six years.”

“But—” I’m struggling to process everything Daryl has told me so far.

“I’ve been to her apartment. She doesn’t have anything. She’s living well below the amount of money she makes at the call center.”

I don’t know why just yet, but this information seems important. I decide to let it roll over in my mind a few times just to see if it takes some kind of shape, becomes something I can use to defend Ella.

Daryl shrugs one massive shoulder. “It doesn’t look like it, but maybe she’s clever enough to know that by living in poverty, she decreases the odds of anyone looking at her too closely, negating the chances of anyone finding the link between her and the Bianchi family.”

Something doesn’t feel right about this explanation. Yet another thing to stew about.

“And then there’s the computer stuff,” Daryl continues.

“Which is?”

“On several occasions, Ella has been brought in to work on Abutilon’s computer system. She’s even designed a few programs for them. Programs that have already been connected to at least one or two of Abutilon illegal activities.”

My cell phone rings, startling both of us. I look at the screen, hoping it’s Ella, that she can provide some sort of reasonable explanation that negates everything my best friend has said about her. But it’s not Ella’s number on the screen. It’s one I don’t recognize. I almost hit the red reject button, but at the last second I change my mind and tap the green answer icon.

“Hello.”

“Jason. Jason Monroe.” The caller is breathless, like she’s just finished a long-distance foot race. The voice sounds like it belongs to an older woman. There’s something familiar about it, though I can’t pair it with a name or a face.

“Speaking.”

“Thank God. I found this number in Ella’s things and hoped it was yours.”

Recognition dawns. “Is this Ella’s friend? Adele?”

“Yes,” she confirms. I hear her draw a deep breath. “I’m calling to tell you that Ella’s manager at the call center just called me and said that Ella hasn’t shown up for work, which isn’t like her at all. He thought that maybe she was too sick to phone in.”

When I left Ella this morning she’d been perfectly healthy. Before I can say this, Adele continues talking.

“She’s been having some problems with the Bianchi family. She owes them money and Abe Bianchi has been putting some pressure on her.”

And just like that all the pieces fit together. I catch Daryl’s eye.

“Mister Monroe—” There’s no mistaking the fear running through Adele’s voice. “I’m afraid he’s done something to her.”