Luca

 

“Thanks for the lift.” I pull the seatbelt over my shoulder and click it in place just as Marco’s car roars to life, the speed plastering me to the back of the seat as we race down an empty alleyway. The McLaren F1 is his baby, his pride and joy, and it’s hard to believe he even brought it out.

“You’re welcome. Now what the hell’s going on?” He shifts gear, the car roaring away from the city. Maybe he worries about being overheard.

I told Ariel I wouldn’t tell. She trusts me, and I struggle with what to do, how much to reveal. If I tell him, will she forgive me? I’m thinking it over when Marco says, “I swear, Luca. I’ll turn this car around and dump your ass at the police station unless you tell me what I’ve gotten myself into.”

He’s a no-nonsense guy and I know he’ll do it. “I met a girl.”

His head swivels around, his eyes incredulous. “You? Mister I-don’t-do-commitments?”

“Yes, me.” I shrug. “What can I say, she’s different than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“She must be. What happened?”

I cross my arms and sigh. I have no choice. I need Marco’s help. “She’s missing. That thumb drive is hers. Her stepfather was into some illegal shit, but . . .” I shake my head, “I had no idea it was so bad. He kept her locked up, so when she escaped, she stole his drug money and headed north.”

“Shit. And you think they’ve found her?”

“Yes . . . No . . .” I thread my hand through my hair. “I don’t know. She was always worried about that. Wouldn’t even go out to eat with me.” I stare out the window and wonder where Marco’s taking me. But I don’t ask. “Last night, she was talking to a pen pal when she said she had to go. Said she got a call and had to go help a friend. But I checked, and the two friends she has say they didn’t call her.”

“I looked into it. The last call to her cell came from a burner number. So, I’d say she’s been taken.”

“Maybe they’ll keep her alive long enough to find the money.”

With his lips set in a grim line, he murmurs, “Fuck, Luca.” I know the chances of finding Ariel alive are slim.

We pull into the parking lot of a nondescript warehouse. Dingy windows, graffiti on white peeling paint. “What is this place?”

“Come on, you’ll see.”

He leads me inside to a large cubicle made of monitors. Two guys sit in the middle.

“Hey, Marco,” the wiry guy with short blond hair and glasses calls out.

“Josh,” Marco acknowledges him. “This is my cousin Luca.”

“What’s up, man?” He holds out his fist, expecting a bump. Stupid, I know, but I oblige.

Another guy, around twenty, short platinum Mohawk, gauge earrings, and tattooed sleeves up his arms wheels around in his chair. He lifts his chin in greeting. “Marco, what’s up?”

“Hey, Spike,” Marco says as he briskly walks around to a set of monitors and slides into the rolling chair. “I need to find someone.”

The two guys spin back around to their monitors, fingers poised over the keyboards.

“Which cameras? Who we looking for?”

“Luca?”

“Long blonde hair, around twenty. She lives near Tenth and Second.”

All three are busy, their fingers flying over computer keys as Marco informs them, “She got a call at three-fifty-eight a.m. from a burn number. So check the cameras starting at three-forty-five.”

“Sure thing,” Josh replies.

I glance around. The inside of the warehouse is high-tech savvy, equipped with only the best technology.

The three of them work meticulously, images flashing on the screen before being quickly discarded. I try to watch, see what they’re doing, but it’s no use.

“I may have something!” Spike says as an image freezes on the screen.

Marco wheels around to see the image. “Luca, is this the girl?”

I lean in close to the screen, squinting at the distant image, and my heart sinks in disappointment. “No, that’s not her.”

“Keep looking, guys,” Marco says as he spins back to face his own computer.

Five minutes pass.

Ten minutes pass.

Twenty-five and I am about to give up hope.

“There,” Josh says, freezing another image on his screen.

I rush over to get a look. As he slowly clicks through the images, a dread of fear coils inside me.

The first image shows Ariel with a surprised smile on her face.

The next image her face in bathed in fear.

The third image a man is attacking her.

The fourth image the man is pushing her into the back of a dark van.

The last image is an empty street. Ariel, and the van, gone.

I swallow hard. “That’s her. That’s Ariel.”

Marcos wheels around, his face solemn. “She’s been taken.”

“Can you zoom in on the guy’s face and print me a copy?”

With a nod, Spike does as requested.

When I have the photo in hand, I stare at the man who kidnapped Ariel. I don’t know him, at least I don’t think so. Maybe someone at the bar has seen him around.

“We’ll run his photo, see if we can identify him. But it may take a while.”

“Thanks, Marco,” I say absently, still staring at the man who took Ariel.

I hear him give the two guys instructions before he says, “Come on, Luca, I’ll drive you back to the city.”

“Thanks.”

~~~~

Back at the bar, I slide onto a stool beside Tony. Jimmy stands in front of me with his arms crossed. I don’t have time for his shit, or his attitude.

“Bourbon, on the rocks.”

Jimmy doesn’t say anything as he grabs a glass. I pull the photo out and stare at the man who kidnapped Ariel. I need to call the police, but my gut feeling says she’s no longer in New York. Maybe the FBI can help.

“Here you go.” Jimmy sets the drink down in front of me, a little sloshing out with the force. After a few seconds of silence, Jimmy leans back and folds his arms. “Where’s Ariel?”

Instead of answering, I turn the photo around. “Do you know this guy?”

Jimmy narrows his eyes. “Yeah, he comes into the bar.”

“Who is he?”

Jimmy focuses on the guy before scanning the room. “Alina,” he uses two fingers to gesture her over, “come here for a minute.”

Alina walks over and stands to my left. “What’s up?”

I turn the photo her direction as Jimmy says, “What’s this guy’s name?”

“That’s Matt. He comes in here often and talks to Ariel.” Her eyes bounce between me and Jimmy. “Why?”

Glancing back down at Matt, the one who asked Ariel out on a date, I grit my teeth and admit, “He took her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he kidnapped her.”

Alina’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. “Oh my God! Have you called the police?”

“Not yet.”

“Why the hell not?” Jimmy says, anger dripping from every word.

I must seem like the biggest asshole ever, but I promised Ariel I wouldn’t tell them. I’ve already betrayed her trust by telling Marco, but she was adamant that I not tell Jimmy.

“Do either of you know anything about this Matt? Maybe a last name? Where he works?”

Jimmy shakes his head no, but Alina snaps her fingers. “I think I overheard him say he had a construction job he’d just finished.”

“That’s a start.” I hope. Without another word, I nod at Tony. I’m ready to leave.

Before I make it to the limo, two guys in suits step in front of us, blocking the way. “Mr. Damonte, I’m Agent Cummings. This is my partner, Agent Scott. We’d like to ask you some questions about Ariel Hancock.”

“Why?” I fold my arms across my chest. They say they are FBI, and I probably do need to speak with them, but right now I want to look over the information on the thumb drive.

“We know you’ve been seeing her, and we just need some information.”

“I’m in the middle of something right now. Is there a place and a time I can meet you this evening, or in the morning?”

“I would rather you come with us now.”

Agent Cummings stares at me. He seems angry but I don’t know why. It’s puzzling. “Sorry, gentlemen. But unless you are planning to arrest me, I’ll see you later.” With those parting words, I head toward the limo, where Tony waits with the door open.

After I slide into the back seat, Agent Cummings grips the door. “This evening then.”

His intense eyes match my own as I study him. With a brief nod, I say, “My office, six p.m.” The door shuts and Tony drives away, leaving Agent Cummings standing on the street.

Back at my office, my cheek propped in one hand while the other hand drums on the desk, I look over the information on the thumb drive.

Frank Stone lives in McAllen, Texas, while the Diaz family resides in Reynosa, Tamaulipas. I think. When I decipher and follow the money trail, that’s what I deduce. Now I just have to figure out how Ariel fits in.

Three hours later, I rub my tired eyes and shut the screen down. I can tell you almost word for word about Frank Stone, but I’m still lost.

There’s a light knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Tony fills the doorway as he waits for me to say something. He’s a quiet man who barely speaks unless it’s important.

I flick my wrist and gesture for him to come in. But he doesn’t. I’m tired and hungry, and no closer to finding Ariel than I was three hours ago.

“Boss, there’s an Agent Cummings here to see you.”

Ahh, I forgot about him. “Send him in.”

A large man, around six-two, fills the entrance. He has sandy blond hair and a chiseled jaw set in a no-nonsense look. His suit is not as nice as mine.

“Agent Cummings,” I wave to the leather chair in front of my desk, “please, have a seat.”

He stalks in and lowers himself down. The silence is deafening and I still don’t know what his problem is. I lean back in my chair and fold my arms across my chest. If he wants to play games, then I’m the master.

Uncomfortable silence . . . for him.

I wait.

“Damonte, I need to ask you some questions about the woman you are seeing.”

I tip my head. “Ariel.”

“Ariel.” One side of his lips curls up. “Do you know where I can find her?”

I sit forward in alarm. “You don’t know?”

His face morphs from slight arrogance to concern. He uncrosses his legs and sits up a little straighter. “Know what?”

I study him, not knowing what to say. I don’t want to show my cards without finding out answers myself, but I know I need his help. Dammit!

“Look, Agent Cummings, I have information, but I also need information. Maybe we can work out a deal?”

He crosses his arms, saying nothing at first. Then, “What do you want?”

“I want to know her full name and how she fits in with Frank Stone.”

“And what do I get in return?”

I chew the inside of my cheek. It pains me to say it, to hand it over, but I tip my hand. “All the information I have, plus one special thumb drive.”

His eyes widen slightly, and that’s the only emotion he shows. He licks his lips and I know he’s thinking. I would be too. After a moment of contemplation, he says, “Her name is Brylee Ann Nolan and she’s Frank Stone’s stepdaughter.”

Unable to stop myself, I jump to my feet, anger boiling inside me. He’s the asshole who kept her prisoner. Frank Stone. “Is he dead?” I need to know because if he still lives, I’ll kill him myself.

Images of Ariel, I mean Brylee, race forth and I picture her being held prisoner . . . again.

“No. He’s in jail waiting for his trial.”

No way in hell I won’t hand over every piece of evidence I have against that man.

“Ariel—Brylee—she’s been kidnapped.” Cummings leaps to his feet, but I keep talking. “I have a picture of the man who took her, but I don’t know him. All the information I can find is false. His name, job, everything.” I hand him the picture. “He visited Ariel at the bar, and he told them he was a construction worker named Matt.”

Cummings stares at the picture with a worried look. “This is Alexander Garcia. He’s a distant cousin to Davie Diaz.”

“Shit!” I know that name. I’ve studied the thumb drive thoroughly. Speaking of which, I take it from the computer and hand it to Cummings. “Ariel and I found this in a picture frame. It should help.”

He stares slack-jawed at the thumb drive before he closes his mouth and slowly takes it from my hand.

“Please find her,” I say. And I mean every word of it.