The Edge of Obsession (Black Ops Confidential 2.5)

What? Her mind shifted gears. “I can’t see how that would be possible.”

“No one’s taken notice of you, your mission, or the fact you’re helping this woman? No one could be using her disappearance to lure you into anything?”

Her brother was very perceptive, but Rosa hadn’t been taken to lure her. That was separate. “Of course not. I’m much too professional for that.”

“What about your informant? Does he have a clue?”

Dada’s eyes rose to Sion, standing behind the laptop, arms crossed, listening intently. Tony would not understand him. Not. At. All.

“That’s a long pause, D. What’s going on?”

Dada’s ire rose, unexpected and sharp. “I know how to handle an informant.” And she did. But Sion wasn’t an informant. Not anymore. He was her partner. “Can I have approval for Gracie to get tracking information from the phone?”

Tony snorted. “Transmit it. I’ll take a look.”

That would take too long. “If you’re afraid of Justice—”

“Not only Justice. Momma’s nearly as determined to take out Walid, too, so, unless I want to lose my balls—hint, I don’t—nothing can risk the mission.”

“I’m calling in my favor.”

He veered back from the screen, eyebrows shooting to his hairline. “On this? You’ve been holding that shit over my head for eleven years.”

“Which tells you how important this is to me.”

Tony rubbed fingers back and forth across his forehead. “You’re getting emotional here. This is a mistake.”

Although she felt bad and feared risking the mission as much as he did, she’d made a promise to every woman in that tomb. The man who’d hurt them would pay.

“If you think that, if you think any emotional involvement should keep someone from the mission, then what about Justice? She’s chasing down the man who murdered her sister. I’m merely looking for a woman who’s gone missing.”

And trying to take down the man who’d held her captive. But he didn’t need to know that.

His hazel eyes closed for a moment. When they opened, they held cold frustration. “I’ve been blessed with some fucking nut-job sisters.”

Chapter 22

After all of the bargaining Dada had done with Tony, Gracie hadn’t been able to help out much. Armand’s GPS was incomplete, maybe due to occasional jamming. Gracie had been able to use this pattern of jamming to tell her that it was probably close to the restaurant and bar owned by Walid.

Backup plan. Gracie had also been able to use her cyber skills to send Armand a message and make it look like the message had originated with one of the men who worked with him at Walid’s. The message was clear—Walid has found the bodies. He knows you are stealing from him.

Now, all she had to do was wait for Armand to spook, decide to leave town and gather his belongs, one of which he would consider Rosa.

Seated at the bar, she tensed as Armand, carrying a large leather satchel, neared. She leaned back, accidentally bumping him with her arm, securing the tracking device.

Armand looked right at her and cursed, but didn’t slow. Shifting the weight of the padding for her disguise, she followed. The extra weight was cumbersome enough to make her exit obvious.

She walked out into the warm night. It was drizzling.

Armand looked back. His eyes swept over her. For all intents and purposes, she appeared to be a heavyset, older man with gray hair, large nose, and stooped shoulders.

Pivoting fast, Armand began walking. Obviously agitated, cursing under his breath, he lit a cigarette.

The sweet smoke hit Dada’s nose as she followed. Not a cigarette. All the better. Something stronger to soothe his frazzled nerves.

Keeping track of him on her phone, her heart in her throat, she dropped far enough back that she could only see him through the reflection of a glass window across the street. She kept her distance as he doubled back, practiced surveillance detection, and finally slipped into what appeared to be a corner grocery store that had gone out of business a decade ago.

Fingers flying over the keyboard, she texted Sion the address and told him—He went inside. Text Walid.

Shrugging the weight that ached against her shoulders, she inched to the corner and watched.

She couldn’t afford to wait for his response. Any delay might cost Rosa her life.

Weapon in hand, she glided around the store with the painted black windows that were a universal signal that someone was hiding something.

Dropping low, the extra weight pressing on her thighs, she squatted beside an HVAC, which was running, and quietly took off her disguise.

She shook out her arms, picked the lock, and swung the door open. Rats scurried across a backroom that had been turned into a makeshift kitchen, with a folding table and some chairs.

She swooped her light over pots and pans that seemed to have been left mid-dinner rush, along with an electric griddle with grease congealing across it, a series of plastic containers with food and numerous discarded beer bottles.

She lifted her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen. No Sion. And no signal. Gracie had been right. Armand employed a jamming device.

Dada continued through the door toward the front of the grocery store. Rotten and blackened food in dark refrigerators lined the back wall. A rolling bucket with a mop sticking from the top sat in the middle of an aisle and cans of food covered in dust littered the ground. The Walking Dead had less creepy stores.

There was another door leading to a stairwell—and that door was open. She heard voices and a chain rattling.

Dada crouched, gun raised, and waited. She heard arguing. A woman screamed in terror and pain. Cold fury erupted and Dada rose and entered the door.

A hair-raising scream and then, “Don’t touch me, you filthy pig!”

Rosa.

“How’s this for a touch?” A slap. “Or this?” Another, louder slap.

Rosa cried out.

Calm and focused, every step weighted and brought down with absolute quiet, she descended. The stairs were dark, enclosed by brick, hiding whatever lay beyond, but a light streamed from around the corner. At the bottom, she took a calming breath and sent a prayer that her abilities would be enough, that she would be quick enough. Gun raised, she pivoted around the corner and slid into the room.

Armand had his back to her, fighting the woman on a floor of bloody, vile mattresses. Rosa. Beaten, chained to a pipe, Rosa fought Armand as he tried to unlock her. This was what had happened to all those women. This was what hatred did.

Dada pointed her gun at Armand. “Leave her.”

Armand froze. He dropped Rosa’s wrists and turned.

For a moment, she could see Rosa. The young woman stared at her with sunken, tearful eyes. Dada’s stomach flipped. Sour bile rose into her mouth.

Armand stepped in front of Rosa, blocking her from view. He smiled, a smile as cold and confident as any Dada had ever seen. “And here is my other whore.”

Those words. Something tight rose in her chest. Every breath laced with the metallic odor of blood. Her heart pounded in her ears. “I’ll give you to three.”

She raised her gun. “One.”

Armand rushed at her. “Don’t you fucking count at me!”

Everything happened at once.

A sound from behind her, then Rosa screaming, “Behind!” while Armand rushed at her.

Dada shot, hitting him in the chest.

He jerked back and she pivoted.

Then something slammed into the side of her head, knocking her out.

#

Sitting in his car blocks from the bar, Sion gripped his phone, willing it to deliver the information. But something must have gone wrong because the tracker Dada was supposed to put on Armand should have sent the guy’s location to his phone.

But nothing.

He’d texted her three times. No response. He punched in her number. His phone went blank. Dead. This was no coi

ncidence. Someone had messed with his phone. But who and when? Could Dada have tried to protect him…

No. She trusted him as he trusted her. Bugger. The thought of Dada facing down a man who had tortured her as a child sent him into a blind panic.

He reached into his cup holder, pulled out the cell that Dada had given him for emergency use only, and dialed the one number she’d programmed into it.

A man answered. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Hi, Tony, mate, this is Juan. Da—” Fuck. “Dee’s informant. I need your help.”

“What’s going on?”

He filled him in. As he spoke, he could hear the man covering the phone, talking to someone else.

“Hold,” Tony said, “we’re checking her GPS.”

Sion pressed the phone to his ear, trying to hear behind the muffled sound.

“I don’t fucking care!” Tony yelled to someone. “Fuck protocols. Give me the information.”

A split second later, he was back. “Juan?”

“Here.”

“Last known has her a dozen blocks from where you are now.”

How did he know where he was?

“Her signal winks out. Seems like she went into a building with jamming. I’ve sent the address.”