“Is it safe to come in?” he asked me, his cheeks red with a blush.
“It’s safe. He was lying about Isabel, he had to be.” She was the alien in my vision. I just didn’t know why Hudson would lie about something like that. I let it go, though. For now.
Jaxon entered fully, then closed the door behind him with a click. “What a bastard,” he said, his tone sickened and disgusted as he repeated my thoughts. “That man deserves pain. Lots and lots of pain.”
“At least we’ve confirmed Atlanna’s existence.”
“And Kyrin’s, as well. What if he, Lilla, and Atlanna are working together?”
“Maybe. I mean, I can see that for Steele—Lilla wanted Steele, he rejected her, so the brother and Atlanna get angry—but what about the other abductions? No motive.” I sighed. “I’ll question Lilla again tomorrow and see what I can learn. Tonight—” I clamped my mouth shut the moment I realized I was about to tell him my plans to search for Kyrin.
Yet, that quickly, I came to another realization. I couldn’t do this on my own. I couldn’t search for Kyrin, search for Atlanna, read case files, study crime scene photos, endure another interrogation with Lilla, and find the missing men—all in three days.
I needed someone I trusted to assist me.
Who better than Jaxon? I studied his face. Despite his scar, he was a sensually handsome man. His eyes were more silver than blue, his nose slightly crooked from being broken one too many times. Soft lips, strong chin. He wore his dark, slightly curly hair shaggy so it always looked windblown.
He was regarding me with kindness and concern.
“Tonight,” I continued, after dragging in and pushing out a deep breath, “I need your help.”
He didn’t even pause. “Whatever I can do, I will. You know that.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Jaxon. I’ll hold you to that.”
CHAPTER 11
I drove Jaxon to Trollie’s, a café and bar situated a few miles from headquarters and the only restaurant open twenty-four hours. On any given day and at any given time, the place was packed from end to end with A.I.R. agents, both on and off duty. The food was mediocre, but the atmosphere was exceptional—dimmed lighting, soft, relaxing music, and raunchy agents cracking dirty jokes. A five-star meal couldn’t compare to that.
During the drive, I filled Jaxon in on Kyrin, Dallas, and Lilla. I left out nothing. Jaxon never once interrupted me. When I had finished, I waited for some type of response from him.
Only silence greeted me, and several minutes ticked away.
“So,” I said, flicking him a quick glance, “do you still want to help me?”
He stared out the passenger window. “Give me some time to digest this. That’s a lot to throw at a man.”
Time was the only thing I didn’t have. “You’ve got until we’re seated at Trollie’s. If you won’t help me, I’ll have to find someone else.”
He hissed out a breath between his teeth, filling the car with a soft whistle. “Are you always this impatient?”
“Always.”
“I bet you drove Dallas crazy.”
“You could make a fortune on that bet.”
We made the rest of the drive in silence. A few minutes later, we eased onto a gravel drive and parked in front of a cheap orange boxcar, elongated for space.
Outside, the air was cold and quiet, scented with car exhaust. When I pulled open the brass-handled door, a volley of drunken chatter spilled out. We cut through a thick haze of cigarette smoke—like we were going to arrest each other for smoking—and meandering bodies. As usual, the place was jammed. We had to shoot the shit with several agents we knew before snagging a back corner booth.
Dallas and I had spent many evenings here. Neither of us liked to cook. I tried, but the end result was always burned slop. We’d laughed in here, relaxed in here. He deserved more nights like that.
We punched our order into the wall unit, and soon Molly, a cute blond, brought our drinks and scampered away. Jaxon, the consummate health nut, had requested water with a lemon twist. Me? I wanted the strongest, blackest coffee they had, laced with a shot of pure, undiluted caffeine. I’m sure injecting crude oil into my veins would have been easier on my body, but I didn’t care. I downed the burning liquid, then signaled for a refill. I was like a boozehound with a brand-new bottle of tequila.
“My God, Mia, you trying to kill yourself there?” Jaxon asked with a laugh.
“Just trying to survive.”
“Is that how you stay so slim? Living on caffeine?”
I shrugged and watched him through the thick shield of my lashes. I’d had enough pleasantries; I wanted to get down to business. “So are you in or out?”
Jaxon understood what I was asking and stared at me across the speckled yellow tabletop. “Let me see if I have this straight.” Shadows and light played across his features as the lamp above us swayed, illuminating his scar, giving him a menacing quality. “Kyrin—”
“No names,” I interrupted, giving a pointed nod to the other agents present.
“The brother can save our friend’s life. In return, he wants the sister released. And he’s given you four days to free her, or our friend dies.”
“Only three days left, now. But otherwise, that’s right.”
“And no agent—”
“But me.”
“Can search for him, or he’ll disappear.”
“Right again.”
“So you’re planning to find our victims—and the brother—within these next three days?”
“That’s right. Now are you in or out?” I asked again.
“In, of course.”
Of course, he said now, as if he hadn’t made me sweat the last ten minutes of his indecision. On the black vinyl seat beside me, I’d tucked my briefcase filled with the stolen case files. I’d already covered the Confidential sticker with a plain casing. I withdrew two and handed them to Jaxon. “We need to go over these. Study every detail.”
He clasped the offered files and then, to my astonishment, set them aside. “I can’t concentrate without food. Let’s eat. Then study.”
My impatience reared its head. The sooner we worked, the sooner we found answers. Still, I wasn’t going to push my luck, so I forced myself to agree.
Our food arrived fifteen minutes later and was arranged in front of us. Jaxon dove into his turkey-on-wheat sandwich. No mayo. I managed a few bites of my double bacon cheeseburger and extra crispy chili cheese fries. Normally, I would have cleaned my plate and requested dessert. Dallas always made fun of my junk food addiction and constantly complained that if he ate like that, he wouldn’t fit inside the car. Me? I had uncommon metabolism. Couldn’t keep the fat on me. Which was good. I had no intention of changing my eating habits now.