"I just want you to stay. At the moment, I don't care how."
I tilted my head and glanced down at my arms, still bound behind me. Then at my legs, spread wide and his hand still stroking me. "Right now you could make me."
"Tempting," he said. "Very tempting."
"You know, this trust thing has to be mutual. Maybe I should tie you up."
His grin was pure, wicked sex. "Maybe you should. I think I'd enjoy being at your mercy."
As he reached to untie me, my phone rang. "Dammit," I said. "Just send it to voicemail."
He reached for it, and I saw him hesitate. "It's your dad. Answer it?"
"Put it on speaker," I said, since I was in no position to hold a phone. "It might be important."
"Hi, Daddy," I said, once Tyler laid the phone on the bed. "Listen, this isn't a good time. I'm kind of tied up right now."
Beside me, Tyler rolled his eyes.
"I won't keep you. But I wanted to let you know that I heard back from my friend in the Vegas PD. Amy was cited. For solicitation."
I met Tyler's eyes. "Shit. Thanks for letting me know."
"Wait. There's more. They booked her. I had him compare the mug shot with the license. Honey, they don't match."
"Say again?"
"Whoever's using her ID isn't Amy."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I had a bad feeling. A very, very bad feeling.
"Daddy, I have to go." I nodded to the phone and Tyler ended the call. "Untie me," I said urgently. "Untie me now."
"What's going on?"
"I'm not sure." I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair. "Shit. It's right there. This feeling. Something's off and it all ties back to Vegas."
"The fact that she's not there."
I met his eyes as the word that was eluding me surfaced. "Emily."
He cocked his head. "Back up. Slow down. What are you thinking?"
I stood up, then started to pace, the motion helping me think. "I don't think Amy went to Vegas. I don't think she ever did. Okay," I said, then held up a hand to silence him before his words erased my thoughts. "Emily was supposed to have been heading for Vegas, but she was found dead in Chicago. And Amy was supposed to have gone to Vegas, but we never heard from her."
"Darcy got a postcard," he pointed out. "And you said Candy got a phone call."
"A postcard with no return address. A phone call that went straight to voice mail--and had the wrong month in it."
His brow furrowed. "The wrong month?"
"Hang on. I'm getting there. I need to check something." I snatched my phone, then did an Internet search on POE oil. A second later, I knew that POE oil was used with refrigerants. "Fuck," I said. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Fill me in," Tyler said.
"Call Sapphire," I said. "You have her cell number, right?"
He nodded, then dialed, putting his phone on speaker. As he did, I started to explain what I was thinking.
"If my hunch is right, Amy never sent that postcard. Someone else did. And the call was made from a burner. And in the call, she sounded terrible, Candy said. And she said she'd see Candy next month. Amy knows when Candy's due. She wouldn't get it that far off. She gave the wrong date on purpose. She was giving us a clue, and I fucking missed it--Sapphire," I added, when the girl answered the phone.
"Hey." She sounded confused. "Tyler?"
"His phone," I said. "This is Sloane. Listen, do you know who offered Emily the job? The one she turned down when she decided to go to Vegas?"
"Um, yeah. That was Big Charley. You know, the nice quiet guy who--"
"I know him," I said. "Thanks."
I clicked the button to end the call, and saw from Tyler's face that he was on the same page as me.
"Refrigerant oil," he said. "He's in the vending machine business. And he offered both girls a job."
"Lizzy, too," I said. I was already climbing into my clothes. Tyler was, too.
"He offered Lizzy a job?"
"I didn't catch it at first," I said, hurrying toward the service door. "She said she should have taken the pop job. Soda pop. Vending machines."
"Blond hair and bangs," Tyler mused. "All three of them."
"We're taking my car," I said, as I jammed the button for the elevator. I wanted my gun.
We took my car, but I let Tyler drive. Not only did he know where Big Charley's office was, but he was a hell of a lot better at navigating Chicago.
"We know that Amy's alive," I said. "Or she was pretty damn recently." I kicked at the dashboard. "The guy had her call Candy right after I talked with him. Guy's got serious balls, the fucker."
"How are we handling this?"
I took my Glock out of the glove box and checked the magazine. Then I pulled the slide back and put one in the chamber. "We can't get a warrant. I'm not local and there's no time, anyway. So we're going to go into his office and politely ask where she is."
"And if he doesn't tell us?"
I met Tyler's eyes. "Then we'll get nasty."
Charley's warehouse was near Destiny, and Tyler got us there at near the speed of light.
"I have the gun," I said. "So when it gets down to it, you stay behind me."
"If I'd known our agenda, I'd be armed, too."
I glanced at him, then shook my head. I should have assumed he'd have a weapon somewhere. "No time to get it now. And we're starting this party like it's just a regular business day. Okay?"
"I know what to do," Tyler said.
There was a buzzer on the front door of the warehouse, and Tyler pressed it, and I was relieved when Big Charley himself answered the intercom. I'd expected to have to deal with staff. But maybe we'd gotten lucky.
"Hey, Charley, it's Tyler Sharp. I've got a proposition for you."
"Yeah? What kind?"
"The kind I don't want to discuss by shouting in an intercom. Buzz me in."
There was a pause, then the door clicked open. We entered a warehouse that resembled a maze constructed of vending machines. Tyler'd been here before, though, and he led us through to the far corner and a dingy office with a cheap wooden door.
Inside, Big Charley sat behind a cheap wooden desk. I caught Tyler's eye, hoping he could read my mind. I wanted Charley out from behind that desk, because who knew what he had mounted under there.
Tyler took a seat on the ratty sofa, then pulled out his phone. "Got a new gig we're working," he said, tapping at the phone. "Come here. I've got some photos and specs. Should be lucrative."
Charley narrowed his eyes and looked at me.
"She's cool," Tyler said. "Won't say a word. Will you, baby?"
"No, sir."
Charley's brows rose and he joined Tyler on the couch. "Okay, what do you have?"
"Amy Dawson. Emily Bennett," I said, watching his face. "It's not about what we have, but about what you do."
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he said, but I'd already seen the truth on his face.
"Where, goddammit?" I said, and this time I aimed the Glock at his chest. "Where are they?"
"I told you, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
"I'll look for keys. Something," Tyler said, going to his desk. And then, "No keys, but this is interesting." He raised a 9mm Beretta, then walked over to me.
"Tyler ..."
"You know, Charley. This all feels very personal to me. And I think I can be much more persuasive than the lady."
"Fuck. You."
"I thought you might say that," Tyler said, then shot the bastard in the kneecap, making my ears ring.
"Where?" Tyler asked, sounding as though he was at the end of the tunnel. "Tell me now or lose the other."
"Vault," Charley said. "Far side of the warehouse."
"Bring him," I said to Tyler, as I started toward the door. "It's probably padlocked."
Tyler hauled Charley into the rolling desk chair, and we raced across the warehouse, the sick fuck crying and moaning about how much he hurt.
"Yeah, I'm guessing Emily Bennett didn't feel so good, either. And if Amy is dead, you are going to never feel right again."
We reached the vault door and, sure enough, it was locked with a heavy duty combination lock. Tyler and his new Beretta managed to persuade the combination out of Charley.