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I stared at them both for a long moment, temporarily lost for words.
“As a matter of fact, Idid,” I said. “Not that it matters... or that it’s any of my business.”
Tony’s gaze narrowed. “Wait, what areyoudoing here, Zalen—if it’s not to check up on me? Where’s Byron?”
“That does seem to be the question,” Beatrix murmured. “It appears he’s gone missing.”
“Missing?” Tony said, his eyes going wide.
“He disappeared from a restaurant last night with two other people,” Beatrix said, before I could protest that this wasn’t the kind of thing to dump on a teenager—especially one who had his own set of problems.
“Oh,” Tony said. “Shit.”
Beatrix glowered at him. “Language.” Her attention returned to me, laser focused. “As I told you, I’ve had no contact with Byron since a routine phone call roughly two weeks ago. The best I can do is put you in touch with an old friend of his who might be able to dig up some information, assuming this ends up being gang related.” Her expression soured. “Although, I’m not certainfriendis the right word. And byputting you in touch, I mean I can tell you where this person tends to spend his time.”
I glanced between the kid that Byron had apparently been hiding from his parents without telling the rest of us, and the wizened old mother hawk who’d taken him under her wing. The lawful course of action here would be to send the police around to pick up a runaway teen and return him to his family.
Was I going to do that?
Pfft. ThefuckI was.
“I’ll share all the details we know. Any possible leads you can offer me would be deeply appreciated, ma’am,” I said, and pulled up the note-taking app on my phone to jot down the information.
The pool hall Beatrix had directed me to didn’t open until ten. Knowing that my adrenaline would crash at some point, I drove back to Ladue to check on the others and catch an hour or two of sleep.
The process of elimination led me to Luca’s nest, where I found Emiel sitting among a mountain of pillows that smelled of green grass and honeysuckle, with Mia fast asleep in his arms.
“I talked to Byron’s grandmother,” I whispered, poking my head into the nest but not entering. “She gave me a possible lead, but I can’t track him down until later this morning.” I hesitated.“Also, Byron stashed Tony Scalise at the grandmother’s house. He’s... safe. He seems well.”
Emiel tensed, his dark eyes flashing surprise in the dim light. Mia whimpered in her sleep, and he consciously relaxed his body before replying. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” The words were so low they were barely audible.
I shrugged helplessly. “I’m as surprised as you are. Anyway, this contact she gave me might have information, if SSG or another gang is behind the disappearance.”
Emiel seemed to struggle with himself for a moment.
“I got gang contacts, too,” he said eventually. “Could talk to ’em. Ask some questions.”
A deep pit of dread opened up in my stomach at the prospect of Emiel getting sucked back into the same world that might have taken Byron and Luca from us.
“No,” I said, giving into that sinking worry. “Emiel, please let me take the lead on this. I’m asking you to trust me, because I need you here taking care of Mia and keeping her safe.”
Even in the low light, Emiel’s internal battle was clear on his face. After a few moments, his expression settled into stoic lines. “’Kay,” he murmured. “I trust you, Zalen.”
Nodding in relief, I withdrew before I ended up waking Mia from her restless doze. After firing off several emails to inform everyone that the Hope Project would be closed until further notice, I faceplanted onto my mattress and managed a couple of hours of nightmare-plagued sleep.
I felt worse when I got up than I had when I’d gone to bed, but I dragged myself together and called the police station for an update. There wasn’t one, beyond ‘we’ll get around to it when we can.’
After popping several ibuprofen for my pounding headache, I checked in on the others and found the shower in the guestbathroom running. There was no sign of Emiel, but I knew he wouldn’t shirk his assignment as Mia’s impromptu bodyguard.
I left them to it, arriving at the run-down pool hall on the other side of the river promptly at ten a.m.
The place was nicotine stained with patches of mildew on the ceiling, although the pool tables were all well maintained, and the bar looked clean.Ish.
“Morning,” I greeted the bored looking bartender. “I’m looking for the guy they call Mouse. Friend of a friend.”
“He’s not here yet,” said the man, barely deigning to look up at me. “If you wanna wait for him, you gotta buy something.”
I ordered a Coke and settled in to wait. Only a handful of people came and went in the first hour—two for a quick round of day drinking, and the others for a game at one of the tables. Finally, a thin, shabby beta man somewhere in the nebulous range of thirty to forty years old slunk in.