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Pulling one of her moves, I roll my eyes at the dramatics. “Did you get the information for me or not?”
Birdie’s glare doesn’t diminish, but she relaxes the fist clenching a piece of paper. Then she sighs before reluctantly holding it out to me. “Be careful, alright?”
Nodding, I promise, “I won’t do anything stupid.”
Birdie eyes me a moment longer before walking off the training floor. I don’t waste another minute before entering my office and picking up my phone. A stately male voice with a heavy accent answers my call. His greeting is full of suspicion. “Borrero.”
“I’d like to speak with Marisol.”
Three full seconds pass before the man speaks again. “Who is this, and what do you want with my daughter?”
“My name is Austin Madden. I’m a friend from Virginia.”
“A friend?”
“Friend and landlord. Marisol was one of my tenants. She left her things. Among them are a few photos I’m sure she’ll regret leaving.”
“And she gave you this number?”
“No,” I offer without explanation and repeat, “I’d like to speak with Marisol.”
Another long pause precedes leather creaking, and then I hear a beep and, “Marisol, come to my office, please.”
Borrero must have used an intercom system and now returns his attention to me. “So, Mr. Madden. How well do you know my daughter?”
“Well enough.”
Before the man can respond or press further, the click of a door latch signals the new arrival. High-heeled shoes tap across a tile floor before becoming muffled on a soft surface. “There’s a call for you.”
“For me?”
My gut clenches at that musical voice despite it being laced with fear, a sound that confirms my suspicions. She’s in danger. “Who is it?” she asks, sounding uneasy.
Not wanting a go-between, I announce, “It’s Austin.”
Marisol gasps. “Austin?”
The way she said my name with such relief and longing makes me want to hop on a flight today. With the dread leeched from her voice, Marisol rushes closer to the phone speaker. “Austin… how?” She clears her throat and begins again, more composed this time. “What can I do for you, Mr. Madden?”
Before I answer, I say, “Mr. Borrero, would you excuse us?”
Marisol makes a choking sound, but her father only chuckles. “Of course, Mr. Madden.”
I wait to speak again until I hear a door close. So does Marisol. “How did you find me?” she whisper-yells.
“That’s not important. Why do you look terrified in the pictures circulating the internet? Who is the asshole the papers claim is your new man?”
She whimpers. “Austin, it’s not what… He’s… I… I can’t.”
My heart nearly leaps from my chest at her muffled sob. “Marisol, I know you left to escape the danger here. I suspect you found yourself in another kind in San Juan. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Her tone is more resolute when she answers, “No. Listen to me, Austin. You need to forget what you saw. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I think you’d be surprised what I can do. Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you.”
Marisol sniffles. She’s given up on appearances and is now crying. I grip the arms of my chair hard enough to hurt. “You did help me,” she whispers. “Those two weeks were the best days of my life.”
“Then come back to me,” I beg.