Page 77 of The Dance

Stacey’s mouth fell open. “You have your own plane?”

“Company plane,” I confirmed, dialing my pilot.

“Mr. Bryant—”

“I need you to get the jet ready. I’ll be at the airport in fifteen.”

“Sir, I—”

“Make it happen, Arnold.” I hung up before he could respond, grabbing my duffle bag to throw some clothes into it. Then I dialed Brian, not caring it was after work hours on a Friday.

“Mr. Bryant—”

“He did it again.” I didn’t need to confirm with Stacey’s roommate that it was Brody who raped her. I knew in my gut that it was. I would know for sure after she identified him, though.

“Shit …”

“I’ll get you the baby’s profile, but run your report to determine if there are any missing profiles. I want all correspondences printed from any deleted accounts too. All of it. I want it all.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me when you have it. I need to go to Houston.” I stopped stuffing my boxers into my bag. It hit me; Brody was in Houston, not Dallas. There was no reason that I knew of for him to be in Houston, but then that was where Stacey was raped, too. Was Houston where he met all his victims? Was Arnold trying to tell me that the jet was already in Houston before I hung up on him? He hadn’t called me back.

“And Brian?” I continued.

“Yes, sir?”

“Get me a list of every baby living in Houston or within a fifty-mile radius.”

“Will do.”

After getting my bag together and changing into a T-shirt and jeans, I went to the living room, where Stacey was waiting. She had changed into the clothes she had worn when she’d arrived. “Ready?” I asked, moving toward the front door.

“Yeah.” She followed.

“How’s your friend?”

“Shaken. Do you think it was Brody?”

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate. “We’ll confirm with her, but if it’s not Brody, I have two rapists on my app. I’m fucked if that’s the case.” I was already screwed, and all week I’d been avoiding Brody, telling him I had meetings and working from home when I could. Whatever I needed to do to stay away from him because I knew if we were alone, I would confront him.

Stacey sniffled, and I realized she was crying.

“Hey.” I turned from the door and wrapped her in my arms. “It’s going to be okay, sunshine. I’ll make sure of it.”

“It’s all my fault,” she cried against my chest.

“It’s not your fault.”

“If I had gone to the police after he’d raped me, then my friend—and maybe others—wouldn’t have been raped.”

That might have been true, but I didn’t want to make her feel even worse than she already did. “It’s going to be okay. When we get there, I’ll call the police and handle everything.”

* * *

When we arrivedat Dallas Love Field, Arnold was waiting on the tarmac with my jet, as I’d requested. If Brody had used the plane to go to Houston, I assumed Arnold and the aircraft would still be there waiting for his return. Brody was definitely covering his tracks.

“We’re ready when you are, sir,” he’d advised, standing at the bottom of the airstairs.