“Arianna and I could do the same thing.”
His uncle. Everything he had always wondered about his mother, Parker had known. Betrayal burned like acid in his chest. “Go to hell, P.”
Parker grabbed his arm. “Why do you think you have those gifts, Zach? What are they for? Is it all an accident, or part of a bigger plan?”
Zach shook off his hand. “Spare me your attempt at philosophical BS; you’re poaching on the good professor’s area. I’m out.”
Parker called after him. “Where are you going to go? You think you can outrun what you are? Now that you know the truth, where are you going to hide? The person you were before Sixers doesn’t exist anymore!”
Zach didn’t pause, didn’t glance back. Maybe he couldn’t escape what he was, but he as sure as hell could put as much distance between himself and Parker as possible.
Chapter Fifty-one
Thursday, July 18
5:15 P.M.
The traffic light ahead turned red. Micki slowed to a stop, snatched up her phone and checked for a message from Zach. Nothing.
Where the hell was he?
The task force meeting had ended without him making an appearance. That hadn’t surprised her. That she hadn’t heard a word from him did. She had expected a message— something funny about her and a room full of suits. Or for him to be waiting for her at the Eighth, mouth curving into one those disarming, shit-eating grins of his when he saw her.
So she’d called him, left a message. Asked him to call.
Over an hour ago. Still nothing.
And she’d been unable to reach Angel. Anxiety churned in the pit of her gut. Stupid. She should have instructed the girl to answer the landline if it rang.
The light changed; Micki gunned it. The task force had made a plan for tomorrow night. Undercover female agents, one for every club Miller and Putnam had visited the night they’d gone missing. Each celebrating her ‘birthday.’
Their objective was twofold: play the part while paying close attention to everyone who interacted with her, befriend any other women in the club celebrating their birthday, and insinuate into their party, ever watchful.
Each ‘birthday girl’ would have three undercover agents covering her. One would be the buddy she’d come with. It was a good plan.
Micki had volunteered. Requested Club Kudzu. Requested Zach be her buddy. Which stacked the deck in her favor, big time.
She hadn’t shared that there was a great possibility Zach had already located their perp and that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow night’s operation wouldn’t even be necessary.
Or that Friday really was her birthday. That little nugget wasn’t any of their damn business.
Micki reached her street. Turned onto it. She saw that Zach’s vehicle was parked in front of her house.
Relief shuddered through her. Followed by irritation. She’d been stewing her ass off, and he’d been happily doing his own thing. Typical Harris.
They were going to have a discussion about his communication skills.
She turned into her drive, parked, and hurried inside.
“Hollywood!” she called, snapping the door shut behind her. “What the hell, dude, you can’t bother to pick up your phone?”
Angel appeared in the hallway. She yawned and pushed the hair out of her face. “What’s up?”
“Where’s Zach?”
“I don’t know.” She yawned and stretched. “He left. I took a nap.”
“He left?” She frowned. “But his car’s out front.”
She yawned again. “He left with some guy.”
“Some guy?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “He got into a car with him. A black SUV. It was waiting at the curb.”
“Got in of his own volition?”
“What does that mean?”
“Nobody forced him.”
“Right. He talked to the guy, then got into the car.”
“What did the driver look like?”
“Dark hair was all I saw.”
Parker, Micki thought. It had to be. No doubt up to more of their super-secret FBI games.
“Don’t be mad,” Angel said.
“I’m not mad.”
The girl rolled her eyes and Micki had to admit denying it had been lame. “Okay, yeah I’m pissed. Zach and I are partners; we’ve got stuff we need to discuss. Plans to set in place. At the very least, he needs to keep me posted on where he is.”
Angel shook her head. “You know that’s not the way Zach rolls.”
I do know that. Smart ass. Micki cocked an eyebrow. “But how do you know it?”
She shrugged. “I just do. What are we going to eat?”
“I don’t know. How about we order pizza—”
Her phone sounded. Harris, she saw.
She picked up. “Hollywood, finally. Where are you?”
“My apartment.”
She frowned. Something in his voice sounded wrong. “What the hell for? You’re supposed to be here.”
“I’m done, Mick. I quit.”
It took her a moment to comprehend what he was saying. She shook her head. “Not funny, Hollywood. Why don’t you get your ass over—”