“I don’t get it. Why is this important?”
His hand shoots out and snatches the paper back, then he turns it around and points to a line. “See this? Look at the numbers. There’s no way they could do this job for that amount of money. They were awarded the contract. Do you know what they ended up getting paid? Almost triple what is on here. Who do you think arranged/approved that?”
There’s no doubt in my mind it was Dunne. “But, this doesn’t prove anything. We can’t prove Dunne did anything to get them the contract or that the overpayment was any form of a payoff.”
Paul growls. “Do you really think they would put that in writing?”
“Well, no, but there has to be something! Something with Dunne’s name on it. Do you think you can try again?” I ask, knowing full well the position I am asking him to put himself in. “Please, Paul.”
Shaking his head, he paces around me. “I don’t know, Danika. It’s too dangerous. I just don’t know if it’s worth it.”
Don’t back out on me now! Time to pull out my best logic.
“Paul, when you came to me, you said you wanted to help me because you know what a scumbag Dom and his goons are. You said you wanted to help end him and the corruption going on. I can’t do that without your help.”
“I know,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “I know.”
“What about the meeting? Did you find out what it was for?”
Another clank echoes through the warehouse and Paul and I both whirl in the direction of the sound, searching in the darkness for any threat.
“I’m outta here.” He turns and runs off in the opposite direction before I even have chance to try to stop him.
Shit, I need to get out of here.
I turn and walk as quickly as my four-inch stilettos can carry me toward the door and my car, and I reach into my purse for my keys. Heavy footsteps thud behind me and I pick up my speed until I’m practically sprinting in my Loubs to stay in front of my pursuer.
Bad shoe choice for a clandestine meeting, Dani!
Just before I reach the door, a hand lands on my shoulder and I scream, turning toward my assailant with my keys in my hand as a weapon, just like my father taught me.
Where the hell is she?
The clock in the corner of my computer monitor does nothing to ease my worry. I clench my fists for the hundredth time today and try to take a calming breath. Danika was supposed to call me when she was done working today. That should have been two hours ago. It is almost nine, and still no word from her, not even a text.
The bumping base from the music downstairs rolls through the floor and into my body. Normally, it really doesn’t bother me, but tonight, it is adding to the headache slowly building in my skull.
She was supposed to call me when she was done so I could pick her up and we could go to my place. I need another night of her in my bed, in my arms. I crave it more than anything these days, even after only having it once.
A knock at the door startles me and I’m hoping it’s her and we just somehow got our wires crossed. “Come in.”
The door opens and Gabe walks in with a nervous-looking Nora, who doesn’t seem to want to make eye contact with me. I’ve done my best to steer clear of her, because, frankly, it’s a little awkward to be dating her sister and I’m not quite sure where to draw the line between boss and sort-of friend.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, instantly sensing the tension emanating from Gabe as he stands behind Nora, nudging her forward toward my desk.
Rolling her eyes toward Gabe, she steps forward and holds out her phone. I reach across my desk, grab it, and read the text message she has up on the screen from Danika.
> Car towed. Need ride. Pick me up at 3535 Florida Ave ASAP <
“What the fuck?” I slam my fist down on my desk, making Nora jump and shrink away. “Why is she down in the Industrial Canal area? And at this time of night?”
Florida Avenue is the dumps, literally. It runs along the canal that connects the Mississippi to Lake Pontchartrain. After Katrina, it became wall-to-wall warehouses and abandoned houses. Now, it’s housing for the homeless and crack addicts. They’ve been trying to clean it up for years, but with little success.
“I don’t know,” Nora replies, her voice shaking, “I just saw the text when I got off stage. Looks like she sent it about twenty minutes ago.”
“Shit.” Gabe gives me a knowing look and brushes past Nora to grab her phone from me.
“Don’t worry,” he says, handing her the phone, “we’ll go get her.”
Nora eyes Gabe and me skeptically. “Maybe I should just go get her.”