“Thanks! This is going to be huge!” The doors slide closed and I begin my descent.
I grab my phone and pull up Savage’s number, hitting “Call” the second the doors open and I step into the lobby. It rings, and rings, and rings as I race across the shiny marble floor and out the revolving doors into the murky waning light of early evening.
“Come on, Savage, pick up.” I stop at the crosswalk and wait for the traffic signal so I can make it across Main Street to the parking structure.
“Hello, you have reached Savage Hawke. Leave a message.”
Shit. Why the hell isn’t he answering his phone?
“Savage, it’s me. I know I said I would be there by six, but something came up. I have to meet with someone first, but I will come over as soon as I’m done, I promise. I’ll call you when I am on my way. I can’t wait to see you.”
I climb into my car and peel out of the parking structure, making the twenty-minute drive to the Olde Market building in less than fifteen, despite the traffic. Good thing I didn’t see any cops along the way. I probably would have lost my license for reckless driving. The thought I might be finally getting the information I need to blow this story wide open has my heart and mind racing. Knowing I’ll also be seeing Savage tonight has my stomach churning. I have no idea what this means, but, good or bad, it needs to happen. Living in limbo is killing me.
I pull up to the curb outside the Olde Market on Riverside which, appropriately enough, runs along the Mississippi River and used to house a bustling harbor. In the last ten years, the shipping business has migrated more to trucks than boats, and slowly, the businesses along the river have closed. The Olde Market used to be a busy fish and produce market. It was the best place in town to get fresh-caught seafood and had the freshest fruits and vegetables you could find. That ended four years ago, when it closed its doors for good. The building was pretty well known. The giant, red tomato on top of the warehouse used to light up and spin, making it visible from almost anywhere in town.
My dad used to bring Nora and me here every Saturday morning, if he wasn’t working. We would pick up what we needed for dinner that night. It was just Dad and us girls and I looked forward to it all week. Any time I spent with my father was special, but for some reason, leaving Mom at home and coming out here as a kid to meander among the stalls felt like something truly spectacular.
Looking at it now, you would never guess it used to have thousands of customers coming and going all week. The once clear and shining glass windows of the building are now all grimy and shattered. The infamous tomato is no longer lit or turning, its red facade covered in dirt and dust.
God, it’s depressing.
I glance at my phone. It’s almost six. Grabbing my purse, I climb out of the car and walk up to chain-link fence surrounding the property. Looking up and down the length of the fence, there doesn’t appear to be any opening to gain entry onto the property.
How the fuck does Paul expect me to get in there?
Continuing down the sidewalk to the south, I come across a portion of the fence pulled away from the pole enough for someone to slip through it.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I look down at my floaty, mid-thigh length dress covered by my trench coat, and my pumps, and curse Paul. If I tear this dress or break a heel, I will kill him, I don’t care how much I need this information.
The wire fencing pushes back easily and I slip through the opening. Managing to emerge unscathed, I check my phone to make sure I didn’t somehow miss a return call or text from Savage, but find nothing. I look around the vast parking lot, but nothing is moving except for a plastic bag blowing across the wasteland toward the dumpsters by the far corner of the building. At least it’s headed in the right direction.
Let’s make this quick.
I hurry across the parking lot toward the closest side of the building, where I can see a door is slightly ajar. As I approach, my phone begins to buzz in my hand and I look down to find Savage calling.
“Savage…”
Just as I answer, the door flies open and Paul grabs my arm, pulling me inside the building with a quick jerk. I almost drop my phone, and am about to tell Savage I can’t talk, when I see who else is in the building.
Slipping my phone into the pocket of my trench coat, I pray the call stayed connected and Savage can hear what’s going on.
“Hello? Danika?”
I just got out of the shower and found a message from her telling me she would be late. I don’t care, as long I get to see her, but I wanted to find out if she had already eaten or if I should have something ready for her, so I called her back right away.
Rustling noises and footsteps echo in the phone, but she isn’t responding.
“Ms. Eriksson, so nice of you to join us.” The male voice is somewhat muffled, but it’s familiar.