Remy threatened, yelled, and assaulted his way to the Inspector’s penthouse. He was sure there must be a half-dozen Redcaps on their way right now but Remy didn’t care. The bastard had taken Josie and he was going to pay. He pounded on the door. There was no way he’d be able to break it down. He’d seen Josie break in last time with retinal and finger print scanners to unlock thick steel bars.

  “Open up!” he yelled. Remy didn’t have a plan if the door did open. Try to beat the shit out of the guy, he guessed. His fear, anger, and sheer exhaustion fogged his mind and muddled his thoughts. No plan. Just action. He didn’t know where Josie was, and this was the only place he knew the Inspector could be.

  He pounded on the door again and checked his Vasc. Could he try to displace part of the door? Remy’s blood ached at the thought. No, that’d be the fastest way to end up on his ass, drooling as the Redcaps showed up to drag him away. His anger was desperate. Frantic. Manic.

  The door cracked and Remy clenched his fist imagining burying it in Fernando’s smug and perfectly tan face. He’d likely die here if the Inspector wanted to fight. It was Bianca who opened the door, not the Inspector. Remy loosened his fist when he saw the look on her face.

  Bianca was pale and her perfectly smoky eyes dripped where tears smeared her efforts. She still wore her evening dress from the auction and her hands trembled. She looked like she might cry again right then and there.

  “He said you’d come.” She handed him a piece of paper and stepped back into the room.

  “Where is he?” Remy stepped past her and looked down the hallway and into the first room on the right. He let anger drive him, pulling him through the Vasc exhaustion.

  “I don’t know.” She whispered. “He just gave me that and told me to wait.”

  She didn’t move from the door and looked out eagerly, as if she wanted nothing more than to run down the hallway, go home, and cry. Remy couldn’t blame her, he wanted to do the same.

  He unfolded the letter to read it. Of course, the Inspector wrote in a ridiculous flowing script. “Iroh, your trick was nice but not enough, I’m afraid. This can go two ways. One, you help me. Two, you don’t. I hope you do. I’m sure the lovely Josephine wishes you would, as well. If you’d like to help me, I have a small getaway in the outlands. The coordinates are below. Find me there and we can talk. If not, well, that is your choice as well and I will have no hard feelings. May your wines ever flow, F.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Remy almost balled it up to throw across the room when he noticed a smaller post script at the bottom.

  “P.S. that cherry gum is rather intoxicating, no? I will be here three days, Remy.”

  So his choice was to help the Inspector, or something bad would happen to Josie. Remy thought about everything bad that he wanted to do to Fernando and his fucking slicked back hair. A blanket of broken glass would be too kind if Josie was hurt. He wedged the note in his pocket and moved to leave. It’d take a few hours to get to the Inspector’s getaway and without a short rest, he’d never make it.

  “He told me that you had to see the office before you left.” Bianca’s voice quivered and she nodded down the hall. Remy remembered that office. The smell of Josie’s hair and sweat intermingled with busted glass and the pot roast of a family dinner interrupted.

  “Why?” He had to get home, shower, sleep before his blood ached any worse, go see Franklin and then be off before the sun came up. Visiting a remodeled office was pretty low on his priority list.

  “Just…he just said to tell you.” Bianca’s voice broke and so did her resolve. She clutched her purse and a pair of tiny black stilettos and shuffled out the door as quickly as she could without running. Remy glanced back at the office and sighed. He walked to the office and stopped dead in his tracks.

  “You son of a bitch.” Remy spat on the ground.

  It smelled like blood, and sweat, and Remy knew why Bianca ran. The office was laid out as it had been before his first visit but now there was a body strapped to the top of the desk. Slowly, he approached Claire.

  Claire’s wrists and ankles were bound to the desk with leather straps. She also wore the evening dress from the auction before but partially dried blood caked her throat where it had been slit. On her left breast, above her dress, a crude rose was carved in her flesh.

  He brushed her hair back behind her ears and closed her eyes. He could still smell her perfume, even over the sweat and blood. Claire deserved better. Everyone deserved better, of course, but she’d done nothing wrong other than take a night with a guy who badly needed a new hole in his head. That familiar ball of guilt welled in his stomach. If he hadn’t been on the same job as the Inspector, she would’ve just ended the night confused about a strange man. If Remy had never met her by chance or befriended her, she would never have been asked to bring him to Fernando’s table. She would still be alive.

  Now, she was dead on her back in a cold and strange loft. Remy didn’t know if she had family. What a horrible thing to say to a mother. I’m sorry, your daughter was found dead in a wealthy man’s apartment. He’s important though and has connections so we won’t be prosecuting him. Have a pleasant day, ma’am.

  Remy noticed a slip of paper in her left hand and he pried her fingers apart to get at it. Fernando’s flowing script revealed itself again.

  “Three days, Remy.”