Page 56 of Isle of Seduction

I wanted to be a club owner, not a PR manager for the big bad wolf. Anger simmers low in my veins and I direct it at the only person who knows how to take it, though I know he’s not responsible. He’ll fight me anyway. He knows I’ll need it. He knows it’s my outlet.

I’m almost ready to go when the phone in Andrea’s office rings. I pick it up, the sweet voice of the receptionist coming through the speaker.

“Uhm, Mrs. Capaldi,” she hesitates.

I don’t have time to coddle anyone today. “Speak.”

“Someone left something for you.”

That’s odd. I’m not expecting anyone to contact me through Andrea’s office. The workers on Rouge construction’s site have my number and all the people that matter in my life know this morning is important and wouldn’t disturb me.

When I make my way downstairs, I stop at the desk and she hands me a bouquet of wildflowers with a card.

Anticipation coils at my spine and a single tear of sweat drips down my back, chilling my blood. I hesitantly take the card, like touching the paper is going to set me on fire, like it’s poison in my hands.

My Giulia, I told you to heed my warning.

This doesn’t make one single bit of sense.

“Who delivered this?”

The receptionist gives me the name of the florist and I come back upstairs to track down their order system. My computer is overheating with how many programs I’m running, tracking the flower van from here back to the initial shop it came from. Their online order system doesn’t show the address I’m at right now. The order wasn’t made online. I pull the phone numbers that called them this morning and the past two days, comparing them against the ones of the people I suspect. Nothing.

Carmichael, Addams, Lewis, even Mike and Amber. Their phone numbers aren’t on the fucking list.

It’s clear both the notes and Andrea’s arrest are linked. But who the fuck is doing this shit?

The more I think about it, the less Addams seems like the culprit, but he’s the only one to benefit from all this.

I think back on the handful of times I met Parker Addams, how every time he made me feel slimy, how his aura felt dark and heavy like tar. We’ve put intense surveillance on him recently but before Andrea’s arrest, it was more subtle.

We’re missing some piece of the puzzle.

My logical brain can’t find a link, but that sticky sensation every time he’s in close proximity, reminds me of only one thing. An event that was also fuelled with fear and grief. I remember vividly how clammy my skin was, the cold sweat turning my skin to ice.

It was when Lana went missing.

I close every open tab, then start the software that allows me to hack into the public cameras and find the ones closest to Luc’s property. The man responsible for Lana’s abduction might be dead, but not the mastermind behind it.

I cross it with a recognition program for Addams’s licence plate and set the window of observation anywhere between July and November.

Riveted to the screen, my eyes track cars after cars. My heart pumps faster as we get closer to the date of Lana’s abduction, but then we pass it and still, nothing. I thread my fingers behind my head, waiting, then slam my hands down on the table when nothing shows.

I widen the window of time, tracking back time from January, almost a year ago, to yesterday.

My screen lights up with two matches.

One in February, and one three weeks ago, almost two months after Lana’s abduction. The images on my screen just show his car. Is it possible that Luc’s death didn’t reach Addams’s ears until that late? Or did he just go to see the wreckage Andrea left behind? No matter why, it’s too much of a coincidence. If Addams was close to Luc, he’s most certainly in Misha Petrov’s pockets, though I have no way to prove it yet.

I have a hard time understanding why he would send taunts like this, the wild flowers bouquets and the notes.

I don’t have time to think harder on it.

I need to go get my man out of jail.

TWENTY-FOUR

FUCKING JEANS 2.0