I’m not sure there’s any way to know without asking him, and then I’d have to admit to snooping. I’ll have to think it over. I put the hair tie back in his drawer, my rebellious impulse drying up. It’s best if I stick to my paints—something much more cathartic and healthy.
Paints that Tommy brought for me to a room he’s selflessly surrendered to me. And not just that, I’ve taken over his space in so many little ways, and he hasn’t complained once. I know it has to bother him on some level. I’ve never seen a pantry in such perfect order. The clothes in his closet are hung in color groups. He’s a man of habit who thrives on order, and I’ve upended all of it.
He’s so incredibly different than I expected. He’s a little crazy but sweet, too.
Such a complex web of contradictions.
I suddenly feel a surge of inspiration—an impulse of colors and shapes that need to come to life. How better to help me understand my confusing feelings for a confusing man than to paint them?
I go to the stack of canvases to find something I can use and see he’s brought one painting I didn’t expect to see. My white lilies on black that I painted for Gran. Seeing it winds me a little.
I set it on the dresser, leaning against the mirror, and worry flutters in my chest. I’m not sure I could ever forgive myself if something happened to her because of me. I know Mom and Gran encouraged me to run, but now I’m facing the reality of those consequences. I have to wonder if I shouldn’t have gone to the police from the very beginning.
CHAPTER 26
TOMMY
“How’d you find her?”I’m damn good with a computer. If there’d been any way to tap into cameras or otherwise use online data to find Danika’s grandmother, I would have tracked her down myself. There was no trail to be found. I looked. DiAngelo used other methods, and I’m curious enough to ask, even though I know it’ll feed his already gargantuan ego.
“That’s just what I do—I find people.” He keeps his eyes forward as he drives us deeper into Brooklyn.
“You’re not a fucking bloodhound, D.” He’s always so damn vague. I think he likes pretending he’s mysterious, but that shit doesn’t impress me. I literally don’t understand it. All I want is a straight answer.
DiAngelo lets a smirk slip. “Dobrev is Slovakian, and they live in the center of Little Odessa. Slovaks generally run with the Russians, but there’s a small group of holdouts. I know a guy. Turns out Dobrev is connected to a few of those holdouts. They had to confirm for themselves that she’d been taken, which was the only reason this took as long as it did. Once they got confirmation, they were able to use their connections to get her location. They were willing to risk giving that info to me but notgo as far as rescuing her themselves. They already walk a fine line with Biba.”
“I bet. He’ll want to root out the leak.”
“Yeah, which is why I now owethem, andyouoweme. Again.”
What I really want to say is don’t agree to help if you’re going to bitch about it, but I don’t because he’s right. I already owe him big for the Grisha introduction, and I don’t need to add to that debt by being ungrateful.
“You know I’m good for it.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope I never need it,” he mutters as he parks the car out front of a seedy hotel. We both take in the shoddy exterior—paint flaking off the sign, making it illegible, World War Two–era brick, and windows so corroded they’re no longer translucent. “I’m gonna have to fumigate my clothes after this, aren’t I?” he asks. It’s rhetorical, but I answer anyway.
“Might be better to burn them.” I suppress a shiver as the sensation of bugs crawling all over me threatens to derail my composure. “Let’s get this over with.”
We exit the car and head inside. The one good thing about a shitty hotel is no one is going to question us despite the obvious gear we’re carrying under our clothes. This type of place is strictly don’t ask, don’t tell.
On the way up to the room, we recruit one of the housekeeping ladies to help us. She doesn’t speak much English, but the hundred I hand over helps facilitate communication. We have her knock on the door and announce herself.
A heavily accented male voice from inside calls out for her to go away.
I meet DiAngelo’s stare. This is the room.
We have the woman unlock the door with her key card, then allow her to scurry away. The man inside is starting to holler. I wait to hear him closing in before I open the door fully andshoot him square in the chest with a tranquilizer gun. It’s not how I normally roll, but we’re trying to keep this mess from snowballing into an outright war.
The barrel-chested Russian stares stunned at the dart sticking out of his right pectoral, then pulls it out and tosses it to the floor.
“Thought you said one would be enough,” DiAngelo says behind me.
“It should be, but this guy is built like a rhino.” I shoot him once more for good measure.
The asshole opens his mouth to roar in anger but ends up doing what looks like a yawn instead as his eyes roll back into his head. He collapses backward like a fallen tree.
“I don’t envy the headache he’s gonna have,” D murmurs.
I nod, then look to the back of the room where an old woman is tied to a chair.