At least I’ll survive until Isabelle sees that I’ve removed it prematurely.
But I’m sure she’ll forgive me once she sees the cake.
“Tell us what’s going on,” Virginia says. “Maybe we can help.”
“I doubt it.” I don’t give them a chance to say anything else. I walk away.
As soon as I’m out the door, I shove the sling into the nearest trash can.
I phone Isabelle’s number once more. Again, I get her voice mail. “Where the hell are you? Call me as soon as you get this.”
I end the call and try Landon again. Still no luck with him. I text him, telling him that Isabelle has gone missing.
Then I speed-dial Connor.
He answers on the third ring.
“I need you to put a trace on Isabelle’s phone.” I practically bark into the phone, like a Rottweiler whose prized bone has been stolen.
“Give me a second…”
I begin pacing along the sidewalk. I don’t want to go too far, especially since I have no idea in what direction I need to go.
But I’m also unable to stand still.
I’m like the Energizer Bunny with fresh, high-energy batteries.
Connor gets back to me a moment later. “I’m not getting a signal from her phone. Where is she?”
“I have no idea.” I briefly tell him what happened.
“Could she be with Landon?”
I explain what Landon might be currently doing—if things have gone according to plan. “I called him, but he’s not answering his phone. I’ve just texted him to see if he’s heard from her or seen her. Can you do a trace on him, too, and check to see if he’s still at the resort? I’m going to look for them there.”
Connor does as I request. “Nothing. Their phones have either been turned off or they’re out of range.”
“That makes sense for Landon. He’s not exactly going to want the phone to go off and give away his location if he’s hacking into Bradshaw’s computer. And the same for Isabelle if she’s helping him.” I pick up my pace. “I’m going back to see if I can find them. I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as I have some answers.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond. I end the call and stalk toward the resort, cake box and purse in hand, cursing that Isabelle and I walked instead of taking the rental car.
Cursing that I don’t have my beloved motorcycle.
A white sedan pulls sharply to the curb ahead of me and stops. My inner stranger-danger sirens blare, flashing red lights and all.
My body tenses, prepared for a fight or flight response.
Heavy on the fight.
The passenger door opens, and Blake climbs out. He slowly walks toward me, holding up his ID, the letters unmistakable.
“FBI? Are you telling me that you and Virginia are undercover?”
Well, Damn.That explains a lot.
He nods. “We’re with the departments of Organized Crime and Civil Rights. We’ve identified a drug trafficking ring operating in Huntington Beach, with links to the resort.”
“And you’re telling me this because…?”
