Page 8 of Rami

Rami nodded slowly. Probably the only thing that’d deter a guy from a fox like Ivy. “’Kay.” Scratch the possibility of him having any involvement. “And dating apps? Did she... uh. You know. Have any kind of recent relations?”

Gigi blanched. “No. She would’ve told me. We tell each other everything.” She sighed heavily. “I appreciate your thoroughness, but this is the wrong angle.”

August swallowed another handful of French fries then wiped his mouth. “You never know who could be tied to things like this.”

She glanced at the head of the table, where August was stationed. “I realize that, but the idea that Ivy was a deliberate target seems like a stretch. Who would want to hurt a photographer? And by this means?”

August shrugged. “Disgruntled customers?”

Gigi’s head dropped to the side with exasperation. “You’re making me think I was wrong to come to you.”

“You didn’t come to me,” August said. “You went to him.” He nodded in Rami’s direction. And hell if August didn’t sound jealous as fuck.

“Look, Gigi,” Rami said. “We’re going to do everything we can to find your sister. But I need you to understand what we could be up against. Ivy could look quite different after sixteen days. Kidnappers often change their victim’s appearance, dye their hair, shit like that. Are there any markings like tattoos we could use to identify her...?” He didn’t want to say “body,” but that’s what he was getting at. If they came across a Jane Doe, he wanted Gigi to have undeniable proof that her sister was gone, for the sake of closure.

Gigi’s eyes grew small. Perhaps she’d picked up on his unsaid meaning? “No, she doesn’t have tattoos. She hates needles.” She straightened. “But she has a birthmark”—she held out her left hand—“right here.” She rubbed a spot on her hand below her middle finger. “It’s red and looks kind of like the body of a dog from the side.” She smiled fondly. “That’s what we said when we were kids.”

Rami jotted down the information on his notepad. “You don’t have the same birthmark? Aren’t you two identical?”

She shook her head. “We are. But we have small differences—birthmarks, freckles, things like that.”

Rami flicked his gaze to the photo next to his hand. “Makes sense.” He dropped his pen on the paper and stood. “All right. You can leave this with us and we’ll get started.”

Her gaze turned fearful. “What? No. I can’t leave.”

Jesus. Did she think they’d take her on a ride-along?

Before Rami could say anything, August leaned forward. “We need to put together a plan. Go over logistics. You have my word that finding Ivy is our priority.”

Rami fought the urge to roll his eyes. He’d seen many sides of August, but swooning wasn’t one of ’em. And he sure as hell didn’t make promises.

Gigi’s shoulders lowered an inch. “When will you start looking?”

August stood, as if he sensed Rami’s patience thinning. “Well, the sooner we can meet with our team, the sooner we can make progress.”

She chewed her lip then, trembling, slowly rose to her full height of five foot nothing. “Right.” She pushed back her unbrushed hair and picked up her purse. “Will you let me know? I mean... how long will it take?”

This time Rami didn’t hide his scoff. “Ma’am, at this point, we don’t even know where to start.”

August shot him a withering glare.

“But we’ll call you in a few hours and let you know where we’re at,” he added. Mostly so August didn’t leap across the table and pummel him.

He’d sparred with August more than once, and although he’d beaten him fifty-fifty, he hadn’t fought a lovesick August—and that looked like a whole new beast.

Gigi gave a nod and left the room.

August shut the door and folded his arms. “She lost her sister, man. She doesn’t know our process and just wants Ivy back in one piece. You’d do the same for family.”

Rami blinked slowly. His friend’s words had touched a nerve.

I’d have fucking done everything for Zain.

Rami held up a hand in surrender. “Fine. I’m not trying to upset anyone. I just don’t know how we’re going to find out where this woman is.” He checked the clock on the wall. “Where the fuck is Toth?”

August sat in the seat he’d vacated moments before. “He texted fifteen minutes ago. Should be here any—”

The conference room door opened and Toth walked in. His brown hair was slightly disheveled, his beard scruffier than usual. Some color was gone from his usually robust-looking face. Shit, maybe he’d been really sick.

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