Page 81 of Bishop

“Nobody has helped me before. Not without getting something in return.” My admission stings, yet it’s the truth. “And to have someone I barely know promise to find my daughter…” I shake my head. “It’s too good to be true.”

“So you’ve been waiting for me to take advantage?” His nostrils flare. “This whole fucking time?”

My heart squeezes. “It’s all I know.”

The revulsion beaming down on me increases.

He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be me. He has no clue. Nobody does. Which makes my life all the more isolating.

“I come from a rich family, Bishop, but my father ensured that I have no money. No value. The only thing I can offer is—”

“Stop.” He gets in my face, eyes narrowed. “I’m done getting to know your messed-up life story. But do us both a favor and quit believing the shit Emmanuel put in your head. You’re worth more than what lies between your fucking thighs so start acting like it.”

I stand tall against the reprimand, loathing how pitiful I’ve become. “I will.”

“And don’t try that siren shit on me again. Next time I won’t be so nice.”

I steel myself against his anger with the squaring of my shoulders.

“Now get the fuck out of my sight. I’m not ready to calm down yet.”

I do as he says, returning to the house with my tail between my legs, my self-respect in the gutter.

He stays outside for more than twenty minutes, returning with my car tire balanced on his shoulder before shutting himself in his room.

I don’t know what this means for me. Or my daughter. Is he still helping? Is he going to delay any assistance because of what I did?

The unknown is brutal, especially when I have absolutely nobody else to rely on.

I pace the living area for an hour. Then move to the window and stare at the crescent moon. I sit on the sofa for a while, too.

There’s nothing but silence in the house until late at night, when the indecipherable murmur of Bishop’s voice filters toward me.

I rush to the hall, tiptoeing to his door to listen.

“I’m out of town,” he says. “The clubs can run themselves. But I require your skills with a problem I’m working on. You need to start looking for someone for me. Discretion is key.”

I exhale on a heave, the relief that he’s making good on his promise so potent it’s painful.

“The name is Adena Costa. Married to Emmanuel. Birth names of their kids are Dante, Salvatore, Remy, and Abri. Current residential address is on the outskirts of Denver, Colorado. Last known location, Virginia Beach.” He falls quiet a moment. “No, there’s no expense spared. I want you to dig into bank account transactions. Hack phone records. Do whatever it takes and do it fast.”

I press my forehead against the wall, my chest tightening with gratitude.

“Nobody can know you’re doing this. Most of all Adena herself.” There’s a warning in his voice. “I won’t take kindly to anyone triggering her suspicions. Do you understand?”

My heart flutters, sickeningly warmed by the threats he’s laying for my daughter. For me.

“Good,” he grunts. “Keep me posted.”

The house returns to silence as I remain in the hall, wishing I could do something. Anything.

He makes more calls, some where he’s menacing and demanding, others where he’s smooth and charming.

“I know it’s late, but I need you to do me another favor, sweetheart.” He huffs a chuckle. “Yeah, I’ll make sure it’s worth your while. All you need to do is keep an eye on incoming flights. Shoot me a text with the details of any private planes hitting the runway over the next few days.”

I sink to the floor beside his closed door, eating up every word.

A few minutes later. “Hey Najeeb. It’s Bishop… I need your special set of skills. Do you still have access to the face recognition software you used to track down Ben McCarthy?… That’s exactly what I’m after. I’m going to shoot you through a photo of a woman. I need you to find her. There’s a substantial bonus in it for you if you’re successful.”

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