Page 47 of Knot Yours

In the morning, I hit the gym like a man possessed. Piper runs on her treadmill until she can’t lift another paw, chasing the same demons. Like her, I wear myself down until I can barely walk to the shower.

Later in the morning which is still quiet from the lack of operatives on site, I pull up the security logs at the duplex and my house. No activity has been recorded by the cameras at either place.

Not showing up at my house would make sense. Running the plates on my work truck wouldn’t have even given them my name, much less my address. That they haven’t returned to the duplex surprises me, considering how determined they seemed to get Marisol.

Puzzled by the inaction, I lean back in my chair and sigh, at a loss for what I should do next. Piper enters my office, holding the pink tennis ball Marisol gave her. Considering her history of destroying them, I’m surprised to see this ball still intact.

Piper whines and drops the ball, using her snout to roll it toward me. I push the chair away from the desk and pick up the ball. “I know, girl. I miss her too.”

I toss the ball into her bed, roll back to my desk, and reach for my mouse. It’s time I initiated step two in the mission to bring Marisol home. Opening a browser, I spend the next several hours researching the Pastrana cartel and anything I can find about the Puerto Rican Mob.

After that, I search specifically for Cirilo Borrero. His real estate website includes a picture of a man who embodies Latin royalty. Farther down in the results are articles about the murder of his wife. Some of the photographs even feature a young Marisol.

When I’ve learned all I can about Marisol’s father, I run a search on her. The first listing in the results is for a gossip rag local to the island. The article is titled San Juan’s New Power Couple. The leading picture is of Marisol in a fancy gown next to a slicked-back asshole.

The bastard has his arm around her shoulder, grinning like he’s won the lottery. Marisol is also wearing a smile, but not like any I’ve seen on her face. This one is fake. To me, she looks miserable. These assholes didn’t waste any time, did they?

This is what I was afraid of.

I grab my phone off the charger and dial her number, but it doesn’t even ring. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Damn.

I wonder briefly if this is a ruse, part of her father’s protection. Though a possibility, it doesn’t explain how she looks. The picture sets off warning bells in my head, and I’m out of my seat before conscious thought.

Birdie looks up when I knock on her open door. The shy, brilliant intel expert sits up straight, slightly guilty even, when she spots me standing in the opening. “Spatch. I know I’m late scheduling an evaluation, but I’ve been busy.”

Birdie is dating Bastien Laurent, one of our team co-leaders. After nearly being killed by a psychopath, she’s been spending time training in the gym with several of our operatives in self-defense.

“I’m not here for that, but now that you mention it, Laurent is bound to ask about your progress sooner rather than later.” Sitting across from her, I add, “I’m here to ask a favor.”

If I weren’t so desperate, I’d laugh at the comical expression on Birdie’s face.

“Sure. What can I do?”

“I need you to find a number. I think a friend of mine is in trouble, and her cell is no longer working. She’s hiding out at her father’s house in Puerto Rico. San Juan. Her name is Marisol Borrero. Her father is Cirilo Borrero.”

Birdie scribbles down the information on her digital tablet and looks up when I’ve finished. “I thought you were going to ask something hard. I should be able to get something to you soon.”

While I’d prefer to wait, I remember that she may be in the middle of something and might be intimidated by my sticking around. With nothing else to do, I return to the training room to practice Taichi. God knows I could use the distraction.

After I set up Piper’s outdoor puzzles with treats, she begins the course, finally showing some signs of life. I figure it’s time for me to do the same. Deep breathing and concentration clear my head as I smoothly transition from position to position.

For the first time since Marisol left, my mind is finally at ease.

A throat clears behind me a short while later. I turn at the noise to see Birdie standing off to the side, watching me impatiently. Her shoulders are taught, and her eyebrows are knitted together as if she has bad news. “Did you find something?” I ask.

“Oh, I found a whole lot of something.” She marches at me like a woman on a war path. “Why the hell are you contacting the Puerto Rican mob?”

I keep my face straight. “I’m not. I’m calling a woman who happens to be the daughter of a mobster.”

Birdie blinks as if she’s surprised by my admission. Grumbling, she replies, “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“It wasn’t meant to. Birdie, this woman, she’s someone I care about very much. Her phone isn’t working, and I need to talk to her. I needed her father’s number because she might be in trouble.”

“Um… daughter of a mobster… you think?”

“Birdie.”

She continues her tirade, unphased by my warning. “You know, when American fathers threaten their daughter’s boyfriends, they’re usually bluffing. This mobster dad probably already has a chain and cement block with your name on it.”

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