Page 6 of Devil's Tulip

I shift restlessly in my seat, earning curious gazes from both Marcos and Lorenzo. It’s unusual behavior for me; I’m usually composed, unreadable. Cool as a fucking cucumber. But as the car rolls on, I still can’t settle.

Three minutes. That’s all I last before I tell Marcos, “Take the next turn for home.”

“The club?”

I narrow my gaze at Lorenzo. “We’ll drop you off up ahead. You can handle it.”

His jaw drops, and he stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. I never delegate work unless something really important comes up, and for all he knows, nothing of the sort has happened. But for me, my whole fucking world has just tilted on its axis.

I offer no explanation. I just wait for him to recover. Eventually, he nods.

The lights flicker on as I cross my threshold, and Maya, the voice-controlled AI, chimes in with her usual greeting, “Welcome home, Michael.”

I nod absently, already shucking my tie and taking the stairs two at a time to my office. Once there, I shrug off my suit jacket, roll up my sleeves, and sink into my chair.

My fingers itch as I boot up my computers and grab my latest project—the tablet prototype I’ve been working on for the past few weeks.

The mail icon beckons. I click, and there she is. Gianna.Damn.I drink in her photo again, letting myself stare—too long, probably, but who the hell cares? Her face is a riddle begging to be solved, and I’m not the kind of man who walks away from a challenge. Finally, I hit download.Time to strip back the layers. Find out who you really are... and where you’re hiding.

Since the slim, cutting-edge tablet is still in its early stages, I can see through her pretty face to the dark wooden desk beneath. Setting it aside, I swivel to face my curved monitor, behind which three larger screens are running different codes in the background.

Thanks to the seamless sync between my devices, my missing girl’s photo transfers effortlessly. And a few keystrokes later, it’s uploaded into the sophisticated software I rely on to track people down.

Powered by intricate coding and connected to cameras I’ve hacked into all over New York City and forty-two of the fifty states in America, the program begins its meticulous scan of her face.Come on, come on.My fingers drum against the desk as the program churns through a labyrinth of data points, isolating potential matches and validating them against traffic cameras, security feeds, ATMs, cell towers—even real-time satellite imagery from classified channels.

If a pigeon takes a shit in Central Park, I’ll have a timestamped geotag before it even hits the ground.

While the software does its thing, I shake off the restless energy and skim Rafael’s email again.

Name: Gianna Tulipa Cabello.

Age: 23

Eyes: Brown.

Height: 5’5

Hair: Black. Long.

Whoever put this pile of pig shit together listed her eyes as brown. Did no one notice the flecks of gold swirling in those brandy-colored depths, glowing like smoldering embers just waiting to catch fire? How can they not see it? Am I the only one paying attention?

I’ve gone through these details a dozen times during the ride home, but her middle name still fucks with me. Tulipa. I glance down at my arm, studying the intricate flower tattoos covering my scar from that dark night so long ago, my eyes staying longer on my tulips.

Is it a coincidence her middle name means Tulip? I fucking think not. I’ve yet to meet the girl, but I’m not one to ignore a sign this blatant. Nothing in my world is random.

Gianna is made for me.

My computer beeps. The search is complete.Gotcha.I click through the footage until I reach the day she ran away—two months ago. Ballsy little thing, doing itin the fucking daylight.

Satisfaction curls my lips as I watch the first camera feed: a green Jaguar driving down a quiet street. I zoom in through the slightly tinted windshield. It’s definitely her behind the wheel. Is it her car? Somehow, I doubt it.Did you steal it, beautiful?My smile widens at the thought.

The jaguar swerves onto the highway, speeding up.Reckless.“Slow down,” I murmur, though she obviously can’t hear me. However, she does ease off the gas, slowing just enough to take the next turn. My software jumps to the next camera, and my heart nearly stops.

She’s driving straight towards a thick tree.

“What are you fucking doing?” I lean towards the screen, fingers gripping the edge of my desk. Is she trying to kill herself? Is she?—

I grimace when the Jaguar smashes into the tree, the impact sending smoke billowing from the crumpled hood.

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