Page 22 of Gabriel
By the time we ditched the ambulance and broke into an abandoned perfume warehouse near the Canal Saint-Martin, the moon was still high in the sky. The city didn’t sleep. Neither did we.
We didn’t talk until we were safely inside and the door was bolted behind us.
Elira turned to me, eyes sharp. “We need to get out of France.”
“Agreed.” I pushed my hand through my disheveled hair. “Do we know where Santos is?”
She pulled out her phone, her eyes skimming over her screen. “Colombia.”
“Jesus, why couldn’t he be closer?” I muttered.
“We’ll have to find a way in,” she declared. “Off-grid. No airports. No hotel check-ins. Untraceable.”
“Boat,” I said.
She blinked. “I like where your head’s at.”
I nodded. Elira and I were rarely at odds, and those disagreements usually came in duos. Right or wrong, Jet and Elira would always have each other’s backs first and foremost.
When they entered my life, they immediately took me under their wings. Even though they were only three years older, they took their older-sibling status to extremes. We’d been a tight trio ever since, spending as much time together as we could until the two of them went to study abroad. And even then we’d remained in constant contact. Yes, sometimes they could be overwhelming and overprotective, but they did it with the best intentions.
“We can vanish for a while,” I stated pensively. “We find Santos and figure out what’s going on. We just have to locate him.”
The Santos family’s home base was split between Miami and Colombia. That was, when he wasn’t lurking as faculty on the D’Arc campus. Either way, it was hard to figure out where he was at any given time.
Elira began pacing the warehouse floor. “We should start with Colombia.”
My brows furrowed. “It would probably be easier to start with Miami, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think so. There’s a spot deep in the Colombian jungle that Jet had been to visit multiple times in the past. It’s the best place to start.” When I remained silent, she added, “Unless you have a better plan?”
“I don’t.” I loved Jet to death, but he never shared his dealings with anyone, not even Elira. “How do you know his movements?”
Elira shrugged. “I put a tracker on him.” Surprise rolled through me. “Don’t tell Jet.”
“But why?” I asked. The twins trusted each other blindly, and putting a tracker on Jet seemed to violate that trust.
“He’s been acting stranger than usual,” Elira explained.
My brows furrowed. “Why haven’t you mentioned it before?”
“Never came up.” I studied her, but before I could question her further, she added, “So it’s settled. We’ll go to Colombia.”
“Okay, let’s retrace his steps. Maybe we’ll find some information or clues.”
She nodded. “Agreed.”
“We buy a yacht,” I said, my voice steady. “Not a flashy one.”
“But it needs to have comforts,” Elira retorted wryly. “I’m not suffering through some shitty accommodations while battling the sea.”
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes while shaking my head. “We’ll register it to a holding company out of Malta. Or Gibraltar. Something buried deep.”
Elira gave me a slow, wicked smile. “Shell company?”
I nodded. “Name it something boring.”
“Westpoint Navigation. OrBellridge Holdings,” she recommended, a playful smirk on her face.
