Page 68 of Concealed

AmbC:Love it!

Mustang99:Come meet me outside. Sneak out so no one sees you.

AmbC:Are u sure u don’t want to sneak in?

Mustang99:It’s better if we go out.

AmbC:Are u in a Mustang?

Mustang99:Yeah. Just tell me where to meet you, and I’ll be there. Come on, baby, please.

AmbC:OK… U can meet me at the corner of Acorn and Wilburn. Text me when ur here? 213-786-8909

Mustang99:I’ll leave right now. See you soon. Can’t wait.

And it’s go time.

Call it a habit, superstition, or voodoo cop shit, but I tap the butt of my gun three times before heading out with the team in practiced synchronization.

These are the best of the best cops on Grant’s team, and everyone knows exactly what they’re doing. We’ve run through the drill countless times, and now we’re actually doing it.

“You good?” I ask Dean, who has her game face on.

“It will be hard not to kill him on sight.”

Her answer makes me like her a lot more.

We’ll be able to closely monitor everything that’s happening in the car because of the almost undetectable wire Dean is wearing. But that doesn’t mean there’s no risk to her. I rest a hand on her shoulder, and she looks way up to meet my eyes.

“You’ll be good. We’ve got you.”

She nods. “Thanks, Harrison.”

I’m lucky enough to be sitting in an unmarked car with Grant. The tech team has an inconspicuous van set up in addition to all the computer paraphernalia in the house. I’ve never been a desk guy, but I respect what they do.

We couldn’t make smart decisions without them.

The road is dark and most of the streetlights are burned out. The “bad” areas of Sunnyville are nothing like what we had in LA, but this place is as rotten as it gets. It’s the kind of place where nobody sees or hears anything.

It’s where young girls are disappearing and no one is looking for them – until now.

Dean walks down the poorly lit sidewalk toward a waiting car, which is actually a souped-up Mustang, so he told the truth about something. She opens the passenger door and jumps in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It’s so damn dark.

We can’t see shit.

My breath catches in my throat as we listen to the audio.

“Hey, baby,” the man who we hope is Zhang Wei’s main man, Wang Yong says. “You’re even prettier in person.”

“Hi,” Dean says, and her voice is quiet and shy. Exactly how a fifteen-year-old girl would probably feel when she realized she was in over her head. “Are you sure you’re seventeen? You look older than the boys at my school.”

The car starts, and there’s a second where the face of maybe-Wang-Yong is visible under the lights. He’s at least thirty.

“I’m a bit older,” he admits. “I didn’t want to scare you off, though. Age is just a number, right?”

“How old?” Dean asks.

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