Since it was midday Saturday, the drive to White Center didn’t take long. The taxi cruised slowly through a neighborhood overrun with small boxy homes. Though there was an air of shabbiness that encompassed many, for the most part they were tidy with neatly kept lawns and flower beds.
At the last minute she remembered to call Constantine. “I found the house. At least, I think I have.”
“Give me the address.”
She hesitated. “Why do you need the address?”
“So I know where to send the police if I don’t hear from you within the next thirty minutes.”
She sighed and did as he requested. “There’s no need to worry, Constantine,” she reassured. “This will be over before you know it and I’ll call you the minute it is.”
“What do you mean?” Constantine asked sharply.
“Oh, well, you know,” she said, a trifle distracted. “It won’t take long to discuss the situation with Mrs. Mereaux. I’m sure Primo will pay her a generous price for Brimstone and that’ll be that.”
“Gianna—”
“Oh, someone’s looking out the window. I have to go. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.”
She flipped the cell phone closed before he could say anything further and exited the cab.
Constantine stared down at his cell phone and frowned. Something about his conversation with Gianna felt off, and a sense of wrongness sizzled through him. He glanced at the group hovering over the blueprints spread across a table in the center of the Diamondt building foyer. Getting the account was vital to Romano Restoration’s continued growth and expansion. Maybe that explained why he’d been so distracted. So distracted that he hadn’t really given his full attention to this Brimstone business.
But now that he did…
It hit him then and he swore, praying he was wrong. He flipped open his phone and dialed Luc’s number. No answer.
Juice’s number. No answer.
Rafe. Draco. No answer.
He barked an excuse to the men waiting for him and took off at a dead run. Why was it that his future wife always had him running? Even worse, why was it always in terror that something horrible had happened to her?
Gianna knocked on the front door of the Mereaux residence. It opened a moment later and a woman of mixed race, slightly younger than herself, greeted her. She eyed Gianna nervously.
“How long are we supposed to stand here?” she asked, a strong hint of Louisiana Cajun clear in her voice. “I’m sort of new at all this.”
Gianna smiled. “Me, too. I think we just need to talk for a minute or two. I’m Gianna, by the way.”
“Mia.” They shook hands.
“I’m surprised Juice allowed you to do this, Mia. He tends to be very protective about innocents, as he calls us. He was forced to enlist my help or David wouldn’t have taken the bait. But you…”
Mia grimaced. “No choice. They had some other woman all set to pretend to be me, but Mr. d’Angelo got the jump on ‘em. Nearly caught Mr. Juice standing right over yonder in my front parlor.”
“David was here already?” Gianna asked, shocked.
“Surely was.” Mia stepped back as planned and allowed Gianna to enter. “Fortunately Mr. Juice had time to hide in the kitchen. And my neighbor was here to take my daughter, Bebelle, for the day. She had her children with her—all five. That d’Angelo man couldn’t do much with all them witnesses, now could he? So, he made up some fine excuse about a wrong address and left. Since he’d seen me, I insisted on staying put until they could arrest him.”
Gianna closed the door behind her. “I’m so sorry, Mia. We all thought David would follow me. He must have gotten the address from the concierge, instead, and come straight over. So much for careful planning.”
“That’s what Mr. Juice said.” A hint of warmth touched her cheekbones. “He wanted to pull the plug, but I wouldn’t let him. Can’t risk that man coming back thinking the doll is still here, now can I? That wouldn’t be safe for my Bebelle.”
“Well, this won’t take long. We’ll just let David take the doll and our part will be over.” Gianna threw an arm around Mia’s shoulders and gave her a swift hug. “Are you nervous?”