Nobody is coming for her. I’m her only hope. What if Bruce hadn’t shown to save her in Costa Rica? She would be dead, her body buried in the jungle somewhere, or worse, dumped in the streets to be labeled as an overdose.
Cassidy stood on the boardwalk across from the club, reviewing what she’d learned from Lars, Cody, Alice, and William, of the journey she’d completed in tracking her.
I’m sorry, Izzy had said. Why would she have called Cassidy and not one of her friends? If she was in trouble, why not call her father?
The club’s hot-pink neon blared into the black night. Another rush of nerves tightened the back of her stomach. If the Mercedes had stopped at the club, maybe it was parked nearby while Izzy was escorted inside. She thought of the backdoor Saxon had ushered her through and headed that way.
On a hunch, she walked to the parking garage where Saxon had parked his bike, but it wasn’t there, and no other cars inside matched the Mercedes. She continued to the back of the club, her eyes scanning the rows of darkened vehicles parked on the street but the Mercedes wasn’t among them.
She passed a mission and the minimart, both closed now, then tucked into the space inside the construction fencing behind the club. Mostly in shadow, the construction lot stood empty except for a few scruffy-looking cars parked near the hulking shape of a dirt mover.
Just outside the construction fencing behind her, a group of young men passed on foot, talking loudly. Spooked, Cassidy moved deeper into the shadows until she reached the corner of the building. Cowering behind a dumpster, she waited for them to pass, panting so loud she was sure the group would hear and investigate. Finally, their voices faded and Cassidy lay back against the brick wall, feeling frazzled.
She had to get back into the club. Moving silently, she stepped to the back door and grabbed the hard, shiny knob and gave it a twist, wondering if it was guarded on the other side. But the door was locked.
Should she try the front? Surely someone would recognize her.
Just then she heard a sound behind the door. Quickly, she jumped back behind the dumpster. The thudding music from the club filtered into the night as the door swung open, sending a stripe of light across the pavement. Who was coming out? Could it be Izzy, about to be forced into the car again?
Something heavy hit the ground.
“Don’t ever show your ugly face here again,” a voice sneered, making her remember the muscular bouncer with the earring. The door closed with a soft squeak.
Cassidy peered out from around the dumpster just as the crumpled figure slowly rolled to his feet. The pale glow from the streetlights washed over his face, and Cassidy gasped.
The figure on the ground was Dutch.
Twenty-Six
“Dutch?” she whispered.
Cassidy raced to his side as Dutch pushed to stand, groaning. Even in the darkness she could see the damage to his face.
“Oh my God!” she cried. His lower lip was split and bleeding and a puffy red mark on his cheekbone had already swollen.
“Don’t worry,” Dutch said, wincing as he fingered his rib cage. “It looks worse than it is,” he added, his voiced tight with pain.
“You need to go to the hospital,” she said sternly, remembering the smug look on his face as the waitress had led him off.
“Nah,” he said, straightening slowly. He grimaced again, his eyes pinching shut.
“Did you get a little too frisky with your lady friend? They had to throw you out?” she said.
“Huh?” he said, his face twisting in confusion.
“I saw you,” she said, hearing the anger in her own voice. “From Saxon’s office,” she added, crossing her arms.
“Whoa,” he said, realization dawning on his broken face. “That wasn’t what you think it was.”
Cassidy huffed her disbelief.
“Think what you want,” he growled, starting to hobble away. Cassdiy followed. “But after you didn’t come back, I tried to find you.” He paused, wincing. “I didn’t . . . like the idea of you alone with Saxon,” he added, an edge to his voice. “The waitress said she’d take me to him.”
“They said you were enjoying yourself.”
Dutch grunted. “If you call getting your ribs cracked, then yeah, it was a barrel of laughs.”
Cassidy sighed as the facts spun around her mind again. Everything was flipping upside down, taking her heart with it, and she could feel her strength waning. “I saw Izzy,” she said.
Dutch squinted at her, his face still tight with pain. “Here?” he asked.
Cassidy shook her head. She explained her trip to NOPA and the search of the apartments. She skipped over her flashback and described the sight of the Mercedes whisking Izzy away.
“Did you see where it went?” he asked, following him through the gap in the construction fencing. He paused to breathe, his chest visibly straining.
“No, but they were heading in this direction.”
“I didn’t see her inside, though I didn’t exactly get the full tour,” he said, grimacing as his eyes met hers.
Cassidy took this in, but all she felt was confusion, which made her wary. “You really should go to a hospital,” she said. She could smell the blood on him.
“Just give me a minute,” he said, after a few steps his gait becoming smoother. They crossed to the opposite side of the street. In the light from the overhead lamp, Dutch’s battered face came into sharper focus.
“Saxon said . . . that you carry a weapon.”
“Of course I do,” he grunted. “You’ve heard of the second amendment, right?” he added.
“Why didn’t you use it tonight?”
He glanced at her, and even though one of his eyes was swelling, his look was shrewd. “It’s not like I carry it on me. Do you know how hard it is to get a concealed weapon in this city?”
Cassidy shook her head. The only thing she knew about guns was how to
