King’s (The King Trilogy #1)(5)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Maybe I did need help. God knew I was emotionally fried, scared, and at my wits’ end. So perhaps Agent Screwyou’s idea wasn’t so bad. I sat down at the little table beside the coffee cart and began searching for a private detective. There were hundreds, but all geared toward infidelity, background checks, or surveillance.

On the third page of searches, I found a nonprofit. The World Center for Missing Persons and Abducted Children dealt with international cases. I looked them up on the map. They were located on the other side of the city, only a fifteen-minute cab ride.

I chucked my coffee and successfully hailed a cab at the precise moment the rain started to pour. I was damned lucky; a few minutes from now, there wouldn’t be a vacant cab anywhere in the city.

I slid inside and gave the address just as my phone rang. I looked at the number, but it was blocked. “Hello?” There was a ton of static on the line. “Hello?”

“Mia.”

Holy shit. “Justin, is that you?”

I heard his voice again, but it was breaking up. I couldn’t understand a word.

“Justin! Justin!” I repeated frantically into the phone. “Where are you?”

He spoke again, but it was pure garble.

“Justin, if you can hear me, tell me where you are!”

“Don’t…come…looking. Not. Safe.” The line crackled once more. “Love you. Go—” crackle, “bye.”

The call ended. “Justin. Justin. No.”

Oh my god. Please call me back. Please. I stared at the phone, willing it to ring. It didn’t. I dialed his cell, but it went into voicemail just as it had the last twenty times.

“Ma’am, that will be eleven dollars.” Had I arrived already?

I looked up at the driver, who seemed immune to my meltdown. He probably saw his fair share of drama on a daily basis. I shoved a twenty into the slot and scrambled out of the cab.

I didn’t know what to do. I was losing my mind. Justin was alive, but he needed help, and I felt so useless.

The sky shook with thunder, and the rain fell in giant sloppy drops. I slipped inside the building, dripping, sobbing, and unable to stop myself from sounding like a madwoman.

The young woman at the reception desk, a thin brunette with her hair pulled back, stood when she saw me.

I don’t know why, but I held out the phone as if I believed she could magically make Justin call me again. “Please, I need help.”

Her eyes widened with worry. “Of course. Come with me.”

I spent the next hour telling a case manager about Justin’s situation, the important parts, anyway. When I hiccupped, she gave me tea. When I cried, she gave me tissues. She was a good listener, I had to give her that, but sharing my burden out loud made it all real, and that completely unraveled me.

“Mia, you need to tell your family,” she advised. Her reddish hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her brown eyes had that worn look to them, like she’d seen a lot in her lifetime, although she couldn’t have been a day over fifty.

What is her name? Why can’t I remember it?

“I can’t tell my parents. It’s too dangerous,” I said.

“Okay. But you can’t deal with this on your own.”

“Can’t you help me?” That’s why I was there.

“We work with refugees from war-torn countries, looking for missing loved ones.”

I opened my eyes, really opened them, and looked around the woman’s cramped office with 1970s-style office furniture. Fliers for Amnesty International and crisis management informational leaflets were posted everywhere.

I sank my face into my hands. “I’m such an idiot.” I’d spent the last hour pouring my heart out to this woman, and she knew I was in the wrong place. I mean, it was the right place, but not a place that could help me.

I stood and wiped away the never-ending stream of tears trickling down my raw face. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” I dug through my purse and shoved a bunch of twenties at her. “Here. Take this. A donation.”

She pushed my hand away. “No. It’s all right, Mia.”

“I feel terrible. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. But I meant what I said; you need your family. You can’t go through this alone.”

I nodded and headed for the front door. It was pitch-black outside, and the rain hadn’t let up one bit, not that I cared. “Thank you. I-I—never mind. Just…thank you.”

My red heels hit one giant puddle after another as I slogged down the street. What was her name? Why can’t I remember it? I’m losing my mind, that’s why. I’m a mess. A mess. And Justin needs me. You’d think I’d have the decency to remember that woman’s name after she sat there for an hour listening to me—

“Mia!”

The scream broke me from my jumbled stream of thoughts. I turned my head and saw the young receptionist chasing after me down the sidewalk.

“Here. Take this.” She shoved a piece of paper into my hand. A bolt of thunder licked the sky, and the woman jumped. “It’s an address. But you didn’t get it from me. Okay?”

“For what?” I asked.

“Not what. Who.” She flashed a nervous glance over her shoulder. “He might be able to help you.”

“Who is he?” I asked. But honestly, I didn’t care. Help was help.

“My sister’s husband was kidnapped during a trip to Colombia. This man found him. They say he can find anything or anyone.” She paused. “For a price. A steep price. But promise you won’t tell him who sent you. He doesn’t like people talking.”

I didn’t understand why. If this man made it his business to find people, then wouldn’t he want a referral?

“Just…” Once again, she glanced over her shoulder toward her building. Why did I feel like we were dealing drugs or guns or something? “Just ask him his price. Tell him that everything has a price, and you want to know his.”

“Uhhh, thanks.” Just what I needed, some ass**le extortionist to suck my bank account dry.

Perhaps sensing my apprehension, she looked me in the eyes. And like an old Frankenstein movie, the lightning struck, allowing me to see her concerned face. “He can help you, Mia. I swear it. But the man is…he’s…” She stopped herself. “I gotta go.” She headed back toward the building.

“What’s his name?” I called out.

She stopped just short of the building’s entrance. “King. His name is King.”