None of it.
“Yeah, the Dive,” Rafe said, clearly irritated by the whole convo. “Where else?”
Nolan cut a glare at Rafe. “We tried staking out the Dive in case Mr. Suit showed up, but he never did.”
“How often did he come around?” Rafe asked me.
“I wasn’t exactly keeping track.” I took a drink of coffee. Was there anything better than good black coffee with carby, syrupy-sweet pancakes in the morning? “But maybe… every few weeks?”
“It’s been a few weeks since they tried to grab you,” Jude said, “so either Mr. Suit is due for a visit soon or he’s steering clear in case you go to the cops.”
I rolled my eyes. “Like that would do any good.”
I’d already thought about the cop angle, but it didn’t take a genius to know how that would go down: they’d look at me like I was a hysterical woman and probably ask if I was turning tricks at the Dive. Then they’d look into my background, realize I’d been inpatient in a psych ward, and — maybe — pay a visit to Vic to ask him about my accusations, after which they’d all have a good laugh about how I was probably due for another round of “rest” at Oak Hill.
“We know that and you know that,” Jude said, “but Mr. Suit might still be gun-shy about the possibility.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know here,” I said.
“Do you or do you not want to hear what we’re doing?” Rafe asked, his voice tight.
I looked at him, intending to give him what I hoped would be a withering glare, then remembered he was just as hot as Jude. Usually Rafe’s personality deficits were enough to keep my lust in check, but the longer I lived with the Bastards the hornier I seemed to become.
A good personality wasn’t on the list of attributes desired by my body.
Apparently.
“I do, but maybe get to it sooner rather than later,” I said, hoping to remind myself that Rafe Maddox was, in fact, too insufferable even for a fantasy.
Rafe opened his mouth to respond but Nolan broke in. “The only way to identify Mr. Suit without laying eyes on him ourselves is to trace his car.”
“I already told you I didn’t get the license plate,” I said.
“There are cameras,” Jude said. “Not at the Dive — more proof Lombardi is dumb as fuck — but at the intersections around it.”
“Plus the gas station down the street,” Nolan said. “And at Pink.”
Pink was a strip club less than half a mile from the Dive. We used to get groups of guys in all the time, pregaming before heading to Pink (those ones weren’t too bad) or postgaming afterward (those ones were handsy and obnoxious).
I had to hand it to the Bastards, I’d never even thought about looking into traffic cams or security cameras used by the surrounding businesses. Although to be fair, I’d been pretty busy trying to stay alive.
That was the thing no one understood about being in survival mode: there were all these things youcoulddo to make your situation better, all these things youshoulddo to make it better,but you spent so much energy treading water to keep from drowning that doing anything to try and pull yourself out of the undertow seemed impossible.
Still, knowing there were cameras around the Dive didn’t mean the Bastards had access to them.
I poured more syrup on my pancakes. “How do traffic cams and cameras at Pink help us?”
“Do you think Mr. Suit teleported to the Dive?” Rafe sneered.
“Contrary to what you may think,” I said, “I’m not stupid. I just don’t see how cameras owned by the town or some random business help when we don’t have access to them.”
“Who said we don’t have access to them?” Rafe asked.
I stared at him, my fork halfway to my mouth with another bite. “Do you?”
“Not directly,” Nolan said.
I looked at him. Somewhere along the way, Nolan had become my safe space. Not because he wasn’t sexy as all get out — I was still recovering from the image of him across from me in the hot tub, his dark hair damp, chest flexed as he stretched out his arms on the edge — but because I’d been forced to trust him.