“Where is she?” I ask.
“We’re confirming.”
“You better confirm fast.”
Oaks pushes off the bar. “Brother.”
I point at him. “Don’t brother me.”
Whiskey closes the laptop he ain’t using and steps forward. “Her phone is still at your house?”
“Yeah.”
“Truck?”
“There.”
“Lottie’s SUV?”
“Gone.”
“Holler’s phone?”
Holler comes in behind me, already irritated. “She left it charging on my kitchen counter. Woman never forgets her lipstick but leaves a phone like it ain’t a federal crime.”
Legend’s jaw flexes. “She knew we’d track it.”
“Obviously,” Whiskey says.
I turn on him. “You knew?”
His eyes narrow. “No. If I knew, I would have planned it better.”
Not helpful.
Maybe honest.
Still want to punch him.
Wildcat looks up from the laptop. “She asked me to clean some phones. I did because that’s what I do.”
“Can you trace her?”
“No toll tags. No card use. Lottie pulled cash yesterday. More than she needed for groceries.”
Holler mutters, “Damn woman.”
There is pride in it.
I want to hate him for it.
I do.
A little.
Legend’s phone buzzes. He answers, listens, says nothing for a long minute, then ends the call.
Everyone looks at him.