I took a seat in my office chair and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. The sun was beaming on the chandelier that hung above my desk. The soft wind from the open window was blowing the curtains hypnotizingly.
I stared at the the documents from the meeting, analyzing my forged signature, which she'd gotten to a tee. The phone finally rang and I picked up.
"Angela."
"Sir. I have a draft already prepared."
"Perfect. Email it to me," I said, logging in. I read the statement over and found it acceptable.
"What do I tell the press in terms of a press conference?"
"We have nothing to go off of. If we're going to have one we need to have a lie with substance. If everything runs smoothly, which I doubt they will, then we could hold a conference this Friday. But knowing Rosalie, this will require more time."
"Something we don't have."
"Exactly." I stared at the documents Rosalie signed and something sprang to mind.
"I'll get back to you about the press conference tomorrow evening."
"Talk to you then." I hung up and dialed for Ortega.
"Ortega," he responded.
"Listen, can you get one of your guys to trace any mail sent from the old address?"
"Ye--."
"Actually, broaden the search to Venice--any hotels or motels in that area. That's where Rosalie stayed."
I knew to have him only expand the search up to Venice because it wasn't too bad of a road trip--although, even if it was a 4 day trip, she'd still do it if that's what it took. Having made her first move in October, I was certain that time played a huge role in her location. I had never told her when I'd be back from staying with Zhara and the kids, which left room for a lot of uncertainty. She knew I was probably going to come after her so she avoided staying too close to my home.
Knowing Rosalie, rarely did she ever do a job alone. She always had someone doing the dirty work for her.
Who's the victim this time?
The only clue I had to go off of was the one I'd just assigned Ortega and nothing had come of it yet. I had never planned anything with Rosalie. I knew what her mind was capable of, but I didn't know how it worked. But someone did.
I picked up the phone and dialed once again.
"Fuuuck," Cane groaned. I pulled the phone from my ear.
"You couldn't just text: I'm busy," I said, scrunching my nose.
"I was just going to tell you... hmmm... over the phone. It's quicker."
"Just come by ASAP," I said, ready to hang up.
"Having second thoughts on keeping me around?"
"No. Woke up a couple of hours ago to find out that the dead don't sleep." There was silence on the line, which was broken by a giggle and moan. Cane whispered something inaudible.
