Chapter 4 - The Address Beneath the Collar
The tracker led them to a server registered to a company that officially sold restaurant equipment.
The company had no restaurant clients.
No employees.
And no physical inventory.
What it did have was a warehouse lease in Cicero and monthly payments from six businesses connected to Renato Moretti.
Dante found the records before noon.
Julian wanted to raid the warehouse.
Camille expected that.
Isabella stopped him.
Also expected.
What nobody expected was Violet.
The cat refused to leave Camille’s apartment.
After the hospital released Violet from observation, Julian insisted on taking her home.
Violet entered his SUV willingly.
Then screamed for twelve consecutive minutes.
Camille finally opened the door.
The cat jumped out, ran back into the clinic, and planted herself beneath Camille’s desk.
“That’s humiliating,” Julian said.
“You’ll recover.”
“I’m talking about her.”
“So am I.”
Ultimately, Violet went home with Camille “for one night.”
That became two.
On the second evening Camille sat at her small kitchen table reviewing Violet’s medical chart while the cat explored every cabinet like a tax auditor.
Julian appeared at eight carrying dinner.
“I didn’t invite you.”
“You also haven’t eaten.”
“How do you know?”
“Dante asked your receptionist.”
Camille stared at him.
“That’s deeply creepy.”
“He said the same thing.”
Julian unpacked pasta from a restaurant Camille had never been able to afford.
“You bribe all veterinarians this aggressively?”
“Only the ones who kidnap my cat.”
“She chose political asylum.”
Violet jumped onto a chair.
Julian sat across from Camille.
For several minutes they ate without talking.
It felt strangely normal.
Dangerously normal.
Camille finally asked, “What happened to Renato?”
“Nothing yet.”
“You found the warehouse.”
“Empty.”
“He knew you were coming.”
“Apparently.”
“What about the tracker?”
“Still broadcasting.”
Camille glanced toward Violet.
“And whoever monitors it thinks she’s here?”
“Yes.”
She stopped eating.
“You used my apartment?”
“I didn’t choose where the cat went.”
“You could have disabled it.”
“I wanted to know whether someone came.”
Camille stood.
“You used my apartment as bait.”
“No.”
“That is exactly what you did.”
“I have people outside.”
“You have people outside?”
“Four.”
She looked through the blinds.
A black sedan sat across the street.
Another SUV rested near the intersection.
“You surrounded my building with armed security without telling me?”
“If I told you, you would object.”
“Yes!”
“Exactly.”
She stared at him.
Julian seemed genuinely confused about why that argument had failed.
Camille pointed at the door.
“Out.”
“Camille.”
“Out.”
A knock sounded.
Both froze.
Julian immediately moved in front of her.
The casual dinner disappeared.
The mafia boss returned.
Another knock.
“Dr. Hart?”
Female voice.
Camille recognized it.
Mrs. Alvarez from downstairs.
Julian relaxed half an inch.
Camille opened the door.
Her elderly neighbor stood holding an envelope.
“This was under my mat. I think it is yours.”
Camille took it.
No address.
No stamp.
Just her name.
Julian saw it.
“Don’t open that.”
Camille gave him a look.
“You’ve given enough orders today.”
“Camille.”
She tore the envelope open.
Inside was a photograph.
A woman.
Young.
Dark hair.
Bruised cheek.
Standing beside a motel door.
On the back were five words.
ISABELLA WAS NOT THE FIRST.
Camille stopped breathing.
Julian took the photograph.
His face changed.
“Do you know her?” Camille asked.
“No.”
But Violet did.
The cat leaped onto the table.
Sniffed the photograph.
Then began pawing at it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Camille examined the image.
“There’s something here.”
A corner of blue fabric was visible in the background.
The same shade as Isabella’s scarf.
Julian called Dante.
Ten minutes later, they identified the motel.
Closed for four years.
Owned by Caruso Logistics.
Renato’s shell company.
Julian looked at Camille.
“You’re staying somewhere else tonight.”
“Fine.”
“You’re not arguing?”
“I’m capable of recognizing an actual threat.”
“Good.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No.”
“There it is.”
“Camille.”
“Julian.”
He looked exhausted.
“You’re a veterinarian.”
“And your cat found two crime scenes before your entire security organization.”
From the doorway, Dante said, “She has a point.”
Julian turned slowly.
Dante reconsidered.
“She has a medically interesting hypothesis.”
Camille grabbed her coat.
They drove to the motel.
Julian kept Camille in the center vehicle of a three-car convoy.
She complained.
He ignored her.
The motel sat beside an abandoned highway frontage road, windows boarded, sign half collapsed.
They entered through the office.
Dust covered everything.
No electricity.
No recent footprints.
Then Violet’s tracker chirped.
Not Violet’s.
A second tracker.
Dante found it taped beneath an old reception counter.
Beside it was a key.
Room 17.
They opened the door.
The room was empty.
Except for photographs.
Dozens.
Pinned to one wall.
Women.
Some smiling.
Some photographed secretly.
Isabella’s picture appeared among them.
So did the woman from the envelope.
Camille felt sick.
“This isn’t kidnapping for ransom.”
“No,” Julian said.
A noise came from the bathroom.
Dante raised his weapon.
Julian moved Camille behind him.
“Come out.”
Silence.
Then a tiny voice.
“Please don’t shoot.”
A girl stepped out.
Maybe seventeen.
Thin.
Terrified.
Barefoot despite the cold.
Julian lowered his weapon immediately.
Camille approached slowly.
“I’m a doctor.”
The girl shook her head.
“Animal doctor.”
Camille corrected herself.
The girl almost smiled.
Almost.
“What’s your name?”
“Leah.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Two days.”
Julian’s expression darkened.
“Who brought you?”
Leah looked at him.
Recognition appeared.
Then fear.
“You’re Moretti.”
“Yes.”
She backed away.
“No. No, he said you were the one buying us.”
Julian went completely still.
Camille looked at him.
Someone had not merely been committing crimes behind his back.
They had been doing it in his name.
And suddenly she understood the true purpose of kidnapping Isabella.
May you like
Renato had not only wanted her silent.
He wanted Julian destroyed.
