From the snug confines of my back pocket, my phone trilled obnoxiously, knocking my train of thought off the rails Claudette had set it on with her words. Two expert fingers reached into the back slit of my pristine white jeans and I slipped the device out to take a look at the caller ID.
Well slap my ass and call me a mule.
It surprised me to see a number I couldn't recognise, and that the country code was very familiar and very Spanish. Even though it was completely unexpected, I didn't hesitate to answer because there was only one person who would be calling me from Spain.
"Hola, tío."
"Where's my wife?" Rolando growled into the phone. He was asking about her a few weeks too late, in my opinion. It'd been a little over three weeks since Annaliz had gone missing and every lead Dom chased turned out to be a dead end.
Hell, every lead I chased was an even deader end.
