The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) by Brad Magnarella (best business books of all time txt) 📕

“While Hoffman is working on that,” I said quickly, “maybe we should head over to that interview in midtown.” And get both of us far, far away from Ferguson Towers.

“Wait,” Vega said. “Rancho’s got something else.”

The hulking man peeked around the edge of the booth again, then hunched his head even lower. “Stiles isn’t going to give you a week. He just wanted to let that get around so Kahn would lower his guard.”

“He’s planning something?” I asked.

“Yeah, and it ain’t gonna be a tit for tat. He’s going big.”

“How big?”

“Taking out Kahn big.”

“When?” I asked.

“Two nights from now. Man, if he knows I’m telling you this, he’ll waste me. But I’ve got a family in there. I’ve got kids to look out for. My baby girl just turned two. You should see her face when I walk in the door. Just lights right up. No judgment or nothing.” A softness took hold in Rancho’s coal-black eyes. “I’d die before I let her catch a stray bullet—or missile.”

I tried to picture the three-hundred pound monstrosity tossing a little girl up and down and blowing raspberries against her belly.

“Thanks, Rancho,” Vega said, setting a few twenties in front of him, probably out of her own pocket.

“I didn’t talk for the money,” Rancho said. “I’m talking because I need you guys’ help. I’m asking you to catch whatever the fuck that thing is and show it to Stiles. You know what he’s like, Ricki. Once he gets a notion, God and Satan can’t knock it out of his head.”

“We’re doing everything we can,” Vega said, her hip-check my cue to slide from the booth. “But keep the money. Buy something for your little girl. We may need you for more than just info next time.”

15

“Something wrong?” Vega asked from behind the wheel.

As we’d left the diner, I had caught two of Arnaud’s blood slaves watching from down the street. I had no idea whether I’d gotten Vega out of there fast enough. For all I knew, her son was now missing, his sitter searching the playground, calling his name in ever-growing distress. That would be on me. I let myself become too interested in Rancho’s story when I should have been urging Vega to leave. I guess my face looked as stricken as I felt.

“Just thinking about a friend,” I said, switching from one track of worry to another. “She left a party last night with someone, and no one’s seen her since. I can’t get her on the phone.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found,” Vega said.

I’d thought about that, especially with the Italian mob looking for her. “Maybe,” I agreed. “But could you check and see if anyone’s filled out a missing persons report on her?”

“What’s the name?”

“Caroline Reid.”

She pulled out her smartphone, making her steering more haphazard. After a few queries, much of it in police jargon, she said, “Thanks,” and hung up. “A report went out around noon,” she told me.

“Who filed the report?”

“Didn’t say.”

Probably her father. I considered having Vega relay the info about the fae house on East Seventieth Street to Missing Persons, then decided against it, my brain a switchboard of conflicting signals.

I massaged my aching temples.

“Goddamn Stiles,” Vega seethed. I turned to find her white-knuckling the steering wheel, eyes staring spears at the road ahead. “I knew he was gonna pull some kind of shit, but saying he’d give us time just so he could give himself an advantage against Kahn?” She faced me, a pair of fingers held up. “Two nights, Croft. We’ve got two nights to wrap this up.”

“Maybe this lead will turn into something.”

“Coming from Arnaud?” Vega snorted. “I may not know any vampires, but I know the type.”

“What do you mean?”

“A person of interest wanting to aim the spotlight anywhere but at himself. They give us bad info all the time. I’m much more interested in the building plans for the Towers, learning how that thing got in and out.”

“Were you able to find out anything about Sonny Shoat?”

“Yeah, the man’s a real prince.” She gave me a sidelong look. “For the last thirty years he’s been running a club near Times Square. A seedy joint called Seductions. Man’s been in and out of custody, mostly for drugs and beating up on his girls.”

I felt my jaw steeling. I could forgive a lot, but not preying on women or children.

“So we’ll go in there,” Vega said, “let him deny knowing anything, and then we’ll get back to figuring out how that blood slave accessed the tower.”

I was trying to come up with something to divert Vega from her plan when her phone beeped. She looked at a text message on the display, typed something back, and returned the phone to her jacket pocket.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“Just my sitter saying they’re back at the apartment.”

Kid’s safe, I thought, relaxing into the seat. But for how much longer?

Sonny’s graying hair hung like damp drapes around a gaunt, predatory face. Underneath a leather vest, he went shirtless, like the women he employed.

“A murder, you say?” He set a booted foot against his metal desk and tipped himself back, hands clasped behind his head. I could just make out his rat-like eyes studying us from behind a pair of sunglasses, his left lid jittering up and down. But it was his canines I was more interested in. Arnaud had sent us to another vampire. “No, don’t know anything about that.”

“It happened in the basement of Ferguson Towers,” Vega said in the monotone of someone just going through the motions. “The two victims had their throats slashed.”

Sonny’s narrow nose let out a snivel. “Sounds like you’ve got a killer on your hands.”

“Really,” Vega said flatly. “And you don’t have any information for us?”

“Why would I?”

“We’re following up on a lead,” she said.

Sonny dropped his chair and leaned over his desk. “Then you’ve been misled.”

“No shit,” she muttered under her breath, cutting her eyes