chapter 5

"Pretty bird," the African grey parrot says, and even now I can hear the fucking sarcasm in his voice as he walks back and forth on his perch, head bobbing up and down like there's a song playing only he can hear.

"Wren," I snap, and that's all it takes for my surveillance guy to drop his controller and turn in my direction.

"Fuck," he grunts when he sees me. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to work up a complete dossier on Donaella Altieri. Start by finding out what went down at her condo tonight."

His fingers are already working over the keyboard before I complete my demand. He's efficient like that when he has to be.

I tap my foot on the ground as if it will help Wren pull the information faster, but I go rigid when I notice that Puff Daddy—stupid name for a stupid bird, if you ask me—is stomping out the exact same beat with his beak. He turns his head to the side once again when I glare at him.

A low, insanely humanlike chuckle escapes from his throat. He doesn't possess an ounce of self-preservation, considering how many times I've threatened his life.

"There's not much about tonight." All of my attention turns to Wren. "Gunshot wound. Considered critical. Last update was him heading to the hospital."

"Him? As in male, or are you assuming?"

"Male victim," Wren says, pointing at the words on a screen I'm certain he doesn't legally have the right to be reading.

Relief like I've never known washes over me.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Dona?" I mutter to myself as Wren goes back to work.

"Holy shit," Wren whispers. "Dude. Is this you?"

My eyes narrow on the computer screen, following the track of his finger to the picture there.

"Fuck off," I hiss. "I need a full workup."

"Look how much hair you had," he continues, not giving up. "Look at those curls. I prefer it over the buzz cut, man."

Even though I'm still irritated, I'm not as pissed as I would be if I hadn't just found out that it wasn't my ex-wife that was shot in her apartment. Of course, there are a million questions running through my head, but I give that relief a little time to breathe.

"When was this taken?" he asks, not pulling his eyes from the screen to the right which is running through screen after screen of information faster than my eyes can even focus on. He's fucking with me, but he's also managing to do what I need at the same time.

"Senior prom," I mutter.

"You look like a baby."

"I was."

Things were so different back then. There's a hopefulness in that kid's eyes as he looks down at the girl in his arms, but that hope burned away so long ago it seems like a handful of lifetimes have passed since that photo was taken.

"Wow," Wren mumbles. "Your wife, man?"

A wedding picture pops up, and I have to turn away. For the longest time, I thought that day was the best day of my life, until Dona bitched afterward about the simplicity of it all. She didn't get the dress she wanted. She had to settle with a ceremony in my parents' backyard instead of a huge party at a five-star hotel, or the destination wedding in Fiji she always hoped for. She only had two bridesmaids because I spent all of my time with her and didn't have any other guys to stand at my side while I promised the rest of my life to her.

She didn't see what I saw. She didn't see how her beauty shined through in her simple white dress, or how my mother's yellow rose bushes provided the perfect pop of color when compared to the bouquet of lilies in her hands.

I sigh in irritation as Wren sweeps through another set of images from the wedding. How did this shit even end up online?

"Your wife is smoking—"

"Ex-wife," I snap.

"—but this chick is every man's wet dream."

A smiling image of Anni Grimaldi covers the screen, and for the life of me, I have no idea why her picture makes my breath catch. Maybe because I never remember her smiling. Maybe because the sun is reflecting off her golden pupils in a way that makes her seem ethereal. Maybe because in this image she doesn't look like the evil villain set out to ruin everyone's lives.

"She's on her way here," I murmur.

Wren turns his chair to face me, his unruly hair falling haphazardly over one eye. "Really? She's pretty."

"Hey, pretty girl! WAnni fuck?"

Wren's mouth spreads into a grin, but all I can do is roll my eyes at the stupid fucking bird.

"Bringing girls back to the office?" Wren's eyebrows waggle comically. "Naughty boss."

"Find me the information I need or you're going to be out of a fucking job," I snap.

He chuckles, knowing I'm full of shit. My entire operation would go down in flames if it wasn't for his computer skills. Technology is the future, and he damn well knows it.

"And teach that stupid bird something besides vulgar words."

Wren and the parrot are cackling like the fools they are when I let the door slam behind me.

"Not here yet?"

Ignacio shakes his head. Jude is nowhere to be seen.

"What does she look like?" Brooks asks with way more interest than I'm comfortable with.

A body like a god and a soul darker than Satan's. If memory serves me correctly.

"Like a woman."

Brooks turns, a smile on his face I know has pulled more chicks than the average man. I've intrigued him, but I don't have time for his bullshit right now.

"She's upset and dealing with some shit. Just come get me when she arrives."

Brooks, realizing I'm serious, nods his head and turns back to face the front office. I arrow to my office, needing a moment to wrap my head around the fact that Dona isn't the one hurt, but apparently, she's in some deep shit. Shootings and acts of violence don't happen often in her area of town. All I can do is wait. Wren is an ace at what he does and I know he won't bring me a dossier until he's one hundred percent sure he's obtained every ounce of information that he can scour from every single database he can access.

With the limited information Wren has on the victim, I type out a text to my second in command, Flynn Coleman, giving him Dona's address with a request to find out what he can. Flynn is former FBI and has managed to maintain many contacts at the bureau that benefit BBS.

Quickly, I change out of the damn dress shirt and jacket I had on for the retirement party, thankful I keep spare clothes in my office. We all do, actually. There's no telling what any given day will bring around here and we always have to be prepared.

Now all I can do is wait for the information to roll in, and that annoys me even more because waiting is the fucking worst. I'm a man of action, and this part sucks.