Chapter 4: What Marcus Had Been Hiding
I showed Jett the text without saying a word.
He read it twice.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay." He stood up, walked to the window, and stood there with his back to me for a moment.
Then he turned around.
"You need to call your brother right now."
"If I call him from here and they're watching — "
"They already know where you work.
They sat in your section on purpose." He came back to the table.
"Call him."
I dialed.
It rang four times and went to voicemail.
Marcus's voice, casual and young, telling me to leave a message.
I hung up and tried again.
Same result.
"He's not answering."
"Does he do that?
Ignore your calls?"
"Sometimes.
When he's sleeping, or when he's — " I stopped.
"When he's with them," Jett said.
I didn't answer, which was answer enough.
I tried a third time.
On the second ring, someone picked up.
Not Marcus.
A man's voice, low and unhurried: "He's fine.
He's with us.
We just want to talk to you."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"Put my brother on."
"He's busy right now."
"Put him on or I'm calling the police in the next thirty seconds."
A pause.
Then Marcus's voice, slightly too careful: "Hey.
I'm okay.
Don't — don't do anything.
Just listen to what they say."
"Marcus, where are you?"
"I'm okay," he said again.
Like he was reading from something.
"Just don't call anyone.
I'll explain later."
The line went quiet.
The first man came back.
"See?
He's fine.
We're not unreasonable people.
We just need something from you, and then everyone goes home."
"What do you want?"
"Not over the phone.
Come to the address we're going to send you.
Tonight.
Nine o'clock.
Come alone."
"I'm not going anywhere alone to meet people I don't know."
"You will," he said simply.
"Because Marcus asked you to.
And because you've been covering for him for four months, and you're not going to stop now."
The call ended.
My hands were shaking badly enough that I had to set the phone down.
Jett had heard enough of it.
"You're not going alone."
"You heard what they said."
"I heard what a man who grabbed a teenager said.
That doesn't make it a rule." He pulled out his own phone.
"I have a friend.
Ex-military, does private security now.
I've known him fifteen years.
He can be outside wherever they send you without them seeing him."
"Jett — "
"You came in here this morning because I called you.
You didn't have to tell me any of this.
But you did." He looked at me steadily.
"Let me help."
I wanted to say no.
I'd been saying no to help for so long it had become a reflex.
But Marcus was somewhere I couldn't reach him, and I had a text on my phone telling me not to call the police, and the woman with the silver ring had smiled directly into a security camera because she wasn't afraid of being seen.
"Okay," I said.
"But first I need to understand what they actually want from me.
Because this isn't about a $400 dinner."
"No," Jett agreed.
"It never was."
The address came through at noon.
A warehouse district on the east side of the city, a storage facility called Calloway & Sons.
I looked it up.
The business license had lapsed two years ago.
The listed owner was a name I didn't recognize.
But when I searched that name alongside Marcus's neighborhood, a result came up.
A court filing from eight months ago.
A civil case, dismissed.
The plaintiff was a man named Derrick Voss.
I stared at that name for a long time.
Because Marcus had mentioned Derrick Voss exactly once, three months ago, in a conversation he'd tried to walk back immediately after.
He'd said the name like an accident.
And when I'd asked who that was, he'd said: "Nobody.
Forget I said that."
I hadn't forgotten.
I texted Jett: *Do you know anyone who can find information on a man named Derrick Voss?
Fast.*
Three minutes later, he replied: *Already on it.
Don't go anywhere.*
Then, at two in the afternoon, Marcus sent me a message from his own phone.
One line.
May you like
*Sis, whatever they told you I did — it's not the whole story.
I'm sorry.*
