Free Misty by Allison Hobbs Page A

played.”
    â€œI value myself too much to ever get played,” Anya retorted.
    â€œYeah, right. Everybody gets played some time or another.”
    After listening to Natalie’s warped way of thinking, Anya felt dirty. Lots of people in Indianapolis had fallen upon hard times, but she doubted if they were whoring themselves out to eke out a living. She needed to rethink her budding friendship with Natalie. A girl who would fuck a man’s friends for profit wasn’t working with a full deck. And Majid, the man who had paid for the freaky entertainment, had to be a little twisted himself.
    After hanging up the phone, Anya tried to go back to sleep, but she could suddenly smell Sergio’s cologne clinging to the sheets. It was a pleasant, masculine fragrance, no doubt very expensive. Everything in Sergio’s world was expensive, and she supposed that acquiring luxurious possessions was the reason he put his life and freedom at risk. The reason he sold poison to his own people.
    So what if he’s a drug dealer, I like him, she admitted to herself. Doctors turned more people into addicts than drug dealers did, she rationalized. Still, sensing that an involvement with Sergio would only bring her despair, Anya decided to push him out of her thoughts. She pulled off the layers of bedding and replaced themwith a fresh set of sheets and a different comforter. She still wasn’t over Brick and having another man’s scent in her bed seemed wrong. And even though Brick had encouraged her to move on, it was too soon to get entangled in a relationship.
    Taking her mind off Sergio, she decided to focus on the business of finding her father.
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    Jonathan Whitman, the private investigator from Philadelphia, whom she found online, assured her that he could find her father.
    â€œHow can you find someone who has been missing for years?” Anya questioned, speaking to him over the phone. “I looked everywhere and he seems to have vanished from the face of the earth.”
    â€œI specialize in finding missing persons.”
    â€œSuppose he’s dead?”
    â€œThen I’ll get that information and let you know.” Whitman cleared his throat to fill the silence after his last comment, and then said, “Fax me the info I asked for—a copy of the most recent picture of your father, his approximate height and weight, date of birth, and make a note of any tattoos or scars. You can go to my website and make a down payment of the fee, using a debit or credit card.”
    After Anya agreed to fax the info and to take care of the down payment, she asked, “How long does it usually take you to find a missing person?”
    â€œAt least thirty days. Sometimes sooner; sometimes longer. I’ll keep you posted.”
    â€œOkay,” Anya agreed. Paying someone that she found online probably wasn’t the smartest move, but it was time to resume the search for her father. If Whitman turned out to be bogus, she’dgo to Philly personally and find someone who could get the job done.
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    By early evening, Anya found herself eyeing her phone for a text from Sergio, and she was beyond surprised when the concierge called to let her know she had a guest named Sergio in the lobby.
    He was in her building? Suddenly, she was more annoyed than flattered. How dare he pop in on her? She bet he wouldn’t be pleased if she showed up at his place without an invitation. “Put him on the phone, please,” she said to the concierge.
    â€œHey, ma-ma. I was in your neighborhood and thought you might want to make a run with me.” He sounded completely at ease as if asking her to make a drug run was normal.
    He must be out of his damn mind. “No thanks. I’m not interested in your proposition.”
    â€œI’m not propositioning you; only asking you to accompany me to one of my favorite