A Haystack as Big as Chicago.

I roll over and let out a groan as my ringtone sounds in my ear over and over again.

It's been a week since I got here, and while Cuba may be small in the map and small in population size, do not underestimate it when you're looking for something like information about a plot that can destroy four planets.

It's like looking for a pin in a haystack as big as Chicago.

The phone keeps ringing, and with another frustrated groan, I look at the time. Four a.m.

Four in the freaking morning.

Letting out a barrage of curses, I pick my phone and check the Caller ID.

Unknown.

Hmm. I swipe on the screen before placing the phone right beside my ear.

"Hello."

"Hello, I'm looking for investors in my property. Would you like to be part of them?" a gruff voice says.

"No, thank you," I reply, then look at the phone. What sorta odd call is this?

"It's quite a good deal, Miss Irvine. Don't be so narrow-minded."

"I don't wish to invest in any company, sir. Especially not the kind whose employee calls a random number at four a.m. in the morning." My tone is cold and rigid, expressing my absolute dissatisfaction.

"Oh-" the person on the other end chuckles. "That's where you're mistaken. It's not a random number at all."

"Then it's a wrong number. You're making a mistake, sir."

"Ivory Irvine, private agent, female? I'm not making a mistake."

As though electricity shoots through my veins, I sit up in shock.

"Who is this? What are you- Who the heck is this?!"

"You have something of mine, Miss Irvine." The voice has turned sinister. "I learnt that you were warned but refused to listen, so…I'd teach you a lesson."

I was warned but refused to listen? What the-

"Wait, what are you talking abou-" I hear the dial tone meaning that the person has ended the call. With a groan I stare at the number. It has the Cuban country code.

Oh, great. I've made an enemy in Cuba.

Letting out a string of curses, I call Ford, whose husky voice comes over the phone almost immediately.

"What is it?" he growls the moment the line connects.

"The right thing to say is good morning," I growl back.

"It's three in the freaking morning over here, Ivory. The devil's hour. So you don't get to tell me how to speak. What is it?" he says again, this time calmer but it's obvious he's holding back irritation.

My voice, on the other hand, holds sarcasm. "Aw. Do you need to take a pill or something?"

"Ivory, get to the point," he groans, and I hear rustles. Perhaps he's sitting up in bed. The sound of a creak on the other end further solidifies my thought but I'm surprised when I hear a wince from no other than my adopted brother.

"Ford? Uh, buddy, you good?"

"I'm not your buddy," I hear him grit out before another groan is elicited from him. "Tell me what intel you have."

"Come on, Ford. Don't be ridiculous. You don't usually sound this way. Something wrong with you?"

"I'm not answerable to you," he grunts, and I hear him slump against something. He's probably standing from his bed.

I scoff. "Maybe you're not, but you're still my colleague. What's happening there? Roman fighting with you again?"

Roman has always tried his very best to take over the head position of the company, since he's the eldest, two years older than I am.

But Scarlett and Georgia love Ford a lot more, and since he is more mature and serious, he was elected by the sisters over my singular vote for Roman.

I don't think Roman has ever rested since the election.

"I was drinking earlier. You want to run back here and hit me?" he sneers. I'm about to give a retort when I hear a loud smack and him cussing.

He hit the bedpost. I'm more than sure of it.

"When did you start drinking, doofus?"

"When you started having legs," he growls back, then groans again as I hear another smack.

Wonder what he hit this time.

With a scoff, I softly smack my forehead. "Never mind. I'll talk to someone with more control over themselves."

So saying, I end the call and walk to the reading desk, then twirl my pen confused as I pore my eyes over the file, even though I'm not concentrating on it. My mind is on my adopted brother.

Ford, drunk?

The possibility of that man getting drunk is as low as the probability of earthworms growing beards.

Even if he had a broken heart (which I hear is one of the reasons for most drunken escapades), he wouldn't drink to stupor, I'm sure of it. He's a cold-hearted entity.

I mean, Ford is many things. Stealthy when on a mission, a lethal weapon as soon as he is put on the offends, sarcastic when he needs to be, a bit too controlling...he's like a phlegmatic Beast.

But drinking? That's not him at all. He's too rigid for that, and I have no idea what has caused him to behave in such manner.

Well, time to call in the recovery squad. I dial Roman's number.

First ring. Second ring. Third ring. Fourth ring.

Finally, the service provider tells me he's not reachable, and I let out a string of expletives that would cause a nun to faint.

Of course. Ivory gets in trouble and the only person who deigns to answer her call is an idiot with an alcohol-induced headache.

I'm tempted to call Ford again (since he answered earlier), but I shake my head and drop the phone when I think of his dull tone and sarcastic remarks.

Georgia.

Scrambling for my device, I put a call through to her cell. It rings several times, but there is no answer.

Last option, Scarlett.

There's a rustle on the third ring.

"How are you Ivory? Good morning."

She sounds as though she's already up and doing even though it's not close to four o'clock.

"I'm alright. Uh, Scarlett, is Roman at the family house? I've been trying to reach him."

There's a pause. "He is. Why?"

Her tone has gone from chill to frosty. It's giving sibling energy. (Note the sarcasm)

I mentally inhale and exhale. "It's about the task I've been given," I lie. "I need some clarifications and only he has it."

"What about Ford? He's the one who assigned the task to you, isn't he?"

Stop being so know-it-all, you- you chick!

She obviously isn't aware of her brother's state of mind. I purse my lips and perform my mental breathing exercise again. "Ford? No, he doesn't have any idea. He's actually the one who told me to talk to Roman instead."

She's silent for a short moment. "Alright then," she finally replied. "I'll tell him to call you right now." She sounds like she can't wait to get off the phone, and I don't blame her. We've never gotten along.

This might be the longest we'll talk together in our lifetime.

"Ugh," she grunts into the phone and I hear rustles. "I can't believe I have to go over to the house."

"Wait, isn't he with you?"

There's a snort. "Not at all. I don't stay at the mansion any longer, remember?"

I remember.

"Right...please call him. And force him to call me back."

"Force?" Her voice holds bewilderment.

"You know your elder brother. Roman will not call me if he's not forced to. If you can, be there with him as he dials my number. Please."

To be honest, I cannot believe I'm begging Scarlett of all people to do something for me.

Her voice sears through my thoughts, and there's a hint of skepticism there. "I don't know why you're so insistent, but I'll see what I can do. I can't promise that he will call you though."

"I'll take what I can get. Thanks."

Five hours later there's still no call from Roman. I wear a shirt and Capri pants, then I pick my purse and stroll out of the condo.

I'm not going to stay in an apartment waiting for my brother to call me like some partially programmed artificial intelligence. I plan to actually enjoy my stay in Cuba.

As soon as I get to the bottom floor, I head straight for the receptionist.

"Hi," is all I say when I get there, attempting a smile (though I'm sure it ends up as a grimace).

"Good morning ma'am," she replies, shining her perfectly chiseled teeth and causing me to be a tad bit jealous. "How may I help you?"

"Uh…yeah, could you please tell me where the best tourist center around here is?"

"Well ma'am," she begins, staring at her laptop and typing frantically. "There are a lot of them. It all depends on what you're looking for."

I'm looking for a bomb, beautiful lady. Lots of bombs, in fact; not just one.

Instead of expressing my internal torment, I manage to smile back at her. "Uh, maybe someplace with animals?"

"Right." She types some more. "There are so many animal parks and conservation centers here. But not to worry, I'll call a tour guide."

"Thank you."

I wait for some time, scrolling through social media for the first time in ages.

Soon enough, a black-haired lady with sunglasses walks in. I watch her as she interacts with the receptionist, then looks at me and smiles. I smile back, inwardly hoping she's not one of the people I'm meant to find here. If she is, then...

She walks up to me. "Hello. You must be the tourist. Nice to meet you."

I blink once before taking the hand she extends towards me. "Nice to meet you too…uh, who are you supposed to be please?"

"Ah! Where are my manners?" She gives a low chuckle. "I'm your tour guide, Yvonne Perez."

Ah. Tour guide. Of course.

"Ivory Irvine," I reply with a small smile. She beams at me and motions to the door, so I stand and follow her to the door where she stops to tie her hair in a messy bun at the top.

"The receptionist said you wish to see someplace with animals, so I think we should start from the animal parks. What do you think?"

I shrug. "Anything you say, you're the expert."

*

We move to the primates; the monkeys to be precise.

Bunch of miscreants.

Alright, a little backstory: I had a terrifying experience when I was little, about four years old, and Ryan Deville had taken me to the animal park in San Francisco.

Who knew monkeys were bullies?

When I turned away from those demons, they pulled my hair. Like, tugged and tugged the life out of it. I kept screaming and trying to run away but those primates didn't let go.

Until the manager came, of course. Ford and the others were still little kids too, so they did what all little kids do; they laughed at me.

I never went back there, not just because I was embarrassed, but because the Devilles didn't let me hear the end of it until we became teenagers.

In fact, Roman still talks about it when he wants to spite me.

And now with the memory in mind, as I'm standing so close to the trees, I shiver.

They clobber each other as Yvonne throws bananas to them, making all those monkey sounds that cause me to want to throw up.

All of a sudden she stops and turns to me and stretches one banana out. "You want to throw some bananas?"

"Uh, no," my expression is dry. "Please, go on. I'll watch from the sidelines."

"I understand you're worried about their behavior, but don't be. They don't bite," her reassuring voice and smile says.

Something in me wonders if that's how she was made. To always smile; because I haven't seen her frowning since she entered the reception.

"I'd rather not. Personal issues."

"Alright then." She replies with a small frown and stops throwing bananas. "It must feel uncomfortable watching me do it. I'm sorry, Ivory."

"Uh, no. You don't need to apologize-"

"Let's check out some other places."

We're about to walk towards the bird of prey area, when I feel a yank on my hair, and it takes me back to the zoo when I was bullied by those primates.

The horror of it all is feeling the same way I felt when I was young.

How did a monkey get out of the cage?

How on earth did that long-tailed creature-

"Get. That. Monkey. Off. My. Hair!" I yell, not caring about who's watching.

But instead of hearing the loud sounds of a monkey, I hear a lot of whispers around me, and I grow extremely self-conscious.

Yvonne looks at me like I have branches growing out of my ear. "What monkey, Ivory?"

Wait…there's no monkey?

I look around, just to see every one looking at me.

"Your hair just got held up by a branch over there," Yvonne adds, walks behind me, and finally pulls something. Almost immediately I feel my hair on my back.

Eek. "Oh. Right- uh, sorry about that."

As I turn to look at those primates, they literally guffaw and point their monkey fingers at me. My hand instantly moves to my pocket where my gun is.

They're lucky I'm in a park.

Yvonne laughs. "Have you had a terrifying experience with a monkey before?"

"Yes," I reply with a dry tone.

"Ah. That explains it. I'm sorry," she says, looking genuinely apologetic.

"It's alright. We all get terrifying experiences one time or the other." I put on my best 'Life is good' expression, and thankfully she seems to buy it.

"You're absolutely correct," she says and smiles again.

Okay, I have to ask; where the heck does she manufacture the smiles from?

I try my very best to smile back, but fail.

There has to be some secret to this stuff, right?