"Thirty seconds. That's all you have to stop the bullshit, or your son is dead."
~~~~
Six years ago, Chelsea Doherty lost everything when her husband disappeared without a trace and left her to clean up his past. Now living in Ireland, she has piec...
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Houston, Texas
June 2024
~~~~
I chase back and forth in the empty parking lot, about ready to blow up the entire city. The restaurant is closed, everyone is gone, and it's only us that's left. The wait is driving me nuts. "It has been hours."
"We already established that." Anton yawns openly without taking his gaze off the phone in his hand for even one second. "Shit, I lost again."
I frown. "What are you doing?"
"Playing Yahtzee."
"Chelsea is missing and you are playing on some stupid app."
Anton shrugs. "What else is there to do? Besides, not sure why you are having a meltdown. You ordered me to stay put when Penina Cohn grabbed her and"—his smile turns smug—"I have the text to prove it. It's on you if something happened to Chelsea."
"Fuck you." Angry at myself, I kick the tire of the van. I shouldn't have risked it. When Anton texted that he spotted Jackson's number two entering the restaurant through a backdoor, I should've let him intervene. Now we might've lost Chelsea for good.
"Plus we got what we needed." Falk stares at me from his seat in the van with utter boredom. "The chick came through for us. Four paired phones, one of them likely belonging to Jackson Pierce. What more do you want?"
"I want her back here safely."
"Personally, I think Pierce killed her, so waiting around is just a big waste of time."
"You wouldn't think that if she were a Disciple."
"But she isn't, so if she's dead, who cares?"
Anton smirks. "Amen to that."
"You are both fucking morons." I shoot them a dark look.
Falk clicks his tongue. "What's your issue?"
"Oh, fuck off."
"If you have the hots for her, that's a bad move. You shouldn't get involved with an asset."
Anton chuckles under his breath. "Amen to that, too."
I pinch the bridge of my nose; the pain that has been pounding in my head since Chelsea's abduction is getting worse. These two are a lethal, migraine-inducing combination.
A van with a bakery logo drives slowly by the parking lot. The side door is open and I pull my gun. A body is pushed out, hitting the cement hard, followed by another object that looks like a small sack. Before I can take a breath, the van speeds off.
"Fuck."
I run toward the squirming person on the ground and pull the bag off Chelsea's head. The bastards bound and gagged her. Helping her sit up, I free her from the cloth in her mouth. For once, Anton proves useful when he pulls out his knife and cuts the cable ties around her wrists and ankles. They stuck her in some sort of scrubs; one of her upper arms is bleeding from a cut and a few scrapes mar the side of her face. If I ever run into Jackson Pierce, I'd make sure to repay the favor.
