Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
She has a son.
I can’t let anything happen to her.
We ride without hesitation to the address found on the note Zariah scrawled out the night she figured out that we weren’t doing the right thing by her. I feel like a fucking dick for doing that, but there’s no point in thinking about it now. The only thing I can think about now is finding this son-of-a-bitch and making him pay for what he’s done to her.
The house is quiet when we arrive. After knocking, or pounding, on the door for a good five minutes, we give up and smash a window. Here’s hoping this fucker doesn’t have an alarm. Alarick covers his arm with his jacket and smashes the glass out of the way so we can climb through. Once we’re inside, we separate and start looking for something, anything. I find an office on the first floor and there, I see Zariah’s things, including her phone on the ground.
I reach down for it, picking it up and placing it in my pocket.
That’s when I see the blood. Not a lot of it, but enough to tell me she’s hurt. There is a smear of it on the floor, and a few droplets leading out the door.
My chest coils as I walk over to his desk. I rummage through fucking everything and find nothing. Not a computer or laptop, no papers that have any indication of where he might be. Fucking absolutely nothing. The only thing on there is the case file they were working on and other cases filed away neatly.
This man is smart.
He knows how to get found out and he’s covered his tracks.
He’s the best of the best, and he knows it.
That’s exactly how they’ve been able to get away with this for so long.
It’s why we can never find them.
He’s made sure they’re covered.
All of them.
How the ever-loving fucking hell are we supposed to find Zariah, when this man has covered his tracks so well?
Frustration explodes in my chest, and I lift the desk with both hands, launching it with an angry bellow that sends it flying into the wall. A loud crack can be heard, and the desk lands with a thud onto the ground. I’m about to turn and walk out when I see something underneath the desk. It’s some sort of compartment built in. I move closer, getting down onto my knees and rattling the lock on it.
I don’t have the key.
That’s fucking fine.
I don’t need one.
I find the heaviest thing in the room—a golf club—and I swing at that fucking desk until the compartment breaks and drops open. Inside is nothing more than a small sheet of paper that reads “Nice try. Keep looking.”
With a rage I didn’t think was possible, I roar.
He’s playing with us.
He fucking knows damn well we’re searching his house.
He also knows we’ll find nothing here.
We need something. Anything.
There has to be a way to bring this fucker down.
“What’s goin’ on in here?”
I spin around to see Alarick at the door, glancing around at the mess I’ve made. “He’s fuckin’ with us,” I bark, standing and pacing. “He knows we were going to come here and search. I can guarantee there is nothin’ in this house. He’s made sure of that.”
“That’s what I was worried about,” Alarick murmurs. “He’s too smart. We need to find a way to outsmart him.”
“How?” I growl. “How? There is nothin’, fuckin’ nothin’. He’s goin’ to make sure we never find him, and even if we do, it’ll be too late. He’s too smart.”
“There’s always a way,” Alarick mutters, his voice clipped.
“We’re runnin’ out of time. He’ll hurt her before we find her. We’ve been on this entire fuckin’ thing for months now and we’re no closer than where we started. There is no way in fuckin’ hell we’ll find him before my trial. I’ll go away and Zariah will be fuck knows where, because we don’t be able to find her.”
“You’re wrong.”
We both turn to see Cohen standing in the doorway, a picture in his hand. It’s an old picture, small and frail. He holds it out, and Alarick takes it off him, studying it.
“I found this in the boxes that are in the basement. It was with a bunch of old photos, nothin’ spectacular, but this one stood out to me.”
“Why?” Alarick asks, studying it. I walk over and stare at the picture too. It’s of a young boy and an older boy. The man is Blanche, that much is clear. He’s only a teenager, maybe a bit younger. His features are very distinct. There’s no missing him.
I don’t see how a picture of Blanche is going to make a difference to anything.
“Look at the boy, the little boy. Really fuckin’ stare at his face. Is it familiar?”
I narrow my eyes staring at the face of the little boy. I study it for minutes, maybe even longer. It is familiar, sure, but I’m not sure I recognize him.