Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Oh, shit. All right. Stepping on it. Any idea who took her?”
“No.” And that bugged the shit out of him. “But if they’re any good, you know she won’t have her phone for long.”
“She won’t. I’m actually almost to Sunset. Someone said rent out here was cheap.”
Probably. “Call me once you’re in her room. I’ll help you into her computer. Oh, and her dad might be home, so don’t get caught.”
“If I get arrested, you’re bailing my ass out.”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, man. We’ll find her.”
One-Mile fucking hoped so.
They hung up, and he stopped at a red light. It was a major intersection, and he looked all around, hoping against hope to spot the Escalade. But it was getting dark now. It looked like rain might fall.
He had no fucking idea how he was going to cope if he didn’t find Brea in time.
Fuck no! They had been through too much for their love to end this way. He would use everything he’d ever learned and exert every bit of his will to save her. For now, he could best serve her by shutting down the goddamn fear.
Working to keep his calm, he texted Brea’s address to Jock Strap. The guy replied with a thumbs-up. The light turned green, so he followed the stream of traffic.
Would the kidnapper be looking to get Brea out of town or hunker down nearby to force on her whatever sick shit was in his head? He didn’t know. He just knew he needed to move mountains to save her.
Plucking up the phone again, he dialed the colonel, who answered immediately. “Got something already?”
“A problem.” He explained the situation.
Caleb cursed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Call your buddies at the police department. I didn’t make any friends over there during Cutter’s hostage standoff at the grocery store, so—”
“You only pissed Gaines off. Most everyone else thinks you’re a fucking hero.”
If he was the ultimate cause of Brea’s death, then no. He’d deserve to rot in hell.
“I need to you to get them to issue a BOLO, have squad cars out looking, check any traffic cams, follow up on leads people might phone in. But I can’t sit still and talk to them now.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
One-Mile let out a breath. “Think this has anything to do with that tube of lipstick you got?”
“Maybe…but my gut says no. You weren’t a part of that original mission, and these people would prefer to have Valeria back without incident. Taking someone before we’ve even had time to act doesn’t fit that MO.”
“True.” And that made him feel better—to a point. “But this may be revenge for Emilo’s death.”
“My sources down there say that shit show he ran is in chaos now. There’s some infighting about which of his lackeys will take over, but word has it that the big boss intends to step in and appoint someone.”
“El Padrino?”
“Yep.”
It seemed unusual that the organization’s kingpin would stoop to care about Emilo’s scrap of territory, but maybe it had been more important than he’d thought. “Think someone bucking for the job is using Brea to get to me so he can prove how effective and brutal he is?”
“It’s possible…but unlikely. Once El Padrino gets involved, no one down there so much as breathes without his consent.”
Not usually, no. That calmed One-Mile a little more. If the cartel had Brea, he knew what would happen and how bad it would be. But if Tierra Caliente wasn’t involved…
“Have any idea who else might have your girl?”
“None.” He had enemies, sure. But unless they’d just been waiting for him to reveal his Achilles’ heel, One-Mile didn’t see it.
“Keep looking. You’ll figure it out or find a clue. Something… Need me to send the boys out to help find Brea?”
Meaning his bosses. Since he’d mostly pissed them off left, right, and center, he doubted they’d do much to help him. “If they’re willing.”
“I’ll get them on it.”
“Thanks.”
There wasn’t much more to say, so after Caleb promised to check in if he learned anything new, they hung up.
One-Mile continued to drive around. He saw black SUVs, but not Escalades. The one he did spot, he followed to a residential district, only to realize four kids sat in the back and the license plate didn’t match.
He pounded his steering wheel again. Goddamn it, he was chasing a needle in a haystack. Brea could be anywhere by now. She could already be out of town. Hell, she could even be on a plane out of the country, depending on who had her and what their resources were.
But under the panic, his gut told him this was about him—not her—and they wouldn’t take her anywhere until they put the screws to him.
A minute later, the phone rang. He glanced at the display and picked it up. “Jock Strap?”
“I’m in. Her computer is up,” he whispered. “Her dad is in the living room pacing, so I’m trying to be extra fucking quiet. What’s her password?”