“We’ve got a situation, Jerry. I need you to dig up everything on a guy named Brant Rockwell. He lives in the area. Works as an accountant, I believe. Frequents the Dolly House Gentleman’s Club.”
“What’s going on?” he asked. I knew he was already taking down my every word.
“A new case I’m requesting. Finley’s missing and I have good intel that that asshole was obsessed with her. He clearly has something to do with her disappearance. I’ve got to make this right.”
Jerry paused, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, there’s no delicate way to say this...but Nolan mentioned something that day you didn’t show up to work. Are you sure she isn’t just avoiding you?”
“Jerry, with all due respect, I know the difference between a break-up and a fucking kidnapping. No one’s seen or heard from her in two days. Her car is parked in the lot and she’s gone.”
“I had to ask,” he said, his tone softer.
“I get it. But I’m going after her.”
“Fine. I'll give you and Nolan clearance for whatever resources you need. Bring our girl home.”
“Nolan's not involved. I'm going alone.” Climbing in my SUV, I gunned the engine, heading toward home to prepare for war if need be.
“Cut the crap, Greyson. So you and Nolan had an argument—get over it. Or take someone else, if you want. Sean and Davis are free today.”
“That's not the reason. Nolan and I are square. But this is for me to set right. No one else.” I failed Marcus that day, and while nothing will ever make up for that fact, it had to be me.
“I can’t advocate that, Greyson. You know the risks of flying solo. No lookout or driver or gunner, no backup to call on if shit hits the fan...”
“I know. But I need to do this.” I ended the call and stepped on the gas. Every second counted if Finley and Maple were in danger.
Chapter Twelve
Finley
Soon after sunrise on the third day, I carried Maple upstairs and set her in her high chair. Brant was already sitting at the kitchen table, with his laptop open in front of him and a cup of black coffee by his elbow. He looked up and smiled at the sound of my footsteps. “Good morning, sunshine. What's for breakfast?”
Whatever you're making, asshole, was what I wanted to snap. Which decade were we living in again? He'd clearly been up for a while, but he hadn't lifted a finger to put food on the table. If only I could starve him to death by pretending to be a bad cook.
“Morning,” I replied tonelessly. “I was thinking pancakes.”
Ever since the first day, I'd struggled to maintain the fragile balance between making him angry and coming across as flirtatious. I had to keep things strictly civil. If he thought I'd warmed up to him too much...
I still slept in the downstairs guest room where I'd first woken up. Unchained now, so I could use the bathroom and reach Maple if she cried. Brant hadn't made me spend the night in his bed yet. Although he had broached the subject—and I'd tried not to shudder too visibly—he hadn't pushed it. But I was sure it was only a matter of time. And when that time came, I didn't know what I'd do.
Brant beamed and turned to Maple. “Ooh, pancakes. How would you like that, darling? With lots of maple syrup for my maple girl?”
She just gave him a slow, big-eyed blink. Your girl? she seemed to say. Who the hell are you and why are you talking to me? I chuckled to myself. She might not have been old enough to understand the details, but she could sense when things weren't quite right.
I eyed Brant's laptop as I cut open a bag of pancake mix and dumped it into a bowl. A red Ethernet cable looped from his computer to a jack on the wall under the table. Signal or no signal, he needed to keep up with work, and for that he needed Internet. But he hadn't given me a moment alone with any of his electronics.
While pouring the batter onto the griddle, I commented as casually as I could manage, “By the way, we're out of diapers.” I had been changing Maple almost every hour to use them up as fast as possible. Brant had only packed a small stash. I figured he only had two options here: He would bring us back to civilization in order to keep an eye on us, giving me the chance to make a scene, find a phone, maybe even just run for it. Or he'd leave us behind, letting me explore the house unsupervised. Your move, you twisted son of a bitch.
“Oh, dear. I guess I'll have to drive downtown today.”
I let myself grin, knowing he couldn't see it when I faced the stove. “Can we come along with you? I want to see if I can find Maple's usual toddler snacks. She can be picky.”
He frowned. “I don't think that's a good idea. Your eye's still black and blue...we don't want to attract attention. People are probably looking for you.”
Privately, I doubted that. I had no family living nearby, no real friends. The other strip club employees would be the only people wondering about me, but strippers unexpectedly quit their jobs all the time. They'd probably just grumble about having to pick up my shift. But what I said was, “You're right. It would look suspicious.” I started to flip the gently bubbling pancakes.
Brant shut his laptop and looked at Maple again. “Maybe this would be a good chance for some father-daughter time.”
I froze, almost dropping a pancake on the floor. That idea hadn't occurred to me. Just the thought of leaving her alone with him was too horrifying for words. And if he separated us, I'd be stuck waiting until they got back to grab Maple and escape. I had to shut down his idea fast. But my mind was paralyzed. Quick, Finley, come up with a reason... My insides felt like they were being twisted with a fork.