Chapter Eight
Penn
“HE’S NOT FUCKING here,” I growled into the phone. “Does he have another property?”
Joe Charlston cleared his throat, the sound of an engine loud on the line. “No, that’s the only one that Steve—”
“Everett? Is that you?” Steve Hobson’s voice replaced Joe’s. I envisioned him snatching the phone, either to stand up to me and beg me not to hurt his cocksucker of a son or help me find the woman who was like a daughter to him.
“Tell me where I can find him.” I paced the woodland where the car tracks vanished onto a road. I had no clue what direction they’d gone in, no more hints or clues to chase.
Elle was still out there.
A new day had replaced the night, and I was fucking raging at the thought of her still with him.
“He’s not at the cabin?”
I ground my teeth. “He was. His Porsche is here, but they’re not. He had another car. They’re still missing.”
Steve cursed something I didn’t catch. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Tell me something helpful. Tell me you know your son. Hotels he prefers, locations he likes.”
Steve paused then rushed, “I know he was thinking of buying a fishing lodge. I don’t think he did, but then again, I had no clue he had another car up at the cabin.” His voice turned despondent. “This entire fiasco is showing how little I know my own flesh and blood.”
Another man came on the phone. A man I remembered vividly for multiple reasons. And he remembered me. “Everett, David speaking. Elle’s bodyguard.”
“I know who you are.”
I remember the night we first met when your judgment stole all my joy at being with Elle and reminded me I was scum who doesn’t deserve her.
“I’m driving Mr. Charlston and Mr. Hobson to the cabin. Wait there, and we’ll track them down together. I’ll do some digging with my contacts and see if there are any other assets under his name.”
Contacts.
Digging.
Of course.
I had someone better to call.
Urgency to hang up on such a pointless conversation made me snarl, “Come here, I can’t stop you. But I won’t be here when you arrive. I’ll find her on my own.”
I hung up, not caring I’d given Elle’s father shit-loads of reasons why he should ban his daughter from ever seeing me again—if she ever let me in the same room as her, of course.
But I didn’t care about family dynamics and winning favors.
All I cared about was finding Elle and making sure she was safe.
If she tried to kill me after I told her who I was, then I would accept that. At least she would be back home where she belonged.
My chest tightened at the future conversation we would have. The explanation about why I had her necklace, why I’d done what I had that night in the alley, and why I’d tracked her down (thanks to her I.D card) then taken things she wasn’t ready to give.
But first, I had to find her.
My fingers shook as I punched a well-used number into my phone.
He answered on the first ring.
The man who I turned to for everything.
The man I called my father and friend.
“Larry speaking.”
“You still have that Meerkat in your zoo?”
First thing Larry had taught me: people were always listening. The higher in society you climbed, the bigger your bank account grew, the more people eavesdropped on every part of your life.
Meerkat was code for cops and zoo was code for payroll. Larry was a lawyer. And a damn fine one. But it didn’t mean he didn’t use extra tools when it suited him—all in the name of defending the innocent, of course. The same method had helped free me, revealing what I’d sworn under oath to be true even when the jury didn’t believe me.
Even when I’d been thrown away to rot in a cell for something I didn’t do.
“Yes, my zoo is always full.”
“Great, I need some apples.”
Stupid code for information. We need to change that one.
“Name it.”
“You know the animal in question. I need bucket monitoring for any large refills in the last few years. Track down his zookeeper and any cage cleaners. See if he’s left his comfy pen and suddenly taken a liking to the wild or has any other nests tucked away. Got it?”
I hoped he did because my mind hurt remembering how to vaguely insinuate he look up Greg’s credit card statements (bucket monitoring) for any out of place shopping sprees such as cars or rentals. And to research his mortgage documents (zookeepers) or line of credits (cage cleaners) for hotel statements or house purchases.
If Greg had planned this...something damning would appear.
It always does.
“Consider the report in progress.” Larry cleared his throat. “He’s still got her but—”
I knew he wanted to reassure me, but I didn’t have time. “He might for now—” I crunched the phone tight in my hands “—but not for much longer.”
“Give me twenty. I’ll call you back.”
I hung up.
Gritting my teeth against the cuts on my feet and the seizing of bruised joints from the beating, I jogged through the forest and up the driveway to my Merc.
The minute Larry called with new information, I would find her.
And this time, I wouldn’t fail.
Chapter Nine
Elle
COOKING IN CHAINS wasn’t something I was used to.