Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Same thing with the flowers and the poem. I'm guessing at least some of them showed up at his place. Kenna's been playing there two and three times a month since she hired John.
The missing piece has been staring me in the face the whole time. It was that motherfucker.
"We need to find him," I growl, popping the locks on the truck and climbing in.
"Already on it," Trent says. "I had dispatch issue a BOLO fifteen minutes ago. And I've got an unmarked sitting outside his house. When he shows up, we'll be ready to snatch him up for questioning."
"I want to be there."
"Hell no. If you want anyone to do jail time, you need to stay away, Carmichael. If you fuck up the investigation, they'll walk. You know how fucking hard it is to nail a stalker's ass to the wall."
"I didn't say I wanted to be in the room. You can put me behind the glass wall for all I care. But I want to hear what he has to say. He's our link to Ballentine. Until we find him, I need to know what the fuck we're dealing with."
"Son of a bitch," Trent growls. "Fine. I'll run it by the captain."
"Do that."
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. I glance at the screen to see Kane's name. "Let me call you back. I need to fill Kane in."
"Don't you two try any cowboy shit," he warns me. "I mean it, Carmichael. If you go after him and he slips through your fingers, you'll blow the only advantage we've got."
"I'm aware," I snap. "Jesus. This isn't my first time around the goddamn block." I hang up on him before he pisses me off any more, swiping to answer Kane's call. "Hey. I've got news."
"Where the fuck is Kenna?"
"What do you mean where is Kenna? She's supposed to be with you. She told me she was going to call you to go to the studio with her."
"She did call me," Kane growls. "I just got to your place to get her, but she isn't here."
"You're sure?"
"I'm positive. I've checked every damn room in this monstrosity. All of her shit is here, but she isn't."
"Fuck!" I roar, hitting the ignition button as fear and rage surge through me in tandem. They threaten to engulf me, drowning me in a sea of fury. And with nowhere to aim it, I choke on it. "That motherfucker has her."
"Who? John?"
"Yes," I growl, slamming the truck into drive. My hands shake as I peel out of the lot, speeding toward the house. My entire body is numb and disconnected. Maybe that's a good thing. I can't feel the pain if I can't even feel my limbs. "I just got off the phone with Trent. Clive Rucker is his bitch."
"That shady son of a bitch," Kane roars.
"Stay there. I'm on my way, and I'm bringing backup." I hang up with him and dial Zayne, whipping in and out of traffic at a high rate of speed. I don't care if anyone tries to pull me over. Let them. It'll just mean a cop at my house that much sooner because I'm not stopping until I get there.
"Do you miss me already?"
"Get your ass to my house now. Kenna is missing."
Zayne doesn't ask any questions. He just jumps into action. "I'm on the way."
I hang up with him and dial Trent back, trying like hell not to panic. She needs me to keep a clear head right now. I can panic when she's back in my arms, safe and sound. Until then, I need to work the damn problem.
That's how I help her. I work the problem.
Please, God. Please don't take her from me. I won't survive it.
"Kenna's missing," I say as soon as he answers the phone. "Kane is at the house and she's not there."
"She isn't missing, Gideon," he says quietly, something in his tone that threatens to break me wide open. "Clive pulled up at his house with her in tow not even five minutes ago. I already have units on the way."
No. Fuck no. They really do have her.
"I'm getting her back," I rasp. "I don't care what I have to do. I'm getting her back."
"Yeah, we're getting her back, brother," Trent says. "I'll meet you at your place. We'll go together."
Chapter Fourteen
Kenna
"You don't have to do this, Clive," I say for the fifth or sixth time since Clive forced me to get in the passenger seat of his SUV. He tied my hands to the door handle we were inside. I couldn't escape even if I tried. It's not exactly high on my list of things to do, considering we're speeding down the interstate at eighty miles an hour.
"Just stop talking," he says, the same thing he's said every time I've tried to talk some sense into him.