He prayed she’d say maybe she realized she loved him and wanted to be with him forever, to start a real family with him and their baby, just like he wanted with her.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound echoed through the phone line from her end.
Crap.
“Hang on, Simon. Someone’s at the door,” she said. He could hear the soft thud of her footsteps across her hardwood floor then the clicking of her locks as she undid them, then finally the creak of her door opening.
“Who is it?” he asked, hoping whoever it was would be gone quickly so they could get back to their very important conversation. “Alisha?”
Instead of answering him, he heard a garbled rush of voices, sounds of a scuffle, an ominous crash, then nothing.
A heart-stopping, dread-inducing nothing.
“Alisha?” Simon asked, his voice getting louder in direct proportion to the panic rising inside him until he was shouting. “Alisha?”
No answer.
Fuck.
He checked his phone and saw that the line had gone dead. Grabbing his jacket and car keys, Simon shoved his phone in his pocket and took off out of his apartment at a breakneck pace. The drive to Alisha’s place was a blur of fearful premonitions and painful regrets. Maybe everything was fine. Maybe she’d tripped or accidentally knocked something over. Except everything didn’t feel fine. His instincts said something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Minutes later, he screeched up to the curb in front of her building and charged up the stairs to her place. A black hole of despair opened inside him. What if she was hurt? What if she was lying on the floor dying? What if there was a problem with the baby and she needed his help?
Desperate, he went down the hall with his heart in his throat and blood pounding, feeling like he had a bag of feral cats inside his gut.
Her door was open, gaping like a shocked mouth. Simon swallowed hard and carefully pushed the door open wider to see the empty apartment, no sign of Alisha, except for pieces of her broken phone scattered across the hardwood floor.
Twenty-Seven
Shit. She couldn’t see a damned thing through the hood over her eyes, but then that was kind of the point, she supposed. Her wrists were tied behind her back, though her legs were free. Alisha had no idea where the thugs who’d kidnapped her were taking her, only that they seemed to be traveling over every pothole-ridden street in the city.
With each jarring bump they struck, her side ached a little more. She had to pee too. Not to mention she was hungry. Not a good combination for a woman—cranky, sore, inconvenienced, and famished—especially one who was pregnant. Beneath all the physical discomfort, though, was fear, for her life and that of her unborn baby. But she had to stay calm—calm and focused. She’d been on the phone with Simon when they’d taken her. He’d know something had happened to her and he’d look for her, find her. She just had to be smart and stay alive long enough for that to happen. With that thought foremost in her mind, she did her best to shove her fear aside and listen to the sounds around her for clues to their destination. She sniffed and detected the scents of saltwater and fish, so she knew they were close to the coast.
The car lurched to a stop and the sounds of doors opening and banging shut echoed. Alisha was hauled out of the car, her bare feet scraping on smooth wood. A dull roar sounded in the distance, along with a seagull’s high, plaintive call.
A pier. They must have her at a pier. But which one? Seattle was a coastal city, so there were many to choose from. As she was wondering, one of her captors took her arm in a hard grip and hurried her off the pier and into a place with a cold, hard floor. Her bare toes curled on the icy concrete as her captors strong-armed her into a creaky chair and pulled off the hood.
Alisha blinked hard and squinted into the bright lights shining on her, doing her best to make out the scene beyond. She was in some kind of warehouse. Across from her sat an older man, maybe late sixties, early seventies, with thinning grey hair and beady black eyes. He was looking at Alisha like she was something nasty he’d stepped in that was stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
“You,” he said, expression disgusted. “Do you have any idea how much money you’ve cost me?”
“No,” she said, biting back the snark that threatened to spill out. Her first reaction, whenever cornered, was to lash out first and consider her actions later. But she had to be wise now. She had more at stake than just her own life. She had to protect her baby. And she had to learn as much about these guys as she could so she could tell the cops later. If there was a later.
Please, let there be a later.
“Should I?” Alisha asked, tossing her braids over her shoulder with a flick of her head.
“You should.” The man sat forward, his smile distinctly unpleasant. “George Ludgate.”
She knew the name. He was a local businessman—very powerful. But she’d had no idea that he was connected to organized crime. She needed more to go on, if she was going to help the cops put these assholes away. She played it cool. “And why should I care if I put your auction house scam to bed? Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. Lock you bastards up for life.”
Lowell laughed, a sinister sound so chock full of villainous glee that it almost felt cheesy.
“As you can see, not all of us are behind bars, Ms. Lewis,” Ludgate said. “Those of us who matter are exactly where we want to be. You think Hendrix and Milo were smart enough to run this scheme by themselves? I thought you were cleverer than that, Alisha.”
The sound of her first name on his lips made her nauseous and sent a cold shiver through her. He was watching her, studying her, like she was a specimen on a biologist’s microscope slide. No emotion. Not even anger. His lips pulled back to reveal crooked teeth. “So hard to find competent journalists these days—I almost admire your dedication.”
The words to tell him where he could shove his opinions about her work teetered on the edge of her tongue, but she forced them back. Keep him talking. Find out more. Live. She went with a question she’d been playing with in her head for a while now. “What else were you smuggling then, beside the forged art? Guns? Drugs?”
He scoffed, giving a dismissive wave. “Firearms are too common. Drugs are too messy. Who needs the trouble?”
“What then? What crossed the line for Thomas Warren? What made him say no to cooperating any further?” Alisha sat back, aware of the thugs behind her inching closer. She swallowed hard and kept up her bravado. It was all she had at the moment until Simon arrived.
Please let him arrive soon.
She narrowed her gaze on Ludgate. “People. You were trafficking people, weren’t you? That’s it, isn’t it?”
Ludgate shifted slightly in his seat, smoothing a hand down the thigh of his suit trousers. He didn’t answer her, just sniffed and picked at the cuff of his bespoke jacket. Whether it came from his supposedly legitimate businesses or his smuggling revenue, he clearly made good money.
“I knew it!” she said, her reporter’s gut winning again. “I knew there was a bigger story behind this than just the auction house and the Andronettos.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ludgate said, glaring at her. “You’re forgetting one thing, Ms. Lewis. In my line of work, I know how to make people disappear.”
She swallowed hard. Yeah. She hadn’t really thought about that before, but now it was all that was on her mind. Until Simon got there—if Simon got there—she was on her own. Even if they decided not to kill her, Ludgate and his goons could knock her out, ship her off to somewhere in Asia or the Middle East and she’d never be heard from again. She’d read the stories, seen the reports. It happened more and more every day. Women, young and old, rich and poor, of all races and from all walks of life, being sold off to the highest bidder into lives of horror and pain.
Oh God.
The blood seemed to drain from her head as terror took hold. Ludgate grinned slowly and nodded toward the thugs behind her.
“My me
n are well-trained. You won’t get away from them,” he said. “We’ll send you on an assignment you’ll never forget, Alisha. Go check on the ship and make sure they’re ready.”
One of the goons walked away and her breath caught in her lungs. They were going to do it.
Send her off. She’d never see Simon again. Never see Mike again. Her life, her baby would be gone for good. Or worse. She’d give birth in some back alley or brothel somewhere, filthy and alone.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wanted to launch herself out of that chair and clobber the bastard into the fucking concrete floor. But her body refused to move, frozen to the spot with fear.
No. She had to keep calm. She had to live. Had to keep going. For her and her baby. Alisha had to keep believing Simon would come for her because he was all the hope she had now.
Hurry. God, please hurry.
* * *
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rick asked. “These bastards didn’t say a word to the cops.”
“I’m not a cop,” Simon said, swiping a hand over his face. “I’ll get them to talk to me.”
He checked his watch again. Dammit. This was taking too long. He needed to figure out where in the hell they’d taken Alisha and get her out of there. The thought of her alone and scared and possibly hurt made him want to smash something. Namely the head of whoever was responsible.
Thank God Rick had his back. Walking into the bar to confront one or both of the Andronetto brothers—now out on bail—was probably deeply stupid…but at least he had some backup. Maybe it would be enough to keep him from getting jumped while he questioned the man. Those Andronettos had to know something, at least who was behind all this. And damn if that didn’t make him feel even more guilty.
Alisha had tried to tell him on several occasions that there was more to this than just the forged artwork, and she’d been right. He should have listened to her. If he had, then maybe she wouldn’t be kidnapped and hauled off to God knew where right now.
All he could picture was Alisha the last time he’d seen her at that restaurant, the night she’d told him things were over between them. Man, he’d been such an ass, scolding her for following her gut on the story. Asking too much. If he ever found her, he’d apologize. He’d tell her how wrong he’d been, beg her to take him back.
No. Not if he found her. When. When he found her…
He stepped into the bar, shoulder to shoulder with Rick. It was early, and the bar was nearly empty except for a couple of rundown regulars…and Hendrix and Milo behind the bar. Both men looked a little rougher, and a little less cocky, than when he’d seen them the last time, but both were still wearing those same belligerent, fuck-you, expressions.
Bastards.
Simon’s anger must have shown on his face, because Rick elbowed him and gave him a warning look. God. It was almost funny. Simon had questioned men a million times during his stint as a SEAL, but never had it mattered more than it did now.
He stepped up to the bar and stared the brothers down. “Who are you working for?”
“Your mother,” Milo said, snorting.
Hendrix chuckled. “Nice one, dude.”
Yep. A real brain trust here, these two. Simon took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Your boss kidnapped someone important to me tonight and I’d like to know where she is.”
“She?” Hendrix looked up at him. “It’s your little girlfriend, huh? The reporter. About time. Always sticking her nose in where it don’t belong. Only a matter of time till it got cut off.”
“Where is she?” Simon asked again, his words more clipped this time as his patience grew thin. “Tell me.”
Milo scoffed. “Even if we knew, why should we? What’s in it for us?”
“The satisfaction of knowing you did the right thing.”
“I got your right thing right here,” Hendrix said, dropping his hands and grabbing his crotch. “Fuck you and your girlfriend. Should’ve taken a break from screwing her and asked her what she was working on instead, dumbass.”
Without thinking, Simon was across the bar with his hands around Hendrix’s neck, smacking his head back against the mirror, cracking it. “Tell me where she is and I won’t choke the life out of you, you pathetic asshole.”
Rick was at his side in a moment, pulling Simon off of the guy, but not before he heard the satisfying sound of the little prick gasping for air and felt him clawing for life. Simon wasn’t a violent man by nature, but he’d do anything to save Alisha.
“C’mon, dude,” Rick said, hauling Simon away from where the now slumped Hendrix lay on the floor where he’d fallen once Simon let go of his neck. Milo, pale and wild-eyed, finally looked shaken and Simon was glad. If they touched one hair on Alisha’s head, he’d be back and no one would stop him from burning the brothers to the ground. Rick hauled him out onto the sidewalk and tried to be the voice of reason. “Shit. You trying to end up in prison yourself?”
“No.” Simon turned away and placed his hands against the bar’s cold brick wall, hoping it might quell the fire of his anger. “I just… Shit. They know who’s got her. They have to. And they won’t say it.”
“I told you this was a mistake, man.” Rick paced the sidewalk behind him. “Let’s go back to the apartment, take another look at your files. Maybe there’s something in there we missed.”
Simon grunted, out of time and out of ideas. Something we missed. Something we missed. The words kept looping in his head until he thought he’d go insane. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall. There had to be something he and Alisha found that could help him now. There had to be…
Asked her what she was working on.
Hendrix’s words cut through Simon’s cluttered thoughts. What Alisha was working on.
That was it.
He pushed away from the wall and took out his phone, striding down the street.
“Hey, wait for me,” Rick called from behind him, hurrying to catch up. “What’s going on?”
Simon held up a finger as he dialled the number for the paper where Alisha worked.
“Seattle Standard, how may I direct your call?” the receptionist said.
“I need to speak to Bob Haskins, please,” he said, then glanced over to Rick while he was transferred. To his buddy, he said, “If anyone knows what Alisha was working on, it’s her editor. And even if he doesn’t, he can get me into her files at the paper so we can take a look at her notes.”
Rick nodded and gave him a thumbs up. The first encouraging sign he might be on the right track at last.
“Bob Haskins,” the editor said a moment later. “Who is this?”
“Hi, it’s Simon Stone.”
“The author?” The guy’s voice sounded dubious. “Why are you calling me?”
“It’s about Alisha Lewis.” He waited a few seconds then said, “I need your help. She’s been taken.”
“Taken?” Bob said, sounding alarmed now. “You mean, like abducted?”
“Yes.” Simon rushed on. “Listen, there isn’t a lot of time, but I believe all of this has to do with Alisha’s story about the auction house and the Andronetto brothers. There’s a connection somewhere that we missed—someone above the Andronetto brothers. Law enforcement is working to find her as soon as possible but I think I can get to her faster if I can just figure out where to go. I need you to let me see her computer files to see if there’s anything in there we can use to figure out where she might be held.”
Bob blustered on the other end of the line. “Well, I can’t just let you into the database. It’s against the law, not to mention the constitution—”
“This is no time to be worrying about the goddamned constitution,” Simon said, earning him a warning look from Rick again. Swearing under his breath, Simon forced himself to take a deep breath to keep his shit together. “Sorry. I’m just really concerned about Alisha’s wellbeing. We need to find her quickly before they hurt her. Her life is in danger here. Please.”
>
He managed to leave out the part about their unborn baby, not knowing if Alisha had told her boss about it yet or not.
Bob didn’t respond right away and those seconds stretched out into a small eternity. Finally he said, “Okay, here’s her login. I’ve reset her password to Newsroom1. You’ll have to search for it yourself. That’s as much as I can give you.”
Simon hurried and typed it all into the notes on his phone. “Thank you, sir. This will be very helpful.”
“Just get her back. Alive and well. That’s thanks enough.”
The call ended and Simon walked back over to Rick. “Let’s go.”
An hour later, his head hurt and his eyes were strained from scrolling through page after page of notes on the computer screen, but Simon still didn’t have a solid lead to go on.
Shit.
Rick slid yet another cup of coffee in front of him to replace the old one that had gone cold and untouched, but Simon barely noticed.
“Want me to take over for a while?” Rick asked. “Fresh eyes on it might help.”
“No. I got it,” Simon said, taking a swig of coffee. He felt helpless enough as it was and at least this gave him something to do. He’d been focusing on her more recent notes, thinking she must have uncovered something that triggered her capture, but now, in frustration, he scrolled farther down in the files from the auction house to the beginning of the case. Okay. Now, maybe he was getting somewhere. There was the name of her source, the main one who’d told her about the meeting at Thomas Warren’s house the night they’d gotten Amy. He pulled out his phone and thumbed in the number, then waited for the call to connect.
“Who is this?” the guy on the other end other line said.
“John Barber,” he said, making up a name on the fly. Rick gave him a look, but Simon waved him off. Desperate times called for desperate measures. “I work with Alisha Lewis at The Seattle Standard. Listen, I need to ask you about Andronetto brothers and the auction house.”
“No, man. I’m done with that. Sorry,” the guy said and started to hang up, but Simon stopped him.
Guarding His Fake Family Page 16