“He customized the hell out of this thing,” Cam mutters over the speaker. “Your man’s a fucking genius.”
He is. All I can do is stare at the picture of him on that park bench and pray he just forgot to charge his phone. But I know better. He’d never forget. It’s his lifeline.
“I’m hacking into the traffic cameras within four blocks of his last known location now,” Wren says. “The city of Seattle just upgraded their system last week, so it’s going to take me fifteen or twenty minutes.”
We’re only five minutes away from Q’s house, and he still hasn’t responded to any of my texts.
Ryker—sitting in the third row seat—pulls up the floorboard, withdraws a metal ammo box, and pries it open. “Live rounds. Load ‘em up. Now. Pistols only. It’s the middle of the goddamn morning, and if anyone calls us in, we’re fucked.”
I’m out of the SUV before it even stops moving. “Q?” Pounding on the door and ringing the bell at the same time, I already know. He’s not going to answer me. I just don’t know why. Is he injured? Lying on the floor unable to get up? Or—?
“Probie? You’re with me. Around back,” Ry says as he strides away. “West? Breach on my mark.”
“Wait. Don’t break down the doors. Please.” I grab West’s arm. “He’s obsessive about his security. I can’t…if he’s not in there, I can’t leave his home unprotected. It would kill him.”
“You heard the man,” Ry mutters over comms. “Time to see who’s faster at picking locks.”
West already has tools in hand while Inara and I take up positions on each side of the door, weapons at the ready. In under a minute, both doors pop open. “Beta team, go high,” Ry says quietly, and as I take the stairs two at a time, Ryker sweeps through the kitchen.
Q’s bedroom is pristine—as usual. The bed’s made, and his toothbrush is dry as a bone. He hasn’t been here in at least twelve hours.
“Clear,” West calls from the second bedroom.
“What the fuck? Graham, get your ass down here.” Ryker’s voice carries an odd tone, and I holster my weapon and head for the stairs. Inara, just ahead of me, starts laughing, and I can’t think of a single fucking thing that could possibly be funny in this situation.
Until I reach the landing. Ry stands on the other side of the couch, weapon drawn and pointed at the floor, all six-foot-eleven inches of him perfectly still as a little orange ball of fur clings to his tactical vest, meowing plaintively.
“Alpha Team, what the fudgecicles is going on?” Wren asks in my ear.
West almost doubles over with his own rich laughter, pulls out his phone, and snaps a picture. “Check your phone, Base.”
“Fudgecicles?” Raelynn asks. “Is this some kind of code y’all forgot to teach me?”
“Wren gets creative with her cursing,” Inara replies.
Clementine is practically yowling now, kneading Ry’s neck and butting her tiny head against his chin. “Come here, sweetie,” I say softly as I reach for her.
In an acrobatic feat only a cat could pull off, she leaps from Ryker’s shoulder, twists in mid-air, and lands square in the center of my chest, where I cradle her and coo softly. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find him. You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
Sweeping my gaze around the room at my family, I hold on to Q’s kitten like she’s all that’s keeping me upright. “He’d never leave her. Clementine’s as important to him as Charlie is to Ripper. Alec took him. I don’t know how I know, but I know.” My voice cracks, and my legs feel like jelly.
West grabs one of the chairs at Q’s little table and shoves it under me before I fall. “Base, if you have any idea where that sorry excuse for a pig fucker is, we need it. Now. Probie? Upstairs. Find a suitcase, duffel bag, or hell, even a pillow case and pack a couple full changes of clothes for Quinton. Inara? Find his laptop and pull all the cameras. We need those memory cards. Ry? You’re on transpo. Get us a plane ready and waiting—something fast. We need Ripper at the warehouse as soon as Cara can get him there.”
“Where the fuck do you think I am?” Rip replies.
“At my place. With Wren.” Ry’s tone leaves no doubt he’s pissed as hell, and both Wren and Ripper start talking at once until he growls, “Rip, you better have a goddamned explanation for this.”
“You cut your bandwidth in half when you took a sledgehammer to your wall without thinking, asshole. The second we realized this was a big fucking deal, I called Cara. She’s back with Wren now.”
“I was alone for all of twenty minutes, Ry. And I’m fine. Stop being an over-protective Neanderthal and focus.”
Only Wren could get away with talking to him like that, and Ryker’s eyes widen for a second before he shakes his head. “I’ll get us a plane.”
Satisfied, West crouches down next to me as the rest of the team gets to work. “What does the cat need and where is it? We’ll bring her to the warehouse.”
I rattle off the list: litter box, carrier, food, her bed, a couple of toys, and West collects everything while I gently stroke Clementine’s back. “He’d kill me if I left you here alone, you know.”
She mrrps and finds one of the larger pockets in my tactical vest, pawing at the flap until I open it and let her crawl inside.
I should have known. Should have insisted he let me station someone outside his place. Every one of my instincts was screaming at me when I kissed him goodbye yesterday morning.
He was sure Alec was still in Texas. His brother would have called.
Tapping my earpiece, I clear my throat. “Rip? Q has a brother. Connor.”
“Shit. Right. You said the brother had men watching Harrow?”
“Yeah. So either Alec got to Connor, or he’s working with someone.”
Ripper swears under his breath. “On it.”
“No laptop,” Inara says as she kneels in front of me. “Anywhere he’d lock it up?”
Turning, I scan Q’s living room. His mouse is on the floor under the desk. “He doesn’t leave his house. It should be right there.” Pointing, I shake my head softly and squeeze my eyes shut. “Alec has it. And him.”
I can’t voice my next thought.
How long until he breaks Q completely?
Quinton
The van door opens, startling me awake. Voices surround me, but they sound like they’re coming from underwater.
When did I fall asleep? Why can’t I move?
Strange sounds. Metal. Footsteps. Laughter.
“Get the door open, lover.” That voice. I know that voice. Hate it.
Light floods my eyes, and I struggle to focus. The air is hot and dry, and I catch a glimpse of prairie, vast and wide and open. A fence in the distance. Then a shadow blocking my vision.
Panic floods my limbs, and I whimper as Alec drags me out of the van and throws me into a wheelchair. My legs are numb. My ankles bound together. Fuck. Bits and pieces of the last however many hours come back to me, but then we’re moving and my stomach pitches.
Through a door. Air conditioning cooling my cheeks. He rolls me so fast, I can’t see anything but a blur. But I think we pass through a big room, then down a hall. We stop abruptly, and Alec locks the wheels, grabs my bound wrists, and tosses me over his shoulder.
Stairs. Bouncing. My stomach pitching, bile burning the back of my throat. No A/C down here, and it’s stuffy. “The room’s all ready, Alec.”
Room? What room? And who…? Alec’s new lover. Dave? Don? Dennis.
I land on a mattress, then Alec’s face comes into soft focus. “Bring the chair down, lover,” he calls over his shoulder.
I don’t need the wheelchair.
But I do. My legs are numb. My arms too.
Alec yanks the tape from my lips, the pain clearing some of the fog from my thoughts. “Why?” I croak, my mouth so dry, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
His stare holds nothing but pure contempt and rage, and he pulls a notepad and pen from his pocket and drops them on my thighs. “Write down t
he name of your bank and your login information. Plus the password for your computer.”
“No.” I can’t give him anything. He’ll use it against me. But as the small room starts to come into focus, any hope I had vanishes. No windows. A shower, toilet, and sink in one corner—all at the right height for someone in a wheelchair.
Alec rolls his eyes. “Are you really going to fight me, Quint? Another couple of days and the scopolamine and temazepam will have built up in your system and you’ll do anything I ask. If you don’t make me wait, your last few weeks could be almost…pleasant. Otherwise…”
He leaves the threat hanging, and I curl onto my side away from him.
“Your stupid little app is a bestseller. And you’re going to sign everything over to me.”
“Fuck. You. Not...the same...guy you…gaslit. Asshole.”
Alec grabs my chin, leaving fresh bruises on top of the ones he gave me back in the van. “You will be. And no one’s coming to save you this time.” He waves his phone screen in front of my face too fast for me to see. “Took care of big brother before I flew out to Seattle. Or…had Dennis’s friends take care of him. It’ll be a miracle if anyone finds him before the elements or his injuries do him in.”
I lunge for the phone, but topple over, my balance lost to fear and whatever drugs he gave me. “What...did you...do?”
The phone screen is right in front of my face now. My brother lies on an expanse of dirt wearing only his boxers, his face bloody, eyes closed, right arm broken, and blood pooling under him.
“Billy—I have you to thank for him, baby—was a cop. He came to enforce the order of protection you filed against me. We had a good six months before Billy decided life wasn’t worth living.”
I try to wriggle away from Alec, horror making my entire body tremble. “You killed him...”
Alec snorts. “Actually, I didn’t. That was all on Billy. He did some bad shit before he met me. But his buddies on the force? Including Dennis? Well, they were happy to help me out when I told them Connor had been the one to push Billy off that roof.” Tucking his phone away, Alec shakes the pill container. “Time for your meds. Then a nap. Need you looking better than this before the competency hearing in two days. It’s online, by the way. So don’t get any ideas about leaving me. You’re never doing that again.”
I should fight him. Try to push him away when he shoves the pills into my mouth and tells me to swallow them dry.
But I can’t. He hurt Connor. He stole me from my life so easily. No one but Graham will miss me, and no matter how good his team is…they’ll never find me.
In two days, Alec will have me so drugged up I’ll be a zombie. The judge will happily give him power of attorney, and then, he’ll get access to everything.
Tears tumble down my cheeks as Alec unlocks the handcuffs and cuts the tape around my ankles.
“Clean yourself up. You smell disgusting. I’ll be back with food in a few hours.” At the door, he plasters on that fake smile. “And if you try to remove that patch behind your ear, I’ll just make you a stronger one and tie you to the bed until you’re a drooling, incontinent idiot. So leave it the fuck alone.”
The thunk of the lock is so loud, I flinch. Or maybe that’s the drugs kicking in. My legs won’t hold me, and there’s no way I can maneuver myself into the wheelchair, so I crawl towards the little bathroom in the corner. With every passing minute, my world shrinks a little more.
Please, Graham. Just take care of Clementine.
Each breath is harder. The air thicker. The plain, gray walls warp and ripple. Clawing my way to my knees, I turn on the shower and struggle to remove my pants and briefs. I won’t be good for anything in a few minutes, and I have to keep fighting as long as I can.
As I sink down onto my ass under the spray, I pull my shirt halfway over my head and stick my finger down my throat. My stomach is empty except for bile, so maybe he won’t notice. The water washes away the vaguely yellow liquid with at least half an undissolved pill, and I relish in my tiny victory. Even if it might be the last one I ever have.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Graham
I’m numb, and only Clementine’s purr against my chest is keeping me in the here and now. The drive back to the warehouse passes in a haze, my team talking around me, planning, occasionally asking me questions I don’t know how to answer.
Where would Alec take Q?
Why come after him now?
Can Q fight back?
Ryker elbows me in the side. “Graham? Did you hear me?”
Shaking my head, I focus on the man next to me. He has partial heterochromia in both eyes, patches of green, hazel, and blue swirled together, and the colors—along with the intensity of his stare—make it impossible not to listen to him.
“Someone’s read your texts to him, right?”
“Yeah.” Pulling out my phone, I unlock it and pass it to Ry. “If his anxiety is off the charts, sometimes he doesn’t respond to me right away, but…it’s after ten. We were supposed to meet at the little park at the end of his street twenty minutes ago.”
My boss’s massive fingers fly over the on-screen keyboard for a minute before he passes the phone back to me. “Add something uniquely you. Something this Harrow asshole wouldn’t notice, but Q would.”
It’s like he’s speaking a foreign language, and for a moment I just stare at the screen. Q’s gone. He might already be dead.
But if he’s alive, he needs you.
Pushing the panic aside, I take a breath and follow orders.
Quint? I waited at the park. Knocked on your door too. I’m worried. This isn’t like you. Please text me back or I’m going to call the police. My whole family’s in town, and they want to meet you.
I send up a silent prayer as I hit Send.
Two minutes later, as West pulls into the warehouse parking lot, the reply comes in.
Need some time alone. Everything’s moving way too fast. I’m fine, and I’ll call you in a couple of days.
Any shred of doubt I was holding onto evaporates into thin air.
“That’s not him. He hates the name Quint. It’s what Alec calls him.”
Ry nods grimly, shoving at the door as the SUV coasts to a stop. I follow my team into the warehouse on shaky legs, one hand cupping Clementine and the other gripping my phone so tightly, I’m in danger of cracking it.
“Tell me you’ve got something.” West dumps his rucksack next to the table Ripper’s working at and starts peeling off his tactical gear while Inara motions for Raelynn to follow her to the supply cabinets. Ry taps his ear on the way to the showers, and starts demanding an update on the plane he requested.
Charlie trots over to me and presses his entire body against my legs. With a tiny mrrp, Clementine pops her head out of my pocket and stares at the dog for a minute, then lets out a plaintive meow.
“He’s not going to hurt you, sweetie,” I murmur, but she doesn’t need my reassurance. She’s purring like a little freight train.
Ripper leans back in his chair. “Still working on a location. Quinton’s place isn’t visible on any traffic cameras. Neither is the park, but we caught the same gray panel van circling the area more than once in the past three days. The plates were a dead end. Stolen a little over a week ago outside of Las Vegas.”
“What about Connor?” I ask. Needing to keep busy, I unpack Clementine’s litter box, food and water bowls, then set the fluffy round pillow on one of the couches in the little sitting area.
“He’s FBI. But they will ‘neither confirm nor deny’ that he works for them. At least according to Pritchard. He’s calling in a few favors to see if someone from the local office can track the guy down.”
West claps his hand on my shoulder. “Take a shower. Change into civvies and clear your head. It’s going to take us at least another thirty minutes to gear up and hopefully by then, we’ll know where we’re going.”
I start to protest, but he silences me with a single look. “That’s
an order.”
Every seat on this private plane is plush, pristine leather. I don’t know how many favors Ryker called in, but this beauty was ready and waiting for us when we arrived at Boeing Field ten minutes ago.
“We got a location,” Ripper says over comms as West hauls the last of our gear on board. “There’s a three bedroom house registered to a Leslie Harrow in northern Utah. Sits in the center of five acres of nothing. Over the past three months, two construction companies have filed permits for that address to modify the basement, adding plumbing for a shower, toilet, and sink and dividing the space into two rooms.”
I drop my head into my hands. My hair is still damp, and I grab fistfuls of it and pull, hard, using the pain to keep me focused.
Ripper rattles off the coordinates, and Ryker presses a call button to relay them to the pilot. This plane has a fucking call button. Takeoff is smooth and quick, and my ears pop as we climb to cruising altitude.
“Detailed map as well as a floor plan headed to your tablets now. Harrow has a virtual appointment with a judge in Salt Lake City in two days. Case is listed as a conservatorship hearing.”
“Fuck. He’ll have access to Q’s money, be able to make all of his medical decisions, and keep everyone else away from him. For the rest of his life.” I punch the back of the seat in front of me. It’s so soft, it doesn’t even sting. Q’s worst nightmare was falling under Alec’s control again. Not being able to defend himself. Being drugged, locked away, losing the freedom he’d found this past year.
“This asshole is putting a hell of a lot of work in here,” Inara says. “Is Q loaded or something?”
“He created an app that shot to the top of the mobile stores just a couple of days ago,” I say.
“Holy shit.” Inara whistles. “That’s serious cash if it stays there.”
“Zen Oasis?” Wren asks. She’s still running comms from the condo she and Ryker share not far from downtown. Her anxiety attacks are worse than mine ever were, so I’m not surprised she knows about Q’s app. “Spitsnacks. I recognized his company name—vaguely—but it didn’t register why until now.”
Braving His Past: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone Page 18