“I’ll be praying for her,” Olsen says as he claps me on the back in solidarity.
“Ready?” I ask the kids, not even managing a fake smile when they approach.
“What about ice cream?” Knox asks, his eyes bright and hopeful when I buckle him in my truck.
“That’s a great—”
“Mom would say no because it’s late,” Kason says, interrupting me.
I nod at him, noticing how he looks older now than he did when I saw him yesterday before bed.
“He’s right,” I tell Knox, scrunching up my nose. “But tomorrow, I promise.”
Knox scowls at his older brother but keeps his comments to himself.
With such precious cargo in my care, I drive much more calmly back to the office, and despite feeling his stare burn into the back of my head, I don’t make eye contact with Kason.
Kayleigh is excited to be back at the office, but Knox is already half asleep when I pull him out of the truck. I walk with the youngest in my arms to the elevator.
When we arrive on the Blackbridge floor, everyone swarms into action. Whitney takes Knox from my arms, telling me she’s going to lay him down in my office. Kayleigh easily gets distracted by something Anna offers, but Kason sticks right with me.
“Where’s my mom?” he asks, his eyes telling me that he isn’t going to move until I give him answers.
“She’s—” I open my mouth to lie to the kid, to tell him she’s running errands, but he’s not a fool. “The man who picked you up from school was a bad man.”
“I figured that out when he mentioned Ty.”
It’s not lost on me that he doesn’t refer to him as his dad.
“Another bad man took your mom.”
He nods, as if he had already suspected that in his own head.
“We’re doing everything we possibly can to find her.”
He looks over his shoulder, noticing all the men and women fawning over his brother and sister.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Wren has been going nonstop, Kason. We won’t stop until she’s found. I promise.”
He considers me for a long time before nodding and walking away. I’ve been grilled while testifying in Federal court on a case before and didn’t even feel the level of scrutiny I just felt from that seven-year-old.
I lock eyes with Deacon who draws Kason into the conversation he’s having with Jude, Kit, and Quinten. He gives me a slight head nod, letting me know the kids are taken care of.
I arrow myself back to Wren’s office.
“He’s fucking working!” Puff Daddy snaps. “Leave him the fuck alone.”
“Sorry,” Wren says. “I had a telemarketer call. I wasn’t exactly friendly when I answered the phone. Like who the fuck even buys a goddamned extended warranty anyway?”
“Find anything?”
Wren shakes his head, his hands still working over the keyboard.
“Couldn’t find the clit with two hands, a flashlight, and a map!” Puff says, and I find that with the bird back to true form it calms me. This office is always wild and lively, and the quiet, I now realize, was making me even more antsy.
“Puff,” Wren warns.
“I swear!” Evie snaps. “Such a scoundrel!”
“Say it to my dick!” the male bird responds.
I shake my head, watching them, but snap my head around when Wren’s computer dings.
“About fucking time!” Puff yells. “I thought you were losing your touch.”
“What is it?” I ask, getting closer.
“An ATM,” he says, his fingers working fast. “I have to hack—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you have to hack. Just do it.”
Wren, not waiting for my response, pulls up a grainy video two seconds later.
I want to rejoice at the sight of her, but then I notice she’s favoring her right arm and using her left to key in the information. I know for a fact she’s right-handed.
“She’s hurt,” I whisper.
“Her wrist,” Wren predicts. “The alert was delayed because that ATM is a fucking dinosaur. The withdrawal happened eight minutes ago.”
Wren pulls up a map, a red flashing dot, pinpointing the location.
“That’s a really shitty part of town,” I hiss.
“The worst. Minimal cameras, but I’ll track what I can. Whoever has her isn’t going to take her very far to get her money. I’d gamble they’re within a few miles of that machine.”
“Does it say how much?” I ask, waiting impatiently as his fingers continue to work. A few miles to cover is still nearly impossible especially in an area that’s notorious for hating cops. Even if people have information or saw something, they’re not going to be very forthcoming with that information.
“Thirty-five hundred. Her daily limit.”
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“She has nearly ten grand more, so with any luck, they’re going to hold on to her to get the rest.”
“Probability of them using the same machine?” I ask, getting ready to go park across the fucking street if I have to and wait.
Wren types even more. “According to my crime mapping program, four-point-two percent.”