Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted 2)

With his thoughts running in circles, he pushed his way out of the restaurant to head for his Jeep so he could make the drive to Sunset, then do or say whatever necessary until Jasper Bell gave his consent. The sound of screeching tires to his right caught his attention. He turned and saw a sight that stopped him cold.

A black SUV hauled ass out of the parking lot—with Brea’s panicked face plastered against the back window.

Fucking son of a bitch…

Fear crashed through his system and tried to freeze him, but he shoved that shit into a mental compartment and locked it down as best he could. Then he breathed and forced himself to remember his training.

Still, his heart revved furiously as he yanked his keys from his pocket, unlocked his Jeep with a press of his jittery thumb, then dove behind the wheel, peeling out in hot pursuit.

The black SUV had disappeared around a curve. Goddamn it, he’d been so fucking focused on Brea that he’d only caught part of the license plate, and that wouldn’t help much if the vehicle had been stolen.

One-Mile careened around the bend in the road, his thoughts churning. Who would abduct her now? Why? It might be random…but he doubted it.

Was the tube of lipstick the colonel had received this morning somehow meant to be a warning for him, too? One-Mile didn’t see how it added up, but he couldn’t untangle that shit now.

When he reached the intersection, the black SUV was gone and he’d missed the light. Nor did he see it in the thick fall of traffic.

Fuck. Left or right? North or south? He had to decide quickly.

Following a hunch, he got in the left-hand turn lane to go south. Traffic was heavier in that direction because the majority of town lay that way. If this motherfucking abductor wanted to blend, he would head downtown.

Seconds dragged on, and he imagined all the horrible things a monster could do to his gentle pretty girl. He started to fidget and crawl out of his skin.

“Fuck the red light.”

One-Mile dodged between cars crossing the intersection legally, managed to turn, and tore down the street. His blood boiled. His rage seethed. He tried to quell the panic and think.

He hadn’t seen her purse scattered or lying abandoned in the parking lot. If she still had it, that meant she had her phone. That probably wouldn’t last long. The kidnapper would know she could be traced and ditch the device—leaving him without a clue where to find Brea.

He had to get his hands on her computer and track her cell phone ASAP, but he didn’t dare head away from her and waste time off the road.

He needed help.

“Who the fuck can I call?” Not Cutter; on his honeymoon. Not Cage; probably in Dallas. He didn’t know her father’s number. He didn’t know how to contact anyone else in her life.

He banged a fist on his steering wheel.

Motherfucker, there must be someone.

He yanked his phone from his pocket and dialed Matt, who answered on the first ring. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

“Someone took Brea.” He described the incident as he merged over one lane and scanned the cars around him.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Where are you?”

“Down by the airport, looking at a bike.”

South end of town. “Great. Get on the highway and head north. Look for a black Escalade with a license plate that begins with W-eight. If you see it, follow and call me.”

“You got it. Call the police?”

“Not yet. They’ll want to interview me before they put out a BOLO.”

“And you can’t wait around for that. I’ll call you if I find anything.” Matt hesitated. “She’s a good girl, and she doesn’t deserve this.”

“It’s my fault.” Self-loathing clawed through One-Mile.

“You don’t know that. We’ll find her.”

Before it was too late, he hoped. “Thanks.”

He needed another hand. Since he had just exchanged numbers with Forsythe, and the guy was supposedly a top-notch investigator, One-Mile hoped that would work for him today. He pressed the button for Trevor’s contact.

The guy answered on the first ring. “Hey! Decide you like me after all?”

“I’ve got an emergency.”

All hint of teasing disappeared. “What do you need?”

One-Mile thought of an easy half-dozen people he could have Forsythe track down—her father, the man’s fiancée, her boss. He didn’t trust any of them to stay cool in crisis. “Where are you?”

“On I-49, north end of town. Need me to head back south?”

Jesus, what a lucky break. “No. Head to Sunset. It’s the next town you’ll come to. I’ll text you an address. Go around the back, head into the bedroom window on the southwest corner of the house. On the desk, you’ll find a computer—”

“Hold it, Serial Killer. I can’t just break into someone’s bedroom for you.”

“It’s my fucking girlfriend’s. She’s been kidnapped. She’s still got her phone, and her computer can trace it.”