“Cops are too slow.”
“How are we going to figure out where they are?” he asked. “Is there another way to track them?”
I glanced up from my phone. Nicholas was a chef, not an intelligence operative. He wasn’t even former IDF, like his wife. But his face was determined, his voice calm. He could help.
“If my instincts were correct, there might be.” I opened the tracking app Cameron didn’t know I had. A little red dot appeared on the map. It wasn’t far—in Coconut Grove—but it wasn’t here in Bluewater. “Thank fuck.”
“What? Is that them?”
“Should be.”
“Did you implant a bug in her or something?” he asked.
“No, in her shoes.”
“Her shoes? She has like a hundred pairs. You bugged them all?”
“Nope. Just a few.” I pocketed my phone and got back on my bike. “She picks her shoes based on her mood. I figured if I ever needed this, it’d be because she was either trying to ditch me or she was pissed at me. Either way, I bugged a few of her boldest pairs of shoes as a precaution.”
He got on behind me.
“You bugged the shoes you’d thought she’d wear if she was mad or trying to ditch you?”
“Exactly,” I said over the roar of the engine. “And I was right.”
THIS WAS a rescue operation with two women as the target. Once the extraction was complete, I wouldn’t be able to fit them on my bike—Nicholas and I barely fit—so I had to go back to get Cameron’s car.
Nicholas insisted on coming with me and I didn’t argue. His wife was missing. A man needed to be able to protect—and rescue—his woman when necessary. I wasn’t going to deny him that.
As long as he stayed calm, and stayed out of my way.
The little dot on my tracking app hadn’t moved. That was neutral information. It was good if it meant they weren’t being moved. A moving target would be more difficult to apprehend than a stationary one. But it could also mean her shoe—the left one, specifically—was no longer on her foot, and I was tracking a piece of clothing, not Cameron.
No way to tell until we got there.
We drove toward the location on the map. The sun was setting, the sky gradually transitioning to darkness. I didn’t speed or cut through traffic. I drove her car as if nothing was wrong. It’s what I’d been trained to do. Never call attention to yourself. Appear normal.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “Are you armed?”
“No.”
“Should you be?
“I no longer own a firearm,” I said. “And despite what you’ve seen in action movies, a lone man with a gun isn’t very effective against multiple enemies.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“I’ll know when we get there.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Shouldn’t we have a plan or something?”
“I have a plan. Find them. Get them out. I’ll make up the details as we go.” I glanced at him. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this before.”
“You’re kind of scary when you’re like this.”
“This is a mission now. And they fucked with the wrong guy.”
The tracker in Cameron’s shoe led us to a rundown hotel. Metal scaffolding crawled up the side of the building and a makeshift awning protected the sidewalk. It looked like it was under construction—or had been. I didn’t see any sign that a crew had been here recently. No trucks or equipment. I circled around to a street that led behind the building, looking for a loading dock or place for deliveries.
Several cars were parked in the loading zone. None of them were construction vehicles.
One was a bright yellow Lamborghini Huracan with a giant spoiler on the back. Good for speed enthusiasts. Perfect for show-offs. That had to be Bobby Spencer’s car.
I wanted to pop that fucker’s head like a tick, but he was a secondary concern.
The other cars were black SUVs. Tinted windows. Probably bulletproof.
I parked a short distance back. I couldn’t tell by the make of the SUVs who we were dealing with. The building looked abandoned, so it could be a regular meeting spot. Or Bobby had hired more than just a crew to pull off a kidnapping.