“At least an hour, maybe more. We thought she was with you.”
“I haven’t seen her since last night. Listen, there’s something going on here that we haven’t—”
“Who on earth is that guy?” Troy had racked his brain to no avail. His fuzzy memory of Jack was the best lead they had. “I have to call Charlie.”
“Sure.” Mila paused. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Good.”
Troy wasn’t sure why he felt relieved at the thought of her presence. There wasn’t anything Mila could do to help. Kassidy might still be safe. She might have gone shopping alone and had her phone battery die.
And if that wasn’t the case, if something had happened to her, there was nothing Mila could do that the Pinion team wouldn’t already have underway.
“Yes, boss?” came Charlie’s voice on the phone.
“What did you find out about the numbered company?”
“Not much. It’s hidden behind a holding company.”
“Local or offshore?” The thought that this could be an international client made things even more urgent.
“Pennsylvania.”
That news was a relief—a small relief. It meant it likely wasn’t a violent enemy based out of South America or the Middle East.
“Lancaster,” said Charlie. “Didn’t you live there once?”
“Yes,” said Troy. He’d lived there with his father, Kassidy’s mother and Kassidy. Adrenaline suddenly slammed the truth into his system. “Ronnie Hart.”
Vegas looked up sharply.
“Who’s that?” asked Charlie.
Troy’s hair stood on end. “Find me Ronnie Hart. Anything you can get.” Troy’s brain started to race. “Particularly real estate. Does he own or rent anything in DC, Maryland or Virginia?”
“On it. That’s our guy?”
“He’s our guy,” said Troy, ending the call.
“What?” asked Vegas, coming to his feet.
“A neighbor.” Troy blew out a breath, not sure whether to be relieved or terrified. “Ronnie Hart was a neighbor on Appleberry Street, a teenager back then. But he played with Kassidy. He really seemed to like her. She was only seven, and it was kind of odd, but I was too self-absorbed to pay any attention. Her mother and my father were in their own worlds. You know, the kid practically raised herself.”
“He’s got them,” said Vegas, tucking a gun into the back of his pants.
Troy agreed. “It wasn’t about me.”
He desperately scrambled for memories. Was Ronnie dangerous or merely deluded? He wasn’t an international criminal bent on revenge. But he sure wasn’t in touch with reality, either.
Vegas hooked up his earwig, tossing one to Troy. “Let’s go get them.”
Mila burst through the doorway. “What do we know?”
“Ronnie Hart,” said Troy, gearing up himself.
“You have a name?”
“A former neighbor of Kassidy’s and mine. Looking back, I recognize the seeds of obsession. He must have followed her here. And now he’s probably kidnapped them.”
Mila moved closer, voice going low. “I need to talk to you.”
“You armed?”
“Yes. But, Troy, we need to talk.”
“Not now. Edison is looking for an address. I want to be in the car when he gets it.”
“Now,” said Mila. “Right now.”
Troy glared at her. There was nothing more important than finding Kassidy and Drake. Whatever she wanted to hash out between them could wait.
“Mila,” Vegas called. He tossed her an earwig. “You’re coming?”
“I’m coming,” said Mila. “Two minutes,” she said to Troy, her voice implacable.
“I’ll get Charlie and meet you in the garage,” said Vegas.
“What is your problem?” Troy demanded as the door closed behind his partner.
“I’m sorry to do this,” said Mila.
“Then do it later.” Troy took his phone in hand, ready to answer the second Edison called.
“I wanted to talk to Kassidy first.”
Troy gritted his teeth, his muscles turning to iron with anxiety and frustration.
“It’s Drake,” said Mila. “I’m sorry to say it like this. But, Troy, he’s your son.”
The words didn’t make sense. They made absolutely no sense whatsoever. His first thought was that it was a joke. But if Mila was joking right now, he’d throw her out on her ass.
“Drake’s mother is Julie Fortune.”
Troy staggered on his feet, and a roar came up in his ears. “Julie?”
“You knew her?”
“She was a backup singer. For Kassidy.”
“And...”
“It was one night.” He barely remembered it. “In New York last year.”
His brain scrambled through the memory. The dates were right. And Julie and Kassidy seemed to be close. The pieces became instantly clear. Troy had a son. Drake was his son. His son was in peril.
“Troy?” Mila touched his arm.
He forcibly snapped himself out of it. “Let’s go.”
A million thoughts pounded his brain as he strode through to the garage. But he couldn’t let it mess with his judgment. He had a job to do.
As he entered the garage, his phone finally rang.
“Yeah?”
“Good call, boss,” said Edison. “Ronnie Hart owns a house in Virginia. I just sent the address to your phones and to the vehicle GPS system. It’ll take twenty minutes to get there.”
“Get our earwigs all up on communications.”
“Doing that right now.”
“Over and out,” Troy said, breaking into a run.
Twelve
It was an unassuming house, a single-story bungalow, red brick with black shutters on a corner lot of a quiet street. They’d parked two blocks away. Charlie and Vegas took the back, while Mila and Troy approached from the street.
Brown leaves were scattered on the lawn. Two maple trees and some miniature shrubs offered little in the way of concealment, so they stayed to one side of the building.
“Hang back,” Troy told her.
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.
Mila was using every ounce of her skill and training to make sure Kassidy and Drake came out of this uninjured.
“That’s an order.”
“What are you going to do, fire me?”
He glared at her.
“Wait, listen.” Her stomach clenched. “Oh, man.”
It was a baby crying. Drake was inside that house crying his eyes out in fear, possibly hunger.
“It’s a good thing,” said Troy, his body taut, eyes steely with concentration.
“I know.”
It meant Drake was okay for now.
They came to a stop, crouched under a window. And Troy stood slowly to look inside.
“It’s a bedroom,” he whispered to her and to everyone on the communications system. “I can’t see anyone.”
“They’re not in the kitchen,” said Vegas.
“Drake sounds like he’s in the living room,” said Mila.
Nobody disputed the analysis.
“You want to storm it?” asked Charlie.
“Too much of a risk,” said Troy.
“Let me knock on the door,” Mila suggested.
“Why you?” asked Vegas.
“I look normal. The rest of you look like mercenaries.”
“Bad plan,” said Troy. “He’ll recognize you from the club.”
“He didn’t pay that much attention,” she countered. “And I looked pretty different last night.”
Nobody said anything.
“Got a better plan?” she asked.
“Stealth,” said Vegas. “I can pick the lock on the back door.”
“I’m going to check the living room window,” said Troy.
He motioned for Mila to stay put, then he crept along the front of the house, below the level of the windows.
She followed anyway.
“It’s only a matter of time before the neighbors see us and call the cops,” she said.
He looked back at her and scowled.
“She’s right,” said Charlie. “If the cops show up, we could have a bad hostage situation.”
Troy rose slowly, peeping into the front window. Then he snapped back down. “They’re in there. But they’re too close together. If we storm it, we risk Kassidy and Drake.” He looked at Mila.
“Stealth’s not an option?” asked Vegas.
“Any sound and he might grab one of them.”
“I can do it,” said Mila, making up her mind. “I’ll knock. I’m just a woman with car trouble and a broken cell phone. If I get in, I can separate them and buy you some time.”
There was another silence.
“Best we got,” said Vegas.