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.”
“Oh, shit. All right. Stepping on it. Any idea who took her?”
“No.” And that bugged the shit out of him. “But if they’re any good, you know she won’t have her phone for long.”
“She won’t. I’m actually almost to Sunset. Someone said rent out here was cheap.”
Probably. “Call me once you’re in her room. I’ll help you into her computer. Oh, and her dad might be home, so don’t get caught.”
“If I get arrested, you’re bailing my ass out.”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, man. We’ll find her.”
One-Mile fucking hoped so.
They hung up, and he stopped at a red light. It was a major intersection, and he looked all around, hoping against hope to spot the Escalade. But it was getting dark now. It looked like rain might fall.
He had no fucking idea how he was going to cope if he didn’t find Brea in time.
Fuck no! They had been through too much for their love to end this way. He would use everything he’d ever learned and exert every bit of his will to save her. For now, he could best serve her by shutting down the goddamn fear.
Working to keep his calm, he texted Brea’s address to Jock Strap. The guy replied with a thumbs-up. The light turned green, so he followed the stream of traffic.
Would the kidnapper be looking to get Brea out of town or hunker down nearby to force on her whatever sick shit was in his head? He didn’t know. He just knew he needed to move mountains to save her.
Plucking up the phone again, he dialed the colonel, who answered immediately. “Got something already?”
“A problem.” He explained the situation.
Caleb cursed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Call your buddies at the police department. I didn’t make any friends over there during Cutter’s hostage standoff at the grocery store, so—”
“You only pissed Gaines off. Most everyone else thinks you’re a fucking hero.”
If he was the ultimate cause of Brea’s death, then no. He’d deserve to rot in hell.
“I need you to get them to issue a BOLO, have squad cars out looking, check any traffic cams, follow up on leads people might phone in. But I can’t sit still and talk to them now.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
One-Mile let out a breath. “Think this has anything to do with that tube of lipstick you got?”
“Maybe…but my gut says no. You weren’t a part of that original mission, and these people would prefer to have Valeria back without incident. Taking someone before we’ve even had time to act doesn’t fit that MO.”
“True.” And that made him feel better—to a point. “But this may be revenge for Emilo’s death.”
“My sources down there say that shit show he ran is in chaos now. There’s some infighting about which of his lackeys will take over, but word has it that the big boss intends to step in and appoint someone.”
“El Padrino?”
“Yep.”
It seemed unusual that the organization’s kingpin would stoop to care about Emilo’s scrap of territory, but maybe it had been more important than he’d thought. “Think someone bucking for the job is using Brea to get to me so he can prove how effective and brutal he is?”
“It’s possible…but unlikely. Once El Padrino gets involved, no one down there so much as breathes without his consent.”
Not usually, no. That calmed One-Mile a little more. If the cartel had Brea, he knew what would happen and
