Page 60 of Relinquish

No response. I run to the bathroom and yank back the shower curtain. Where is she? The jewels. I return to the bedroom and lift each of our discarded items, scanning every surface in the room. Nothing. Shit. No necklace. No Lola. No cell phone.

I dial her number, and it goes directly to voicemail. Where in the hell is she? I jerk on my clothes and dial Ripley’s number.

“Yes?”

“I might need you. Lola’s not in her bedroom, the jewels aren’t in her bedroom, and she’s not answering her cell phone.”

“Shit.” I can hear him rustling around in the background. “Call me in ten minutes. If you don’t find her, we’ll head your way. We’re getting dressed.”

“Thanks.” My hands shake as I fasten my belt buckle. Stop. You’ve got to be in control. She needs you to think clearly. I inhale and steady my shoulders and back.

As calmness washes over me, I turn off all emotions and shift into combat mode. I’ve clinically orchestrated countless missions. This one is no different. A potential victim needs to be extracted, and you’re the best man for the job. I check the magazine in my Glock, pull back the slide, load a round, and shove it in the holster that’s attached to my belt. The pressure of it against the small of my back is reassuring.

When I open the door, ice water runs through my veins. I glide down the hallway without making a noise. The element of surprise has ended many rescue missions before they’ve even begun. I pray I’m that fortunate tonight. I grasp the doorknob of the study.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Fuck. Just what I need. Lola’s father glares from the stairs’ base like I’m trying to rob him blind.

“I’m looking for Lola.”

“Well, she isn’t in my office.” He yanks his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling the police.”

“Good. We probably need them. Call her brothers, also.” I twist the knob and thrust the door open. I don’t have time for his shit.

“What in the fuck are you doing?” He runs up the stairs.

“I fucking told you. I’m looking for Lola. She’s left the bedroom. The jewels are gone. And she isn’t answering her cell phone.” My eyes shift over each quadrant of the room, scanning for clues and signs of life–my stomach clenches.

Please, be alive. Fuck. Don’t break down–this is a mission like any other.

“What do you mean she’s not in her room?” He steps toward her room. “Did you even look there?”

“I was in the room with her. I would’ve noticed if she were still in there.”

He slaps his hands on his hips. “Well, if you were with her, why the fuck did she leave, and how in the hell did you lose her?”

“I fell asleep.” As I study the wall on my left, I grit my teeth together. Who took her? Where did they take her? Is she still alive? Don’t go there. She’s fine. You’d know if she weren’t.

“Cocksucker. You have no business being with my daughter.”

I spin around. “Stop talking. I’m trying to find your daughter. The least you could do is do what I told you to do. Call her brothers. Now.” His eyes fill with fear, and he stabs numbers on his cell phone. “We can talk about what a bad match I am when we find her safe.” I grab my cell phone and pace the room.

The cushions on the sofa are scattered, and the vase on the coffee table is knocked over. Fuck.

“Hello?” Ripley answers.

“Get here, now. She’s gone.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. We were wrong.”

“Don’t worry about it. Even the best intelligence is wrong sometimes.” I snap the phone off and pace from the desk to the door–a good time to have an epiphany of ‘Sometimes shit happens.’

Edward mumbles into the phone with shaking hands. After his arm drops to his side, he clutches his throat. “Who was that?”

“A friend I was in the SEALs with. He works for Beck Security Force and is married to a DIA agent. They were here earlier tonight, but we thought the burglars had skipped your place.” I run a hand through my hair. “Four other homes were burglarized tonight.”

“Shit.”

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