Page 219 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

“Hello? Who’s this?” Linc’s stern voice echoes in the bathroom. Oh God!

“Sophie’s Dad. Who’s this?” Lincoln must have put the call on speaker because Dad doesn’t sound so far away. I retch again, and there’s nothing delicate about it as bile works its way out of my body.

“Lincoln. Sophie’s boss.”

“Is she okay? What’s going on?”

“She’s sick. What did you say to her? She was fine before your call,” he snaps, danger and protectiveness in his tone.

“I … uh … told her James is missing.” Oh my God! I need to get my shit together. I need to find my son. Strong arms loop beneath mine and help me stand as I try to push up from the toilet. “She needs to come home immediately. I’ve called the police. They’re on the way.”

“Sure. Uh, okay. I’ll help her clean up, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Thank you.” The relief in Dad’s voice is palpable, but I’m unable to find any relief in this situation.

Lincoln helps me to the sink and turns on the faucet so I can rinse out my mouth. My legs tremble, and my body shakes. Tears sting the back of my eyes, and a sob escapes. Tenderly, Lincoln turns me away from the sink and wipes my face with a towel, his concerned eyes following each movement. “There,” he whispers. “All clean.”

“I-I-I ha-have t-t-to go.”

He nods. “Just give me a sec.” Before I can answer, he disappears, then returns just as quickly. Cupping my elbow, he leads me toward the back door, grabbing my purse on the way. “C’mon. Let’s go.” The next thing I know, Lincoln’s tearing out of the parking lot and pulling onto the street.

We drive in silence; me looking out of the window, trying to make sense of what’s happened. James has to be okay. He must be somewhere.

A kid can’t just disappear.

Vanish into thin air.

Then I remember what happened to Lincoln’s sister.

She vanished into thin air.

I cover my mouth to stem the sob that’s forcing its way up my throat. It only took a moment, and she was gone—stolen from him and his family.

Could someone have taken James?

God, if I’d given him a damn phone, I could sort this out with a simple call.

“Soph?”

“Huh?” I turn toward Lincoln.

“Who’s James?” I swallow past the roughness in my throat and open my mouth to answer him, but nothing comes out. My mouth is so dry, and my tongue feels too big for the space. I lick my lips and swallow. I never told him. I turn back toward my window, my legs shaking up and down with nervous energy. “Sophie?”

I keep my face to the window and whisper, “My son.”

The silent car amplifies his sharp intake of breath, but I can’t worry about Lincoln right now. I need to find James. He pulls up in front of my home, and I fly out of the car before he comes to a complete stop, heading straight for Dad, who’s speaking with two police officers.

His eyes widen when he spots me. “Sophie!” he shouts as he wheels closer. “I-I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” His red, swollen eyes trace over my face with confusion, then move further down my body.

Shit! I’m still dressed for work, and I’m sure the thick eyeliner I wear around my eyes is a smudged mess.

Dad’s eyes snap up to something behind me, and his eyes narrow when Linc’s hand lands on my lower back. Double shit!

A throat clears beside me—“Hello.”—and I turn toward the sound. “Ma’am.” He tips his head. “I’m Sergeant Grey, and this is Officer Banks. You must be James’s mom.”

“Yeah. Why are you here and not out looking for my son?” I snap as I wave my arms around like a wild woman.

“We will. We just need a few details from you. The sooner we get detailed information, the sooner we can begin our search.”

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