Page 130 of Bishop

Right now, I have no other option than to see where this leads though.

“Thanks for the phone.” I drag the device closer.

“You’re welcome.” He leans over to unlock the screen with his thumbprint, then hobbles back toward his seat.

Shit. Now I have to make the call before it locks again.

All eyes are on me as I type my mother’s number, my insides waging war because although I can’t stand the thought of Bishop’s presence, it feels like a mistake to do this without him.

I glance to the backyard, hoping for a sign that doesn’t come. The asshole isn’t even in sight.

Give me more time, belladonna.

“I’ll get you a glass of water.” Salvatore stands and makes his way to the kitchen.

I nod, my finger hovering over the connect button, my mouth dry. I hold my breath as I plant my finger, the ring sounding through the room when I place the call on speaker.

“Abri.” Bishop’s voice carries from the yard, his bulking frame coming into view as he stalks across the overgrown lawn. He yells something else. Something I can’t hear.

I hang up on instinct, wanting to trust his earlier dictate because he’s the only one to ever have had my back.

“Don’t call her.” He bounds up the stairs and yanks the door open, his eyes wild on mine. “Am I too late?”

“No. I dialed but—”

“Good.” He storms toward me, holding up his cell screen. “Do you know this guy?”

I squint, not able to make out the picture on display until Bishop’s standing right beside me, the hint of cigarette smoke in the air.

The photo is a close-up of a man’s face, black and white, blurred and low quality. But I’d recognize the aviator sunglasses perched atop that roman nose anywhere.

“That’s Aaron Geppet.” I frown. “He’s part of our family’s security team.”

“Would he answer your call?” Bishop locks his phone and shoves it in his pants pocket.

“In a heartbeat.” Salvatore approaches to place a glass of water in front of me. “The asshole has been trying to get in her pants for three years. Why?”

Bishop lowers to his haunches beside me, his gaze charged as he exudes intensity. “As of yesterday afternoon, when this picture was taken, he was with Adena. He’s her driver. He’s who you need to contact to get through to your mother. You could pretend you’re calling your way through your security team to see if anyone has heard news about her. That way she won’t need to know you’re here with Lorenzo or your brothers.”

My head fills with static, the frantic switch in tactic leaving me disorientated.

“I told you I’d find a better way,” Bishop murmurs. “You have to trust me.”

I give him an incredulous look, wordlessly reminding him he’s already burned that bridge.

“Where was the photo taken?” Matthew asks

“The other side of Kansas City.”

My heart beats harder. “That’s less than a nine-hour drive. They could already be here if they traveled through the night.”

“They could.” Bishop nods. “But their progress hasn’t been that fast so far. If I was placing bets, I’d say they spent the night at either Topeka or Junction City.”

That would make it roughly seven hours to get home.

“Don’t worry. She’s not here yet,” he continues. “I’ve got men on watch around Denver. And sent more out on the road this morning. If Adena takes the direct route home, they’ll cross paths. Then we’ll have constant eyes on her until we decide her fate.”

“But the closer she gets to home, the more comfortable and confident she will become, mia cara.” Lorenzo stares down the table at me. “You need to make that call.”

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