Page 41 of Dangerous Devotion

Acouple days after the successful drop, my colleague in the Philippines sent a huge basket of sweets and fruit to my office. My assistant was nice enough to distribute it to the guys who took the risk and crossed into Carbini territory that night. I’m glad it worked out, and I’m glad it’s over. We’re back to business as usual, which means that Charlie called me this morning to tell me I’m working too hard.

For a guy that goes to all the charity galas and polo tournaments and crap outside his time at the office, he acts like I’m working too hard. I’ll admit I’ve been a workaholic for a long time. My time with Serena was the exception. I skipped meetings and took half-days off, left work at five for the first time in my adult life. She was worth it.

Just by being herself, she carved out space in what I considered a too-busy schedule. Turns out I have time for a relationship after all, it’s just got to be with someone who makes me want to leave the office. None of my other affairs, if you can even call them that, came close to inspiring me to take off early. If you asked me at the time, I’d rather do a conference call than go to dinner with whoever I was dating.

I have to let this go, let Serena go. Since I talked to her on the phone, her voice has haunted my dreams. This morning, I woke up soaked in sweat, terrified. I had a dream of her calling for me, needing me, struggling. In the dream I could only hear her, but I knew she was trapped. That I had to find her and get her out.

I had a shower, went to the gym, came to the office. It’s been hours of perfectly normal work, but I can’t shake the feeling. It was the worst sort of dread I’ve ever known, a sick horror and the immediate urge to give anything to save her.

Charlie’s probably surprised when I just agree with him to cut the call short. I don’t have the patience to be friendly today. I wonder if I should eat—and the memory surges back of Serena and I eating turkey sandwiches on a bench. Missing her squeezes my throat and threatens to steal my breath.

Scrolling back through all our messages from months ago, I reread every single one. Waves of sadness and regret try to drown out the spike of fear I can’t shake from that dream I had this morning. Finally, I put my phone in my pocket and step out to speak to my assistant.

“Did the boys like their snacks?” I ask her.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Marino. They were very appreciative. After they took all that they wanted, I took the liberty of giving the rest of the treats to Lynette.”

“Good idea. She’s been having weird cravings from what I hear.”

“Don’t let her hear you say they’re weird,” my assistant says with a smile. “She tore into some milk flavored chips. I didn’t comment.”

“That’s the smart choice, I bet,” I tell her.

I’m about to go down to Lynette’s office when my phone chimes. Every time I get a text alert, I think for a split second that it might be Serena. I know better. She’s done with me, and she won’t let me make it right. I glance at the notification.

Shock makes me ice cold before terror and rage slide in hot. It’s a single photo, a still image of Serena sprawled unconscious on a concrete floor.

I’m in Lynette’s office before I realize how I got there. She looks up from a bag of chips and bolts to her feet when she sees me.

“What the hell?”

I can’t speak. I hold out the phone. She taps the screen, sees the picture and swears. Then she pages the head of IT. He’s with us almost instantly, examining the photo for clues, sifting through metadata. He zooms in on the black fabric of her leggings at the thigh.

“See that, boss?”

“What?” I say, peering at the screen, unsure what I’m supposed to look at.

“There’s something in her pocket. I’m sure they dumped her phone, but they haven’t gone through her pockets, stripped her down or anything yet.”

“Okay but where the fuck is she?” I growl. “My money’s on one of the storage units out by the dockyard where we made the drop. Just for dramatic affect. Plus, everybody knows Vinny priced the damn things so high that half of them are empty. I gotta say, I did not have this on my bingo card—Vinny Carbini woke up and decided he wants to die today,” Lynette says dryly.

Then she does something I don’t remember her doing since we were kids. She walks over and hugs me tight. “We’re gonna get her out of there, Jacky,” she says.

I can’t respond to her because if I open my mouth, I’ll start describing in lurid detail everything I plan to do to the people who took her, to whomever photographed her on the ground, whoever dumped her there to begin with—the list is long and disturbing.

Nobody wastes time telling me they’ll send in a team or do some recon. No way in hell am I staying behind. They all know it.

“It could be a trap to draw you out,” Lynette says.

“I know that.” I say.

“Wear the Kevlar,” she says.

“No time.”

I’m already getting on the elevator. She’ll assemble a team and have them on site. She’s pulling surveillance video and gets IT to hack Carbini’s cell phone. The fury pumping though my blood is so strong that I feel like I could outrun the car I took even though I see the speedometer top eighty. I don’t care if the driver runs over everything in our path.

Lynette updates me on who’s coming, which storage unit was opened around two this afternoon, and that Louie and six others were dropped on the roof just now by the helicopter. It’s too ostentatious to use in the city but this is an emergency. I don’t care if it draws attention. Maybe the cops’ll come check out the storage units. Two men will stand guard up on the roof, my sharpshooters, in case Carbini tries to move her out of the building. The rest will flank me and clean up the mess I leave in my wake.

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