Page 87 of Roaming Holiday

All I can think of is Wesley and that he wouldn’t leave me. Whoever this person is, I know he did something to him.

“Just tell me where he is,” I grit, fighting the scared and frustrated tears pricking at my eyes as I pull against his tightening grip. Why did I let him touch me?

He shifts his jacket aside to reveal the gun in his waistband. My blood runs cold and my legs almost weaken. “As I’ve said. Easy… or difficult.”

Who is he? Part of Lo Revínastí? Why did they take Wesley?

I glance around for a hint this is all in my head or for Wesley to pop out from around the corner. But there’s nothing. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ll take me to him?”

“Yes, madam.”

I nod. Relief rushes through me when the man releases my arm. He gestures toward a black SUV where the door is already open. I’ll be at his mercy the moment I get into the car. I scan around for Wesley again. I could run, hide, and call Jack. But that wouldn’t help Wesley. He could be dead by then.

I get into the car.

The man in the driver’s seat is smaller than the Big Man. I clutch my crossbody bag to my chest. As soon as Big Man slides into the car behind me, the driver pulls off.

“Where are we going?” I ask, only to be met with silence. “Can you at least tell me your name?”

Nothing. The ride continues and fear continues gnawing at my core. Is Wesley okay? Did they kill him already? Why do these men want him?

“Give me your phone,” Big Man suddenly says.

“I-I’d rather not.”

When he reaches into his waistband, I snap, “All right, all right. No need to get all threatening again. Here. You could’ve at least said please.”

He doesn’t reply as he rolls down the window and tosses my phone outside.

“Wha—hey, asshole!” I shove his shoulder before my good sense reminds me not to agitate someone with a gun. “You owe me a new phone!”

All he does is stare at me with a slightly annoyed expression.

Great. I’m definitely going to die.

After ten minutes of driving, the car stops in front of what looks like an office building. It has character, noting its old age, but possesses plenty of modern updates. Big Man opens the door for me and leads us to the elevator. I note the emergency exit in the far-left corner and hope it can be useful later. We take the elevator to the fifth floor. I lock my knees to keep from buckling.

The parting doors reveal a room of cubicles. The personal materials and files on the desks tell me it’s an active business, but I can’t decipher what kind. When Big Man puts me into an office, I collapse into one of the chairs, massaging my knees. No phone. No Wesley. No idea where I am.

I startle when the door opens behind me. A man strides inside, a pleasant expression on his bearded face. He wears a suit without a jacket, tattoos snaking out from his wrists onto his hands. I can tell he’s the boss by how relaxed he is.

“Miss Laffley. I’m quite sorry for the theatrics.”

I rise. “Where’s Wesley?”

“Mr. Troutbeck is preoccupied. But as soon as we’ve conducted our business, you can see him again.”

I exhale slowly. This isn’t Lo Revínastí.

“And who is we?”

The man startles, flicking his head as if annoyed with himself. “Oh—excuse my manners.” He extends a hand. “Arlo Serrano.”

I gently shake his hand. “How do you know who I am?”

Arlo approaches a minibar and uncaps a glass bottle. “Well, I noticed that Mr. Troutbeck has been something of a… detail for you. A bodyguard. I can tell you’re a client of his, but I don’t know why.”

Perhaps my title could help—offer me protection of a sort. But I shouldn’t reveal any information until I see Wesley. I strengthen my voice despite my fear. “I want to see Wesley. Now.”

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