Page 93 of Sighs By the Sea

It takes half an hour for him to text back.

Greg Sanderson: Cell phone ping shows she’s in San Diego.

I nearly let out a whoop. At least I’m on the right path. Whatever’s happening, I need to be there. I will be there for my Maggie.

***

The rest of the drive is a blur, my thoughts consumed by Maggie and the danger she’s in. Still no word from her, and nothing more from Greg either. Just my luck—every time I need immediate updates, the universe decides it’s time for a digital detox.

The road stretches out before me, an endless ribbon of asphalt. With every mile I cover, my resolve strengthens. I can’t let Don hurt Maggie or her family. I have to protect them, no matter what it takes. Plus, I can’t let Maggie have all the fun playing hero. It’s my turn to save the day.

As I drive, memories of my past with Don flood my mind. We had once been close, brothers in every sense of the word. But that bond had been shattered, broken by lies and betrayal. Don had started working with Keaton, doing the silent and unthinkable bidding of our uncle, and after he passed, our aunt. In hindsight, it’s no surprise he was the favorite—he always was the more “creative” one in finding trouble.

It had disgusted me, and I made it known. While I did what I was told, I hated every minute of it. Don seemed to enjoy tormenting people as some kind of bruiser or enforcer. What a career aspiration, right? Mom must be so proud.

I thought when I went to jail, I was done with this part of my life. This time, I’ll be certain. Once I get my hands on Don, I’ll make sure he can’t hurt anyone ever again, especially not my Maggie, my son, or my ex-wife. No one deserves to be treated like that. The bruises… God, only a demented person would do something like that. You’d think he was auditioning for a role in a crime drama.

But the thought that Don could already be hurting her, leaving marks like those on the woman I love, is unbearable.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens, my knuckles white. I can’t shake the guilt gnawing at me. It’s my family, my past, that has brought this danger upon Maggie.

The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the road. My thoughts turn to George, safe with Sam and Mack. I’m grateful for their presence, for the stability my true family provides in the midst of this shit show. At least George is in good hands, probably conning them into letting him eat ice cream before dinner.

As I near San Diego, the city lights come into view, drowning out some of the darkness that envelops my thoughts. Under different circumstances, I might find the sight beautiful.

My phone buzzes with a text message, breaking my reverie. I let it play over the speakers, my heart in my throat. It’s from Maggie. A simple message, but one that fills me with both relief and dread.

Maggie Parker: I’m okay. Don’t do anything. I love you.

Like hell, I think and exhale a shaky breath. I know Maggie is strong, capable of handling herself in the toughest situations. But this is different. This is personal, and it’s my fault. I won’t stay away this time. Ignoring the message, I push the accelerator further. Ignoring a direct order from a cop—guess I like living on the edge now.

This is more than just a mission to save Maggie. It’s a fight for the life we’ve built together. And I’m determined to do whatever it takes to keep that future intact. Plus, if I don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it from Maggie. She’ll remind me of this until we’re both old and gray, sipping tea on our porch. And I’d like to make it to that porch.

Maggie

My heart pounds as I approach the dilapidated house at the address Don gave me. The evening air is cool against my flushed skin, easing some of the heat radiating from my body. The comm in my ear buzzes with quiet static, a lifeline to my team waiting nearby. I hope they’re enjoying the snacks I stashed in the van because things are about to get real interesting.

I reach the front door, my hand unsteady as I knock. There's no response, just the eerie silence of the deserted street. Great, a house that’s as talkative as a rock. My phone rings, jarring me from my focus. It’s the same number Don used before.

“You weren’t supposed to bring friends,” he growls into the phone.

My eyes dart to the street, my mind racing. “Don, we can work this out. No one is going to interfere with this, and Grayson doesn’t need to be involved,” I try to reason. My negotiating skills are top-notch. Maybe I should ask for a raise.

Don’s response is a torrent of anger, and through the phone, I hear the unmistakable sound of smacking, followed by my sister’s cries. But the sound isn’t just coming through the phone; it’s close, too close. I realize with a jolt that it’s coming from a house two doors down. I hang up the call and quickly update my team aloud. “Change of location, two houses west.”

“Copy, Parker. We’re right behind you.”

I hustle down the sidewalk, my heart in my throat. But as I move, a shadow detaches itself from the darkness. Before I can react, a massive figure rushes out and grabs me. I struggle, my training kicking in, but the man’s grip is ironclad. Should’ve skipped the doughnuts at breakfast.

My phone is still in my hand, and with a surge of desperation, I press and hold the side button. “Call Grayson!” I yell into the phone, hoping it works.

My team’s voices come through the comm, shouting and confused, but it’s too late. A car screeches to a halt beside us, and I’m roughly shoved inside, the door slamming behind me. My captor takes off, sprinting down the street. Must be an Uber driver in training. I toss my phone under the passenger seat, praying my on-the-fly plan works. God, I hope he knows to call my team and trace the call. Please let him know.

The car speeds off, the motion throwing me against the seat. My mind is a whirlwind of fear. My body shakes. I had been so close to finding my sister, so close to ending this nightmare, and now I’m being dragged further into the abyss. I really should have taken those self-defense classes more seriously.

“Traveling eastbound in a Corolla! Suspect has dark hair, sunglasses, and a hat,” I scream out, the comms already crackling as the signal fades. I’m basically giving them a description of every bad guy ever. Helpful, right?

“Shut the fuck up!” Don yells, his hand flying wildly at me as his eyes stay on the road. I dodge the assault but stop my instructions. My team probably can’t hear me anyway. Inside the car, the air swirls with tension as Don mumbles angrily to himself. I try to peer through the tinted windows to get a sense of where we’re heading, but the streets are a blur of lights and shadows. He flies through a stop sign, horns blaring behind us, but Don doesn't slow.

---