Page 4 of Soul

Three raps at the door and Jack leaves the living space. Moments later, Thomas, Maria, and the individual I assume to be Agent Brennen enter. The Agent is nondescript, wearing a brownish grey suit that hangs off his form, instead of one that actually fits. He has a white mustache and his beard covers the bottom half of his face making him look more like Colonel Sanders instead of a serious federal agent with years of military experience. I close my eyes and pray that he has the mind of a Samurai warrior hiding behind that granddaddy face.

Maria rushes past the two men and flings her arms around my neck pulling me into a hug. I hold her, but don’t reciprocate. I feel dead inside. There is no woman I would take comfort in right now other than my woman, Gillian. Maria pulls back and her ice blue gaze holds mine. “She’s alive,” she says in a voice so low only I can hear.

“I agree.”

She nods and then takes in a breath.

Jack narrows his brows at the Italian-Spanish firecracker. “Why is she here?” He asks exactly what I’m thinking.

Maria turns around on a toe, cocks a hip and plants a hand on it. Her black hair flies around her like it had a static charge. “That there is my man.” She points to Thomas. “And he”—she points to me—“is my best friend’s fiancé. My best friend is missing. I have every right to be here. You’re just lucky I was able to escape without the other two knowing about it. Nowcállate. We have some news.” She sits down, leans forward and clasps her hands together. “Go ahead, Tommy.”

Thomas lets out a long breath. “Chase Davis, meet Agent David Brennen.” I shake the man’s hand and find he has quite the grip. Strong man, strong mind…hopefully. “Take a seat. Let’s go over the information.” The four of us sit down in the living room. Two couches face one another with a table in-between. Jack stands behind the couch but within sight. A habit he formed in the service. Says he likes being able to move at any given time. The man saw his fair share of sneak attacks during his time in Iraq during Desert Storm, so I never question him.

“With the information you provided us this morning, we were able to ascertain that Daniel McBride is actually Daniel Humphrey.” Agent Brennen spoke loud, clear and precise. Everything that his wardrobe and physical attributes contradict. “He was adopted as a teen after his parents died in a house fire.”

“But he got out?” The way he spoke made it seem as if there was more.

He nodded. “Yes, the sole survivor. At the time, the local police just saw it as a tragedy. The wood burning stove had been left open, a spark flew out, caught the rug and so on. The boy, Daniel Humphrey, suspect Daniel McBride, narrowly escaped by jumping out his bedroom window. That’s how he claims he obtained the burn to his hand. In the reports, he reiterated that he grabbed the handle of his bedroom door, and it burned his hand. Only look at these pictures.” He lays out a picture of a pale, dirty hand. “See the burn.” I focus on that hand. The same hand that cut my mother’s throat and kidnapped Gillian.

“The burn isn’t shaped like a circle.”

Agent Brennen smiles wide like he’s won the lottery. “Exactly. If he grabbed the handle, the burn would be circular or shaped like a handle. This burn covers most of thetopof the hand as if he was holding something really hot and burned the outer layers of skin.”

“So, what are you saying?” I’m no longer in the mood for charades. “Get to the point, Agent Brennan. My future wife is in the hands of this man as we speak.”

“I think he received those burns when he set the fire and whatever he was holding, a torch of some sort, burned his hand in the process.”

“You think he killed his parents?” Maria gasps eyes bulging.

Agent Brennen nods. “Yes, I do. I think he killed them, just as he killed that poor girl in the yoga studio, your mother, and attempted to kill Mr. Parks. This man is highly skilled, extremely intelligent, and very patient. According to our profiler, he likely has some type of fascination with Gillian.” I swear under my breath. “No, Mr. Davis that could very well work in her favor. The fact that he believes she’s his, means he’s formed a deep attachment to her, and probably thinks he loves her. The odds are in her favor that he won’t kill her right away because of this.”

“Then you think she’s safe for the time being.”

His brown eyes crinkle at the edges and go flat. “No I don’t. Unless she reciprocates that fascination or love, he will hurt her. He will try to break her of her connection to you and the outside world so that all paths lead back to him.”

I close my eyes, suck in a strong breath, stand and start pacing. “What are our next steps?” The energy around me feels charged, zipping with focus. It’s the same feeling I get when I’m about to acquire a failing company. The hunt is on. We will find her.

Thomas logs in on one of the laptops Jack has on the coffee table. “Well, we’ve already checked his apartment.” I look into his eyes. “He wasn’t there. He lived very sparse, though we did find all the makings for his bombing of the gym.” I give a hand gesture to speed it up. “He left his work over a week ago, and they haven’t seen him since. His boss reports that he took a month-long sabbatical. Destination…” He tightened a fist. “Mexico.”

Of course it was.My fucking wedding.“Well, we know that. What don’t we know?” My tone is harsh, unrelenting.

“The place where he was raised, he still owns the land. According to Google Earth there aren’t any houses on the property, seems abandoned.”

“Where is it?”

“San Diego.”

I turn to Jack, but he’s already in motion. Calmly, I walk over to my coat and throw it on.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asks.

I look at him as if he is ignorant and insignificant. In that moment, I hate myself, but I hold onto that version of myself. The one who doesn’t sob over his abducted fiancée or murdered mother. The man who does whatever it takes to get what he needs and wants.

Jack barks into his cellphone as everyone moves to follow us out of the suite. “Have the jet fueled and file the flight plans for a nonstop route to San Diego International. Have two cars waiting on the tarmac there. We’ll be at the hangar in fifteen minutes.”

“We’re coming with you,” Thomas says, anger making his words sound gritty.

“I expected that.”

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