Page 78 of Becoming His Pet

Was she scared? Had Bernie hurt her?

“In a minute. He’s making the delivery now.” John looked at his phone. They’d sent one of his men up to the condo with a pizza delivery. A camera was sewn into the man’s hat, giving them visuals as he made the drop.

Blake leaned between the seats from the back and watched with John and Greg as the door to the condo opened.

A woman, maybe five years older than Nora opened the door. Although quite pretty, she looked as though the world had run her down. An aged appearance on such a young woman.

“We didn’t order a pizza.” The woman spoke softly, looking over her shoulder nervously. “Please, go.”

“I was told to deliver this to this residence. It’s already paid for, you sure?” Gary held out the box. “If I go back with it, I’ll get in trouble. So, if you don’t take it, I’m just gonna throw it in the garbage,” he pressed.

She looked again over her shoulder. “Fine. Just please, go.” She grabbed the box, disappeared back into the condo, and slammed the door.

“It’s in, you can turn the audio on now,” Gary spoke as he went back to the elevator.

“What if they actually eat the pizza? They’ll see the mic,” Greg asked.

John shook his head. “They won’t eat the pizza.”

Greg wouldn’t mind having some of John’s confidence at the moment. The longer it took to get up there, the more horrifying the scenarios playing in his head became.

“Who was at the door?” Bernie’s voice came through.

“Pizza guy.”

“We didn’t order a pizza.”

“I know. They must have written down the wrong address and they delivered it,” the female said. “Maybe Elenora would like it?”

Greg held his breath waiting for Bernie’s response. She was there, but was she hurt?

“No. Mr. Smith will be here any minute. He’s not going to want pizza sauce all over his property. Just leave it in the kitchen. Then go back to her room and get her ready. She won’t need clothing but brush her hair. Throw on some lip gloss or something. And if her face is all puffy from crying, put a cold compress on it.”

Greg’s gut twisted.

“Who’s Mr. Smith?” Blake asked in a hushed town.

“I have an idea, but I’m hoping I’m wrong. Here.” John handed the phone to Greg and pulled out a second device, tapping away on it.

“I can’t hear, they must have moved away from the box,” Greg said.

“Okay, here it is. Yeah. We had a case last year that involved a girl gone missing. We recovered her, but she couldn’t give us any information on who took her. She just called him Mr. Smith.”

“So, you think he works with Bernie, a client?”

“He referred to Nora as property. I would bet Mr. Smith is the one Bernie’s trying to sell her to,” John said.

Blake put his large hand on Greg’s shoulder. “Don’t run off. Wait for Gary to get back and we’ll get organized. You can’t just run up there with your gun waving around.”

Greg looked at his foot, bandaged and stuffed in a fucking orthopedic boot. He wasn’t running anywhere.

Gary climbed into the back seat. “Okay. What’d I miss?”

“Well, she’s definitely up there,” John answered.

“From what I saw, there’s just the one main entrance. I’m sure there are fire escapes, but I didn’t see any other elevators in the building, so I don’t think he has a private one from his own condo.”

“Do we have time to get more men? Put them on the fire escapes?” Blake asked.

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