Page 89 of Protecting Bianca

The man on the other end of the line asked me to hold. “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have any patients with that name.”

I exhaled loudly. Then, I called the next hospital, and two more after that one. Each one told me the same thing. Bianca wasn’t there.

My chest didn’t lighten at the news. Instead, the stress of not knowing where she was and if she was hurt weighed heavily on me. When Will messaged me that he was waiting outside, my legs felt like two barrels of lead walking to the elevator.

Shake it off, soldier. You have work to do.

Will sat in his black truck in front of the building. A cold breeze hit my face as I opened the front doors, but I welcomed it as I needed to cool off.

“Where are we headed?” asked Will.

“Take Third all the way to the pier. I’ve tracked his phone to one of those towers.”

I opened my laptop and clicked on a different program. This one would pinpoint exactly where Walsh was headed. “He was moving more quickly in the last five minutes. I think they’re out of traffic.”

“Don’t worry, Jager. I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation why Walsh and Bianca are there instead of the office. Maybe the reporter wanted to speak to Walsh instead.”

“And hold the interview at the pier? Why?”

Will didn’t answer. He didn’t have to because there was no good explanation. I just prayed to God that we got to her in time because if anyone hurt her, there would be hell to pay.

When I looked up and saw the sea of cars in front of us, I cursed under my breath. “We need to move.”

“I know that. But there’s nowhere for me to go.”

“Take the emergency lane and then the next exit.”

Will hesitated.

“Go.”

He yanked the steering wheel to the right and merged onto the shoulder. “Don’t stop even if you hear sirens.”

Will sighed, but nodded.

Once we were out of the downtown core, the traffic lightened. “They’re not moving anymore,” I said.

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“At least we’ll be able to catch up to them.”

I rocked back and forth in my seat, willing the car to move faster. “Turn right here.”

The tires screeched as Will made the sharp turn. “They should be no more than a mile up this road.”

Looking around, there were warehouses to our left and shipping containers lined up along the dock on the right. The smell of salt and sea creatures crept through the vents. I spotted a car in the distance. “Over there.”

“I see it.”

Will pressed the gas and as we grew nearer, I noticed a man’s legs sticking out of the car. Will must have seen them too, because he sped up.

The truck skidded to a halt, and I jumped out before Will came to a complete stop.

Mr. Walsh lay in the backseat with his hands and feet tied up. His clothes were torn and dirty. He startled when I approached and covered his face with his arms in defense. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me, Jager.”

“Oh…oh…Jager,” he cried. “Thank God you’re here.” Then he sat up and looked around, his eyes wild. “Are they… are they gone?”

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