Page 38 of Mysterious

But somebody has to fucking know something.

“Try to keep your calm, man. We don’t know anything yet, so it all could be fine,” Drew says in his attempt to be supportive.

I understand what he’s trying to do. It’s just that at this very moment, I want to beat the hell out of someone and I’m trying hard not to start a fight with either of the guys I know are worried just like I am.

Holding out of the phone toward them, I growl, “It’s hard to stay calm when people keep putting you on fucking hold. I swear to God I’m going to explode on the next person who does.”

Another two passes across the room and back and finally someone comes back onto the call. “Mr. Jackson, I’m Sandra Curry, chief of the fourteen precinct. I tracked down your men. They’re at Jackson Memorial, ironically enough. One man, Brett Marshall, suffered a shot to his calf. The ER is handling him right now. The other man, a Trevor Jones, suffered a more severe injury with the gunshot shattering his kneecap. He’s in surgery right now.”

“Do you have any idea who did this? Because they were guarding a client and she’s been kidnapped, I’m guessing by the same people who shot my men. Has the FBI coordinated with you there yet? She’s been gone for over five hours.”

My words are met with silence for so long that I pull the phone away from my ear to check if I somehow lost Chief Curry. I see the call is still live, so I say, “Is there something wrong?”

Still, she remains silent until she finally says, “Mr. Jackson, we have no information on any kidnapping or any involvement of the FBI in any kidnapping of a woman here in Miami this morning.”

Panic swirls in my mind, almost immediately replaced by pure anger. Andrea didn’t call the cops or the FBI? Why? She doesn’t think we can ride in on our white horses and find Mia all by our fucking selves, does she?

“Thank you, Chief Curry. The two men who were injured were guarding Mia, the singer. She was last seen at Hampton Roads Recording Studio this morning right around seven. We have no idea where she is or who took her or why. I’d been led to believe you and the FBI had been notified of her disappearance, but I see that isn’t the case. I have to go handle this, but my men and I will be coming to Miami to hopefully find out who took her and see her home safe.”

The chief says something about being sorry and offers her office’s help in finding Mia, but I hear very little of it before I end the call and turn toward the door. As I storm past Drew and Jack, I bark, “Fucking Andrea never called the FBI or the cops. What the hell is wrong with this woman?”

I’m practically blind with rage as I run down the hallway to Andrea’s room. Pounding my fist against her hotel room door, I yell, “Andrea, open this goddamned door so I can talk to you!”

She answers a few seconds later looking shocked I’m so angry. I push past her, barely able to focus I’m so furious right now. Inside her room, I see she’s got what looks like an entire new wardrobe laid out on her bed, complete with sales tags still on the clothes.

“Did a little shopping this morning?” I snap, unsure what the hell I’m looking at.

“Well, yes,” she says as she closes the door. “I’ve been waiting for the FBI and realized I didn’t have anything to wear for when they meet with us, so I decided to get some new things. You don’t understand how important it is when you appear on camera to look good. Men always look good because you get to wear a suit, but women have to choose an entire outfit.”

I march over to her so we’re face to face and shake my head, trying so damn hard not to lose my cool on this woman. “I know about you not contacting the FBI or the Miami police. I don’t know what you’re up to, Andrea, but your daughter’s life is in danger and we can’t be fucking around like this. Why didn’t you call them?”

Sheepishly, she looks away to avoid my demanding gaze. “Mia wouldn’t want that. I know I said I’d call like you told me to, but I know my daughter. She won’t be happy when she finds out the police and the FBI got involved. We can handle this on our own. The kidnappers already told me where to bring the five million, and I’m in the process of waiting for the bank to send over the money right now. It’s okay, Liam. Everything’s going to be okay.”

The top of my head feels like it’s about to blow off, sending my brains all over this hotel room. My thoughts whirl from one terrible thing to another. It’s going to be okay? How the hell does she figure that? Her daughter is missing, kidnapped by people who blew a hole in one of my guy’s calf and a hole through another one of my guy’s kneecap. What makes her think they won’t hurt Mia once they get the money?

“I don’t know what the hell you’re thinking, but your daughter is in very real danger. I know I told you kidnappers don’t usually turn to murderers, but that doesn’t mean it never happens. The kidnappers clearly have guns. They shot two of my goddamned guys! One is going to be lucky if he ever walks right again, and although I’m not sure, it’s highly unlikely he’s going to able to work in my business ever again. Nothing is fucking okay, Andrea!”

Still she doesn’t seem worried.

With a gentle pat to my forearm, she says with a smile, “Mia is going to be fine. You’d be surprised at how wonderful this is for PR. I’ve already contacted her agent, and she’s getting the word out to the press right now. That’s another reason why I needed new clothes.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I wonder if I’m losing my mind. “Are you honestly talking about how to capitalize on your daughter’s kidnapping?”

Andrea nods and walks over toward the bed where all her new clothes lay to lift up a dark green dress. “In this business, you have to take advantage of anything you can, honey. The reviews for her Tampa concerts weren’t fantastic, I’m sad to say. That one reviewer questioned whether Mia still has it. Can you believe that nonsense? Still has it? Screw her! Mia had that audience in the palm of her hand. Last night’s show was one of the best she’s ever put on, and there’s no way I’m going to let some two-bit music writer from a Tampa newspaper drag down Mia’s tour. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

None of what she’s saying makes sense. Maybe she’s just compartmentalizing her fear over Mia having been kidnapped. Or maybe she’s having some kind of psychotic break. I can’t be sure.

All I know is every second I spend trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with her, the woman I love is in danger. She can fret about PR and reviewers’ stupid comments about whether or not Mia still has it, but I need to find out what the fuck is going on and rescue her.

I turn to walk out of Andrea’s room and say, “I’ve already reported Mia missing to the Miami police, and I’m going to call the FBI right now to make sure they’re coordinating with the authorities down there.”

Her response is silence, but then right before I reach the door, she says, “They aren’t going to take her disappearance seriously. They never do.”

Furious, I spin around and point at her bed full of new clothes. “Maybe if you spent more time being worried about your daughter and less time trying to find the perfect promotional angle when she’s in danger, they would.”

Then it suddenly dawns on me, hitting me like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. Andrea isn’t worried about Mia now because she knows far more than she’s telling me.

“What’s going on here, Andrea? I’m done playing fucking games with you! Tell me!” I yell, making her jump at the bellowing sound of my voice bouncing off the walls of her hotel room.

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