Page 38 of Tangled in Red

“Is he around?”

Kelly shook her head. “That’s the strange thing. He was supposed to be here until five, but he left about two hours ago. Didn’t say a word to anyone.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “It’s completely unlike him. His backpack's still here, which makes it even stranger.”

Cold dread pooled in Diablo’s gut. His gaze swept the small shop, landing on security cameras mounted in the corners. “Those cameras work?”

“Yes, but—”

“I need to see the footage from two hours ago,” Diablo said, his voice flat and controlled despite the rising panic in his chest. Brett wouldn't just leave. Not without his things. Not without telling someone.

“That’s against hospital policy. I couldn’t possibly—”

Diablo’s beasts slammed inside of him, trying to force their way out. His elegido was missing. This woman had no idea what he was about to unleash if she didn’t show him the fucking footage. He could feel his eyes slightly glowing, panic and rage pushing his beasts closer.

“Five minutes.” Tomas glanced at him. “That’s all we need, ma’am. Something's wrong. I can feel it.”

“Wait, you don’t think something happened to him, do you?” Her eyes darted between Diablo and Tomas.

“I need to see the footage.” Diablo’s voice came out harder than intended, making her take a step back.

“Please.” He forced himself to soften his tone. “He’s missing, and I’m worried. Five minutes of footage, that’s all I’m asking.”

Kelly studied him for a long moment then nodded. “This way. But I could get in serious trouble for this.”

“We won’t tell a soul,” Tomas said.

She led them through a door marked “Staff Only” into a cramped office with several monitors. Tomas closed the door behind them as Kelly seated herself at the desk, adjusting her glasses.

“Let me pull up the footage.” Kelly clicked through several screens, typing in a password.

Diablo leaned in, hands braced on the desk. The shop was quiet, just Brett behind the counter, checking his phone. His pajarito was waiting on a message from him.

I did text you, baby.

A guy entered the shop and approached Brett. The conversation appeared casual at first, then they moved toward a display.

“Can you zoom in on his face?” Diablo asked, his voice eerily calm even as a chill crept through him.

Kelly clicked a few buttons, enlarging the image until the stranger’s face was more visible. The distinctive X-shaped scar above the man’s left eyebrow was unmistakable.

Diablo’s heart stopped.

Rico Diego.

On screen, Brett came around the counter to help him. They moved toward a display, and then... Brett’s stance shifted. Tensed. Rico’s hand was hidden at his side.

“Gun,” Tomas murmured beside him. “See how the guy’s jacket bulges. He’s got a piece pressed against Brett.”

Diablo’s vision pulsed red at the edges. Rico had his mate. At gunpoint.

“Why would Brett just leave with someone?” Kelly wondered aloud, missing the weapon. “That’s not like him at all.”

Diablo watched, powerless, as Rico led Brett to the exit. His mate looked pale, eyes wide. Rico paused, looked straight into the camera, and winked. Then he walked out with Diablo’s mate. Brett’s face, visible for just a second showed tightly controlled fear.

Rico knew Diablo would see this. It was a taunt, a way of saying he could snatch Brett right out from under Diablo’s nose.

“Motherfucker,” he breathed, the word barely audible.

He stormed away from the monitors, shoving through the door with Tomas close behind. Kelly called after them, confusion in her voice, but her words dissolved into meaningless noise.

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