Page 35 of Operation Wolf: Eli
CHAPTER 19
Eli
“SO, LET ME GETthis straight.” Gunner’s voice crackled through the landline at the back of the general store, a phone which the owner had so generously permitted me to use—for a small fee, of course. “You want me to help you with a retrieval operation? And the target is a mob boss who is being held by the Chicago Outfit?”
“Yes,” I said wearily, careful to keep my voice low enough so the clerk’s nosy ears couldn’t pick it up. I knew Gunner would be able to hear me easily enough, even through the shitty connection.
“Right.” Gunner paused for emphasis. “Eli, are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Look, it’s not like I have a choice,” I bit out. Then I ground my teeth in frustration. “The mob boss in question happens to be the father of the woman I love. If I don’t do something to save him, she’s going to take matters into her own damn hands, and I can’t allow that shit.”
“The woman you love?” Gunner echoed. “I thought there was only one—”
“There is,” I interrupted. I’d briefly discussed Olivia with Gunner one night many moons ago when we were all sitting around the campfire, talking about our loved ones from back home.
“Oh.” Gunner was silent for a while. “Well, I guess, if I were in the same boat with Celine, I’d want someone to help me out. You know I’ve got your back, man, but I think you ought to tell me the whole story.”
“All right, but there isn’t much time.” I gave him the abridged version, which took longer than I would have liked because Gunner kept interrupting me to ask questions. “And now, I have to figure out what the hell I’m going to do before I call Hunter to tell him I got the letter.”
“I still can’t believe you went to Hunter for help on this instead of me,” Gunner said with some disgust. “I thought you and I were closer than that.”
“Hunter has nothing better to do, and besides, he wasn’t a newlywed about to go on his honeymoon,” I snapped. “I didn’t want to ruin your time with Celine.”
Gunner sighed. “Celine would have understood. But I appreciate the sentiment. Look, do you have any guys on the ground who’ll be able to help us with this mission?”
“Yeah, some friends from the shifter club I used to work at,” I said, “and a human friend who used to work with the Outfit.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“I think so,” I replied after a moment. If Ian was still hiding out with the shifters I’d left him with and hadn’t run back to the mob, then he definitely would be trustworthy.
“Okay then, here’s the plan,” Gunner replied.
* * *
“Olivia, I’m home!” I called while walking into the cabin.
My heart was far lighter than it had been when I left. I still wasn’t feeling all warm and fuzzy like I had been before I got the letter, but the bulk of my anxieties had been quelled now that I had a plan to fix this clusterfuck. And since I knew what the next step was, I fully intended on keeping Olivia informed so she would cooperate when I insisted I get her to safety.
But there was no answer to my call other than the echo of my own voice. I frowned.
Maybe she’s still up in the studio, painting.
I knew once she was “in the zone,” as she liked to call it, she lost all sense of her surroundings.
I started by checking the kitchen, and the first alarm bell went off when I saw there was no dinner simmering on the stove or baking in the oven.
Maybe she just didn’t feel like cooking today.
I checked the other rooms on the bottom floor before heading upstairs. When I stopped in front of the studio door, my heart sank a little when I neither smelled nor heard her on the other side. I pushed open the door anyway and then stopped and stared at the sight before me. There was no sign of Olivia in the room, but in the center, resting on an easel, was a portrait of a little girl sitting in the sand, dressed in a pink bathing suit as she joyfully shaped a sand castle with her little hands. The auburn hair curling around her chubby cheeks and her thickly lashed, sparkling gray eyes sucker-punched me in the gut, and I stepped forward slowly, my hand hovering above the still-wet paint.
So, this was Olivia’s secret project that she’d been working on every day.
“Our child,” I murmured, the truth of it settling into my heart.
Olivia had painted a picture of what our child might look like if we ever had one. A fierce longing to bring this wonderful little girl into my life rose up in my chest, and I spun from the room, more determined than ever to find Olivia.
But she was nowhere in the house. Not sitting out on the balcony, not lying down in our room, not roasting s’mores on the fire pit outside. Finally, I checked her original bedroom and found the answer in the folded letter lying neatly on the bed.
