Page 89 of Twisted Obsession

46

Ansel

An hour later, we’d all gathered inside my apartment. Aaron, Scott, Marcus, and Rob were with me, discussing the best way to track down Regina.

I’d gotten into the CCTV feed to see if I could spot anything that would lead to Regina, but I’d come up empty. I knew the basics, but I didn’t have D’s level of technical expertise. Aaron hadn’t spoken a word, other than sharing his suggestions on how to get Regina back. I was the one that had fucked up, but I knew he’d already taken the blame.

When D stepped off the elevator and into my living room a half-hour later, I started to breathe again. He had a black carrying case slung across his shoulder and a leather briefcase dangling from his hand. He had the power to pool all our clues together and give us a lead on where Regina had been taken.

We greeted each other and gathered around my large dining room table. We waited as D set up, hoping he could give us the edge we needed to find Regina. I sat at the table, my mind a freeway of random ideas. My face dropped into my palms as the voices of the men around me faded.

I’d assumed life would kick me in the ass when I was on my deathbed. That I’d lie there writhing in pain, remembering all the horrible shit I’d done. That I’d be tortured to death. Or that I’d experience all the pain and hurt I’d cause throughout my life. These were fates that I’d willingly accept compared to the hell that had been dumped on me this night.

Knowing that Regina was out there with someone we hadn’t yet identified was fucking me up. Helplessness kicked my ass. Any number of fucked up things could have been happening to her. The burn of uncertainty had spread to all my senses. I saw flames, I smelled smoke. Heat licked my skin, I tasted ash, and I heard the chimes of hell.

Failure taunted me, and guilt was taking a jackhammer to my mind. I’d chosen to leave Regina at a time when she’d poured her heart out to me. The woman had handed me the most precious thing she owned, and I’d left her.

“I love you.”

The ghost of her delicate voice faded once more as it reminded me of what I’d turned my back on. The whisper of her soft kiss lingered on my lips, her touch alive on my skin. I needed to suffer for the mess I’d allowed to happen. I’d run away from the most valuable thing in my life to chase a quick fix I believed I’d needed. Aaron warned me that I’d get knocked on my ass when I figured things out, and he was right.

Just when I was about to aim at something and start letting off rounds to calm my anger and rage, D called out, “I’ve got something here.”

My hand fell from my forehead before my gaze shot across the table at him.

“The CCTV images are dark, but I’ve brightened one enough to see one of the SUVs fleeing the scene before the shootout. The last images of the plate, which I ran, were taken on Crossover Boulevard, about fifteen miles from here, just outside the city limits.”

A spark of hope stirred within me at D’s update. I focused on his fingers as they worked like a blur over the keys before my gaze lifted to his face. His eyes rose, sensing my gaze on him. His fingers continued to dance over the keys as we stared at each other.

“Regina has a tracker on her,” I blurted. “I’ve attempted several times to see if I could pick it up, but I couldn’t get anything. They may have used a jamming device to disrupt the frequency.”

My finger pointed in D’s direction. “If I give you the serial number, do you think you can pick it up or turn it back on, even if it was jammed?”

D’s fingers stopped, ceasing the incessant pecking of keys as he glanced at me. I sensed every eye in the room on me now. Scott glanced up from my laptop that sat in front of him. Rob, who was standing over D’s shoulder picked up his head and glared at me. Marcus shoved his phone in his back pocket. I think he’d hung up on someone. Aaron, who sat at the end of the table, glanced up from his phone.

A thick silence filled the room and allowed the sound of the clock ticking on the wall behind me to come alive.

“If you have a serial number and it emits any kind of signal, I’ll find it,” came D’s sure-sounding answer.

Aaron’s face was scrunched in confusion. “Unless you were anticipating her being taken or have trackers on all her clothes, how the hell did you get a tracker on Regina? How do you know they didn’t find it on her and throw it away?”

Those were two questions I didn’t want to answer. Ignoring my cousin, I took up the pen and pad that D slid my way and wrote the serial number down. I also wrote the frequency at which the tracker transmitted. When I pushed the pad back across the table, D’s questioning glance was almost as pronounced as Aaron’s.

“Wait, you know the shit by heart?” he asked. I didn’t answer D’s question either. Instead, I stood and started pacing as five sets of eyes followed my movement. A bit of my tension eased when D’s fingers started up again.

“If I can track down any part of the signal on the device before it stopped transmitting, I can send it a digital jump-start that could possibly turn it back on. Then, I could triangulate the signal. If this works, it could lead us straight to Regina and a location, provided they haven’t found it on her and tossed it already.”

D’s words tamed the beastly roar of the monster stirring inside me.

“They are not going to find it on her,” I informed D with certainty in my tone. Sound was once again sucked from the room as silence, and inquiring minds wanted to know what would spew from my twisted brain next.

Aaron stood. “Why are you so sure that they are not going to find a tracker on her? We’ve dealt with these motherfuckers before. They aren’t untrained thugs off the streets that don’t know what they’re doing.”

Aaron knew me better than anyone else. He and I glared at each other for a paused moment, his eyes widening the moment he’d connected the dots.

“They are not going to find the tracker on her because she doesn’t even know she has a tracker on her, does she?” Aaron didn’t give me a chance to answer.

“Tell me, you didn’t put the fucking tracker inside her,” he barked.

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