Page 95 of Enticing the Fixer

The craziness in her eyes sends convulsions along my spine. Her grip on reality has slipped. I’ve got to stay alive long enough to get away.

Chapter Fifty

The Police Station

Leo

“Get the name of the police officer now.” I pace from one end of my car to the other with my phone pressed to my ear. Mac waits by the back tire.

“Truman is working on it.” Cade’s voice fills my ear. He and Truman went inside to talk in person to their insider, giving up that he authorized one of his employees to break into the police surveillance system.

Anger and fear rock through my core until standing still isn’t an option, but there’s nowhere to run. This can’t be the end of the trail. Someone took her, someone is to blame, and I’ll do whatever it takes to save her. I don’t care how far down into the depths of hell I must go; I’ll find her.

Ann was right. I don’t deserve her. Only a selfish person would allow someone to hurt the woman they love. I had the means to protect her, and I didn’t.

“Well, he isn’t working on it hard enough.”

“Just one second.” He pauses as adrenaline floods my body. “Got it. I’ll let him know.” He says to someone in the background. “The guy who was working surveillance has left for the night.” His voice is clearer as he’s turned to speak into the phone to me.

The tension in my jaw threatens to snap my teeth into shards of bone. “Address.”

“I can’t give you that.” I followed behind them to the police station because the thought of not being in control of my destiny was incomprehensible.

“You can, and you will.” My teeth gnash together.

“You can wait the ten minutes it takes for Truman to get outside. We’ve got to talk to the chief of police and–”

“Cade,” I growl. “Give it to me now. She might not be alive in ten minutes. If you don’t give me the address, I’ll rip your eyeballs out through your ass.”

“Highly impossible.”

“I’ll figure out how to do it.” In better circumstances, I’d enjoy a good ball-busting conversation with my brother’s friend but now is not the time.

“His name is Lincoln Pavarotti. I’ll send you the coordinates. Jagger is already on his way.”

“Thank you.” I yank open my door, letting Mac inside as Jax pulls up beside my vehicle.

I shake my head and step in front of him. “I’ll go alone. I don’t want you getting caught up in something illegal.” I’m not fooling myself. Whoever we’re going to see is a police officer. A dirty cop. But if his chief backs him, I’m going to prison.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Jax rolls up his window, letting it be known that he’s following me whether I authorize it or not.

After I climb into my car, I punch in the coordinates Cade sent. Six miles. The line of us zips through the intersections–mine, Jax, August, and Sean. As if divine intervention is involved, all of them are green. Or it’s 3:00 a.m., and no one else is on the road. The lights from Jax’s pickup dance over my rearview mirror.

My brother’s car is parked a half block away from the address, and I pull in behind him, shutting off the engine and stepping out. Jagger and another man pile out of his Mustang as my friends join us on the sidewalk and street.

“He’s being watched by internal affairs.” Jagger tosses down a cigarette and stomps on the smoking end with his black combat boot. He’s wearing matching cargo pants and a T-shirt with a backward baseball cap covering his hair. His muscles flex under the armbands. “This is Beckett Carter from IA.”

“Nice to meet you.” I nod in his direction as irritation makes my skin crawl. Waiting is not my forte, and now I can’t destroy the guy’s face.

Once we’ve done the obligatory greetings, my hands ball into fists. This is taking too long.

“Let’s go.” My brother tips his head toward the two-story white house. “Cover all the exit points. I don’t want him getting away. He’s an accessory to murder, and who knows what else.”

A shiver runs along my spine, and Sean claps my back. “He’s talking about Jack. Kinsley is going to be fine. We’ll find her.”

“Right.” His words do nothing to alleviate the ball of dread sitting in my gut or the bile I’m forcing down to keep from puking at his feet.

Everyone fans out to the different sides of the house until every exit is covered. Mac rests at my side with his hackles raised, and the leash bites into my palm. I could control him without the leash, but I don’t want him caught in friendly fire.

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