Page 115 of The Daredevil

How could I not love the man who yanked the door open to stand beside me whileIbattled my monster? He knew the best way for me to truly move on was to do the killing myself.

Tears blurred my vision, and I wiped them with the back of my hand.

Realization overcame me. I could still love someone who didn’t reciprocate. We’d talk when all this was over.

The van turned into a junkyard. I drove past it, parked on a small street, got out, and headed toward the entrance on foot. I had no clue what I was doing and functioned mostly on intuition and adrenaline.

A few old buildings surrounded the junkyard, but I wasn’t sure if they were in business. I crouched at the entrance, looking for any signs of men. When I didn’t see anyone, I darted in, staying close to broken cars and stacks of tires.

I spotted the white van up ahead near a blue warehouse. As I prepared to leave, a cold surface pressed into my neck.

“Get up.”

A bald man dressed in black with a mean face zip-tied my wrists, leading me to the warehouse. Terror spiked in me.

For some reason, I glanced back and saw a familiar black sedan drive past.

CHAPTERSIXTY-THREE

ROYCE

Who had keptmy records clean in high school?

I’d spent most of the evening trying to research, but came up with nothing. Another issue that hovered was how to approach Michelle and explain everything. I gave my brain a rest and showed Grayson the demo of my Level Two, and he showed me portions of his Level Three.

“It’s looking good,” said Grayson over the computer screen.

“Thanks, man. I’ll upload it to the website for the others to see soon.”

My phone rang, and I glanced at the number, my stomach knotting.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Grayson and walked away from the screen.

Standing by the window, I picked up the call. “What’s up, Jett?”

Jett was a bodyguard I’d hired to watch over Michelle since she came back from Iceland. He was told to keep his distance unless she needed his assistance. He’d been following her around and giving me updates.

“Ms. Yates is in danger.”

“What happened?”

“She’s been captured in a junkyard. I’m heading in, but I wanted to alert you. I’m not sure how many men are in there. Her neighbor was kidnapped, and she followed the van.”

“Give me the location. I’ll meet you there. Keep me posted when you can.” A sick feeling settled in my gut. “Did you alert the authorities?”

“I did.” Jett was a retired police officer, so he knew the drill.

Ending the call, I returned to my desk and told Grayson, “Gotta go. Michelle’s in trouble.”

“Do you need my help?”

“You busy?”

“Not anymore.”

Twenty minutes later, Grayson sat in the passenger seat while I alerted the PI to send my files to all the news stations about Dominic Bryson. The file would come from an anonymous source, showing the people of Providence that their chief of police was corrupt. The city and media could take what they would from that statement.

Not knowing who I could trust in the Providence police department, I’d asked the PI to alert his FBI friends. Being a former CIA agent, he had useful connections.

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