Page 83 of Parker

Emotionless and wooden, even to him, his voice sounded unfamiliar.

“Who do you think sent me here?” Asher grunted slightly as he sat in the chair beside him.

Herewas Charlie Team’s headquarters in Richmond, where he’d been for the past two days.

That’s how long it had been since that fucking picture of him and Quinn on his sailboat was leaked. It was the amount of time he’d spent hiding away in this damn conference room to avoid the paparazzi.

Reporters hounding him about that damn picture.

His lawyers were handling the issue, claiming the picture was a fake. Personally, Parker didn’t give a rat’s ass if his face—or in this case, his entire naked body—was splashed all over every news station and social media site in existence. But Quinn’s?

She didn’t deserve to be violated in that way. No woman did.

And once she was back safe in his arms, he was going to find the person who took that image. He would find them, and then…

I’m going to make sure they never take another one like it ever fucking again.

Meanwhile, Quinn’s location and rescue had to remain his focus. As it had been for the past two days.

Two. Fucking. Days.

Parker knew the odds of finding a kidnapped victim alive decreased after the first 48 hours. And those chances continued to decline each hour after that.

He glanced at the tiny digital clock in his computers upper righthand screen. A quick calculation told him Quinn had been gone forty-eight hours and sixteen minutes.

Ah, Christ.

The guilt from not having been there to stop those bastards was worse than death itself. The inability to find the woman he loved slowly eating him alive from the inside out. And the guilt…

One of the last things he’d said to Quinn was a lie. Good intentions or not, that couldn’t be the last thing he said to her. Itcouldn’t.

This is all my fucking fault.

After Asher’s gut-wrenching call—and what had felt like the longest flight of his entire life—Parker had broken land speed records to get back to his house.

He could still feel the crushing devastation that first glimpse of his damaged home had caused. Even now, as he worked tirelessly to find even the smallest of clues as to where Quinn could be, the unprecedented fear from knowing how close he’d come to losing the people he loved most in this world was a clear and constant presence.

“Syd said to tell you hi and that you needed to eat something and get some sleep,” Asher spoke up again. “She also said if you ignored that, I was supposed to remind you she’s a doctor and she knows what she’s talking about.”

From his periphery, Parker could see the other man staring at him expectantly, but he kept his gaze forward. He didn’t have to see the other man’s face to know what was there…

Bruises and scratches. Pain and regret. And Asher wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt.

A mild concussion and a small, neatly placed row of stitches at Sydnee’s hairline were the worst of her injuries. And each of the few times he’d talked to his childhood friend, the persistent woman had assured him she was fine.

But nothing about this was fine. A goddamn explosion blowing his house to fucking hell wasn’t fine. His friends nearlydyingwasn’t fine.

And not knowing where Quinn was or if she was okay…

I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So fucking sorry.

That was the worst part of it all. The not knowing.

Not knowing where she’d been taken. If she’d been injured like his friends. Or worse, not knowing if she was even still alive…

If they wanted her dead, they wouldn’t have taken her. She was taken for a reason.

Parker ran a wary hand down his face and scruff-covered jaw. He hadn’t taken the time to shave or shower. Hadn’t eaten. And minus a few unintentional minutes of sleep, he hadn’t taken a break to rest.

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