Page 88 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“A woman was driving the truck?”

“Yes.” His eyes close and then slowly open.

“Was she the one who held you captive until you were brought here?”

“Yes. I. Tackled. Her. But. She’s. Fucking. Crazy.”

I dart from the room to the security area on floor four. The door opens on my approach and a guy I recognize as Buddy stands there. I’ve worked with him on occasion over the years. He must have seen me on the monitors.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“I need you to bring up the footage of Adam Maine being brought in. Look on your computer at his admitted time stamp and bring up the material from that day,” I bark.

He senses my tense, don’t-fuck-with-me attitude and does as I ask.

My heart is going to burst out of my chest and flip around on the floor.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Buddy taps over keys and brings up different monitors, and then it’s there—a woman who looks like my girl. Her face lifts up to the camera.

“Freeze the image,” I order. “Zoom in.”

He does as I ask and my hand shakes as I reach for my cell. I swipe at the screen with the other hand as I wait for the ringing tone to sound in my ear. My fingers slide down the scar on the girl’s face.

Macy Phillips.

“Answer, baby.”

“This is Detective Phillips. I can’t take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

I run from the room and down the corridor, shouting for people to move out of my way. “Baby, please be sleeping, or showering, or God—anything,” I whisper to myself. “I love you. I love you, Jade. I’m coming home.”

I make it to my car in a blur and begin driving. My head is swimming. This will break her.

Littleton isn’t there when I pull up and my fear ricochets through every nerve ending, landing in my heart with a sickeningthud.

No.

No way.

No fucking way.

She’s going to be up there asleep. He took a piss break—he has to piss at some point.

My feet carry me at a speed I didn’t know I was capable of to her apartment. The door stands ajar.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

No.

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