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So it’s now or never. I choose... now.
I type out a response, letting my contact know I’ll be there in ten minutes. My chest and stomach feel heavy as I hit send, but I know I made the right choice. I can only count on myself in this life. Keaton might say all the right things and make me crazy with need, but he’ll leave. Everyone leaves, eventually.
Gathering my things as silently as possible, I slowly turn the doorknob, not wanting it to make a sound. I carefully open the door enough to slip through, then close it again with just as much care.
I take a deep breath and get my head on straight. This is fine. I’m checking up on a lead. No big deal. I do this all the time. Then why does it feel so wrong?
Ignoring the little voice in my head, I make my way down to the pier. The closer I get, the worse I feel. I keep looking over my shoulder, feeling eyes on me with every step. I’m sure I’m just being paranoid.
When I reach my destination, I look around for a man in a navy blue jacket wearing a black New York Mets hat. So far, I’ve only seen a few dock workers and tourists. I make my way to the right side, where a few shipping crates are stacked. Maybe he’ll be here. Less obvious and whatnot.
As I step around to the back of one of the shipping containers, I’m aware of footsteps behind me. I don’t have a chance to turn around before an arm clamps around my chest and arms, effectively pinning me in place with a bruising hold. The next thing I know, a cloth is pressed over my mouth and nose. I try to hold my breath, but eventually, I have to inhale.
When I do, my world fades to black.
Chapter 9
Keaton
I wake up with a start, sitting straight up in bed with a sense of panic in my soul. As soon as I look around the room, I know Roxy is gone. Not only do I not see her in this little motel room, but I don’t feel her. It sounds absurd, and two weeks ago, I would have thought this was all crazy, but it’s true. I can’t feel Roxy’s warmth, her light.
She’s gone, and I’m about to bash skulls and scorch the earth to bring her back.
I quickly throw on some pants and a shirt, making a quick pass around the room for signs of forced entry or a struggle. I’m not seeing anything, and I’m sure I would have woken up if anyone came in. Which means Roxy left on her own.
My chest grows tight, and I rub the heel of my hand over my heart to ease the ache. Did she skip out on me? Again? After everything we shared?
No, that can’t be right. She surrendered her body to me, gave herself completely to her passion... Not to mention all the past secrets and pain we talked about on our date. I know she felt the connection.
Then why the hell did she leave?
I search for a note or any clue as to where she went. Whatever is going on is fishy. I’d smile at my ocean reference if it weren’t for the anxiety and crushing fear that I’ve somehow lost the only woman I’ve ever loved.
Fuck, and I didn’t even get a chance to tell her that.
In my hurry to get dressed, I didn’t notice that Roxy’s laptop was open on the coffee table. I shouldn’t look, but this is a matter of her safety. It might literally be life or death.
My gut drops at the mention of death, even in my own thoughts. It’s not possible. I won’t let that happen.
I swipe my finger over the mouse pad, waking up the computer. Thankfully, it’s not password protected, though I’ll need to talk to my woman about that when I bring her back. She should have more safety precautions on all of her electronics.
But now isn’t the time for that lecture. Besides, I have a feeling I’m going to find exactly what I need in here. I figure the only reason my Roxy would leave was for work purposes. As I navigate her email app, I’m thankful she logged in so I don’t have to guess her password or wait for someone at Watchdog Protection to hack her account.
The first email that pops up sends chills down my spine, followed by white-hot rage. It’s a trap. It’s everything Roxy would need to file a lawsuit against a major fishing company and hold them up in court for years. It’s a huge win for her and Sea Change. Too bad it’s fake. My woman is in danger.
I’ll rescue my Roxy and then keep her for good.
I shoot off a text to Logan, asking if he has an update on the analysis of the letter. He’s quick to respond, saying he’ll call me later this evening. I go ahead and call him, relieved when he picks up.
“She’s gone,” I say, the urgency in my voice letting my friend know how serious the situation is.
“Shit,” Logan mutters. “Here’s what I’ve got so far. The cut out letters all come from the same magazine, which happens to be a publication made for and by employees of the Northeastern Fishing Company, located in Maine. Sound familiar?”
Indeed, it does. “The company Roxy led the protest against. Of course. I mean, I kind of figured, but it’s good to have solid evidence.”
“We’ve since narrowed our suspect list to those directly affected by Roxy and Sea Change. Three men with a history of violent crime floated to the top.”
I growl over the phone. Logan knows I need those names sooner rather than later.
