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Instead, I slowly dragged my thumb up the screen and began reading.
The headline: MISSING was in big bold letters like a flyer for a fucking lost dog.
As I digested the words on the screen, my anger spiked and continued climbing. The heartfelt, emotional plea for Emma to: “Please, come home, darling. We miss you,” quoted by her mother, Roslyn Tolliver Bishop, made me want to vomit.
But when I saw the amount of money the Bishops and Fairchilds were offering as a reward for Emma’ssafereturn, a murderous, unholy rage unleashed inside me.
The rich cocksuckers had no problem dropping ten million in the pocket of a corrupt congressman. Yet they could only bear to part with a measly two million to get Emma—their daughter, future daughter-in-law, and the mother of their possible grandchildren—back.
“I’ve read enough,” I bit out, shoving the phone back to Ian.
“You need to get Emma out of here, before someone else recog—”
“I know,” I roared at Dalton, rage rolling inside me. Turning my focus to Ian, I cocked my head. “Two million dollars is a lot of money. Why aren’t you and James hunting Emma?”
Ian arched a brow at James. “Go ahead. Tell him.”
Whipping my attention to the man I’d foolishly assumed the lesser threat—because you’re slipping, man—I ignored the voice in my head and waited impatiently.
“Back in the fifties, my great-grandfather started a TV station in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. It’s an independent, family-owned station that my Uncle Jack—who I talk to every week—runs now. Several years ago, the Fairchilds approached my uncle and offered him an obscene amount of money to purchase the station. He turned them down, but they’ve continued to keep hounding him.” James took a deep breath and continued. “About a month ago, Jack called and told me there were rumors the Bishops and Fairchilds were gonna make a merger and corner the media market. Essentially, drive my uncle out of business. So, I asked a friend of mine, who’s got a lot of connections in DC, about it. Long story short, there are certainagencieswatching this merger closely. They have reason to believe bribes and threats are being made to push the thing through, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
I didn’t have to; I already knew the rumors and threats were true. But I was stumped why my contact in DC wasn’t privy to the same intel.
“You’re right. Two million dollars is a lot of money,” James continued. “But we want nothing to do with either family.”
“You’re right not to.” I nodded.
“You know more, don’t you?” Ian asked.
Way more, but I would not draw an even bigger target on Emma’s back.
“I know I’m leaving, and taking Emma home where I can keep her safe,” I announced, rising from the chair.
“Listen, we know how to keep people alive, too. If you want our help, we’ll be here for a week…longer if you need us to stay,” James offered as he stood and extended his hand.
“Thanks. I appreciate that, man. I got experience, too.”Killing bad guys.
I shook his hand first, then Ian’s when he, too, stood.
“If you have to get Emma out of Dallas, I can get you aboard a private jet in under an hour,” Dalton offered, not bothering to mask his worry. “I’ll get you whatever you need to go and set up after you get there. Just say the word.”
He could. I’d been to the man’s house…er, rather, his mansion. Even though Dalton was richer than God, his offer warmed my heart.
“Thank you, man. Thanks, all of you.” I nodded before bolting out of the office and racing down the stairs.
ChapterSixteen
Emma
Saturday, July 29th
Sunrise streaming through the windows pulled me from sleep. Not ready to get out of bed, I turned to my side, blindly inching toward Grant. I wanted to snuggle his hard, naked body and catch some more z’s. But he wasn’t there. The sheets were cold where he was supposed to be. Sitting up, I blinked against the morning light, as confusion and worry tightened my chest.
Something was wrong.
I’d first sensed it when Grant returned to the bar after his meeting with Dalton. But simply dismissed it as club business. I hadn’t noticed anything off on the ride home, but of course, I hadn’t been paying attention. I’d been too busy trying to calm my hungry hormones. After watching all those erotic scenes at the club, I’d been hornier than hell, dreaming of him taking me over his knee and spanking my ass, or tying me up in rows of pretty knots.
However, once we were home and getting ready for bed, he was so preoccupied and distant, I’d asked him what was wrong. Grant said he had a headache. I’d offered to massage his temples, neck, and shoulders, but he declined and popped some ibuprofen. He’d then climbed into bed, kissed me good night before snuggling me against his chest and, falling sound asleep.
