Jenson’s silence speaks volumes before he finally responds. “I understand. I’ll activate my network immediately. We’ll find him, Julian.”
“Whatever resources you need?—”
“Consider it done. I’ll contact you the moment I have something.”
I pace my penthouse like a caged animal, unable to sit still for even a moment. The blood smear on the carpet taunts me. My hands shake as I run them through my hair for the twentieth time in as many minutes. This isn’t like me—I don’t lose control. I don’t panic. Yet here I am, my heart racing, my breath shallow, my mind spinning with horrific possibilities.
Coffee spills over the rim of my cup as I set it down too forcefully on the counter. I don’t bother cleaning it up. I check my phone again. Twenty-three minutes since I called Jenson. Twenty-three minutes of pure hell.
The police arrive, take statements, and promise to “do everything they can.” Their platitudes mean nothing. They don’t understand who took Elliot or why. They don’t understand what Margaret Chambers is capable of.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I answer before the first ring completes.
“Jenson. Tell me you have something.”
“I do.” His voice is calm, efficient. “My team pulled security footage from your building’s garage. Two men carried Elliot out at 5:42 this morning. He appeared unconscious. They loaded him into a black van, no windows on the back compartment.”
My knuckles turn white around the phone. “License plate?”
“Partial capture only, but we’ve traced the vehicle. It belongs to the First Light Church of Redemption on the outskirts of Ravenwood.”
The name strikes a chord of recognition and dread. “First Light? They’re fundamentalists. Extremists.”
“Yes. And they have known connections to conversion therapy programs. They operate under the radar, but they’re there. My sources confirm Margaret Chambers has been attending services there for the past three months.”
The room spins around me. Conversion therapy. The words echo in my head, conjuring images too terrible to contemplate.
“I need an address for the church. And I need to know if they have any other properties—somewhere isolated they’d take someone for their ‘therapy.’” My voice emerges mechanical, stripped of emotion.
Jenson pauses. “There’s an old hunting lodge registered to their pastor. Secluded location, twenty minutes outside town.”
“Send me both addresses. I’m going to need additional support.”
I end the call and immediately dial Xavier.
“Julian. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Elliot Chambers has been kidnapped from my home. First Light Church of Redemption is responsible.” I maintain perfect control, each word precisely measured. “His mother arranged it. They’re attempting conversion therapy.”
Silence stretches between us.
“That’s unfortunate. Why bring this to me?” Xavier’s tone is neutral, but I detect the undercurrent of interest.
“Because I intend to retrieve him, and I require help from people who understand discretion and force.” I move to my safe and enter the combination with steady fingers. “Margaret Chambers believes her position protects her from consequences. I want her to understand how mistaken she is.”
“This is rather personal for you.” It’s not a question.
“Yes.” I remove my handgun, checking the magazine. “I’ve never asked you for anything, Xavier. I’m asking now.”
Another pause. “Vane and I will meet you at your penthouse in twenty minutes.”
“Thank you.”
I slide the gun into the back of my pants.
My rage is a glacier—massive, inexorable, and absolutely deadly. Margaret Chambers believes herself righteous. She’s about to learn what true judgment feels like.
The Blackwood brothers will ensure no one stops us. And I will ensure no one touches Elliot again.
