Chapter Thirty-Eight
Vivian’s phone call broke the silence as Rhys cruised down the highway, lost in the replay of his meeting with Menendez. Exhausted, he accepted the call, ready to give Vivian more of a headache than his boss probably wanted in the middle of the night. “Did you talk to Scarlett?”
“We have a problem. Where are you?”
“Yeah, we have a problem. That room service guy isn’t room service.” Just like every other thing hasn’t been what he’d expected it to be.
“Callaghan, where are you?”
“Twenty minutes to Peyton and Diane’s and nursing a serious headache. I can promise you, Mason isn’t an arsonist—”
“Shut up and listen.”
Unease pooled in his gut. “What’s up?”
“Jules and Olivia are missing.”
The words hit like a misfire—loud, wrong, impossible. For half a second, he felt nothing. Then everything snapped into place. “Missing?”
“Every possible resource is working on finding them.”
A hard, violent clarity took hold. This wasn’t happening again. His teeth ground. He wanted to be sick. Wes hadn’t updated him on the situation. A cold sweat ran down his spine. “And Wes?”
“He took two rounds. Superficial, but he’s in surgery.”
“Damn it.”
“You and I both know Wes will be fine. Cops are at Peyton and Diane’s, talking to them and Abigail.”
His heartbeat locked into a ruthless rhythm as he pressed his foot onto the gas pedal. “What happened?”
“Home invasion. Wes neutralized two before he was overwhelmed. They worked fast. The scene commander will have more than I do.”
The pounding in his chest intensified. Rage built in his fists as he maneuvered through traffic. “What are we doing about it? Fuck it. Tell the cops I’m on my way. Tell them I’m helping figure this out. I’ll call Menendez back. We’ll get the entire FBI—”
“It’s all in motion. You’ll be looped in, but you can’t show up like a maniac.”
The hell he couldn’t.
Rhys arrived at the neighborhood, which had been so easy to slip in and out of, regretting that he had left hours ago. Yeah, he’d learned a great deal and given the FBI a new route to investigate, but at what cost? His world had disappeared. Jules was gone, and he couldn’t breathe right.
Paparazzi lined the streets.
He jumped out and pushed through the crowd. Some reporters shouted his name, asking for details and for Jules. He wanted to scream but found the lieutenant in charge.
The cops volleyed him from one point to the next. Remnants of popped smoke and gunpowder scented the air. Rhys was in the way more than he was helping. Helpless and furious and ready to tear this house apart, he ignored everyone who didn’t help with his search.
Finally, he located the Lowrys. Their pale faces showed the harrowing night they’d spent. Their cheeks were tear streaked and their eyes, red rimmed. They looked like they’d been run over—and they had, literally, by a pack of men who’d stolen two women. How was this possible?
Why? What did anyone want with Jules?
The person who had been speaking to the Lowry family glared. “Busy right now, buddy.”
“You can be busy with me hovering.” He ran his hands over his face. “Damn it. I can’t believe I let this happen.”
“There’s nothing you could have done to stop it,” Peyton said. “Even if you were with Wes…” He shook his head and wrapped an arm around Diane as she sobbed again.
The officer’s expression softened as he realized who Rhys might be in the story they had been telling. “Coordinated entry. Two points of breach, suppression fire to neutralize the protective detail, extraction team behind. Classic snatch operation.” He paused. “Your man. Two GSWs, nonfatal. Was giving everyone hell on the way to the hospital. He’s going to be fine.”
