Page 145 of Finding Noah

“Noah's alive,” she stated with a gasp, taking two steps forward toward the masked stranger. “Did you … you …”

Noah had been abducted, taken, and she couldn't will her voice to say the words. But the man understood, and he shook his head.

“I am not at all responsible for his capture, but I am the sole reason for him still being alive.”

Meghan wasn't sure if she should thank him or demand that he tell her right now where Noah was being held.

But instead of doing either, she stupidly asked, “Is he okay?”

To her dismay, his head shook in response.

She swallowed down the urgency to vomit what little she'd sipped of her tea. She was scared to know the details of what Noah had been through in the week he'd been missing, and this man didn't seem all that eager to tell her, given his silence on the matter.

Her throat constricted with distress and sadness as she choked out, “Where is he?”

“I can't disclose that information,” he replied.

Anger was quick to sweep away her sadness as she opened her mouth to speak again, to shout at him and demand he give her something, but again, he held up his hand.

“The situation is complicated,” he explained. “More than you can imagine is at risk.”

“I don't care,” she hissed. “All I care about is Noah and making sure he comes home to me alive.”

“Understandable,” the man replied. “But forgive me for sharing in your selfishness. You want your life to be made whole again, and I prefer to keep mine from imploding.”

“So, someone you know has Noah,” Meg muttered, staring up into those blank black eyes.

“I am personally taking care of this mess, and Noah will be returned to you. And as long as you can accept all that he has endured as it continues to shape him into a different version of himself, your life together will remain intact. But I am asking for your trust, patience, and willingness to comply.”

There was a lot to unpack in that statement. But before she could ask any other questions, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Comply? With what?”

“Learn from your fiancé’s mistakes and stop digging for clues,” the man said, his voice deepening with malice.

She swallowed as he held his hands out to her once more, presenting his gloved palms. Then, in a slow, careful maneuver, he removed a slip of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to her.

“And I need you to deliver this to the police.”

He didn't stop her from unfolding the paper and reading the address scrawled onto it. “What is this?”

“It's not obvious enough for you?”

Boy, was he snarky.

“I see that it's an address,” she muttered. “But where—”

“I will repeat this one more time, Miss Kinney,” he interjected harshly. “Stop digging for clues unless you want to be buried with them.”

She looked up to face him again, horror blanketing her features.

He tipped his head toward hers, lowering his stance. “There are few men more dangerous than me, Meghan, but as I've already said, I do not want to hurt you. Those other men though … they will, and I would like to keep that from happening. Do you understand?”

She swallowed, her lips sealed tight.

“I need you to answer me,” he seemed to growl.

“I-I understand,” she whispered, nodding.

“And you will deliver that address to the police. You will do it twenty-four hours from now.”