Page 53 of The Santas Who Stole Me

The tension in me uncoils a bit, knowing we have a way to find her.

“Will you get her then? B, go with them,” Marge adds. I almost forgot she was here.

My cell rings across the kitchen, and I open it.

“Lee,” I say, putting her on speaker.

“Cal, listen, you guys need to get out of the diner. Take Marge. An FBI raid has been put in place. I tried to come up with a way to stop it. It’s out of my hands, but listen. The Porter agent, he made those death certificates.”

“Those?” I only saw Georgie’s, and I swear it will haunt my fucking nightmares.

“He’s planning on staging all of your deaths. The time stamps aren’t completed. I swiped them out of his work PC. Zee, do you have the GPS?”

“You hacked into his work PC? Jesus, Lee, that’s ballsy even for you,” B says, and I look at him wondering how the fuck he knows one of my best friends and how does Lee know Marge?

“Sebastian, is that you?”

“Yea, I heard, FBI raid, thanks for the heads up.”

Sebastian? I’ll figure how the hell everyone is connected later. The more time that passes the further away I feel her pull.

“Mags, baby, look, we’re going to have to call him.”

“No, B, we have some more time. I’m not ready,” Marge tells him.

Zee moves to the back, glancing at the couple huddled together. He tosses the keys to his Mustang to B with a jerk of his head.

“You can take my car and get out of here,” Zeke tells B.

“Thanks, go get Georgie, and bleed the prick out for me.”

Keeper is out the door first, and Zee and I follow, loading in the truck. I unlock the hatch in the side and pass out weapons like they’re candy.

“She’s stopped moving,” Zee says studying his phone.

I chew on my rage to cover the questions bubbling inside me about why she stopped moving.

“She’s not dead,” Keeper repeats to himself.

I swear to God that better be true, or he’s going to see true hell on earth delivered to anyone who hurt my cookie.

Chapter Thirty

KEEPER

She can’t be dead, I repeat over and over to myself. Calum is in the back loading his pockets with bullets and a few grenades. He checks them repeatedly. The weight is giving him some type of reassurance. He needs that. Out of the three of us, he will take losing Georgie the hardest. Although the tightness in my gut about her not being with me coils to my spine, I push it all away, getting to that dark space I need to complete a job.

Zeke stares at his phone, and the only sound is the click of Calum’s blade as he opens and closes his favorite switchblade. The truck rumbles, and I speed down the highway to get to her. The address is in a small neighborhood nearby.

“Any movement?” I ask Zeke.

“None. Lee was able to get blueprints for this house. She says it’s a safe house. Her FBI connections have really become invaluable today.”

He’s right, but I can’t help but want to burn down the bureau. How they have remained clueless about what Chad has been doing right under their noses is a mystery.

Zeke pulls up the blueprint and displays it on a tablet. No cams are available to try to get a street view, so we only have satellite pictures from a mapping site. It’s unfortunate but not detrimental to getting in and out of the house.

We stop on the street behind our target. The houses are small and in rows with yards separated by short chain-link fences. Each house is the same rectangular shape with simple siding in alternating colors and single-paned windows lining each side of the front door. An attached garage is on the right side of the yard. The homes are set in a way where we can see the back porch of the house on the other side of the street through the fences.