Page 97 of LA Reign

I know all about his tastes in young women, and the fact that he got one of them pregnant. A girl he later had killed. That resulted in her dad threatening my wife with a gun, so it’s not beyond the pale to suggest he might have somehow caused more trouble for us. Unlikely, but possible. This is where I’m at right now. Desperate.

“You think this was something to do with Foster?” a small voice from beside me pipes up. Alana’s mother is still in the room, using her voice for the first time.

I turn to her. She is impossibly thin. She looks frail and half-vacant. It makes me wonder who Alana gets her fire and her assertiveness from. “It’s a possibility.”

“I trusted you to look after her,” Foster snipes, rubbing his throat. “I can’t believe you let her slip away from under your nose.”

I whirl around, get up in his face. I’ve just about had it. He’s more concerned with point scoring than the whereabouts of his own daughter. “Listen to me, you selfish son of a bitch. I did not let her slip away. She was taken from me! And I will kill every single person who has ever even looked at her if I have to, but I need her back with me. And so I need you to fucking think—is there anyone from your world I should be going for?” My voice cracks with the emotion. Carmichael finally stops posturing and gives it some thought. “I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head. No-one who would do anything like this. But I will give you a list of the people I may have…upset…in recent years,” he agrees. “And you have all of my resources at your disposal.”

“I have my own resources,” I snap. “Send the list to me as soon as you have it. And let me know if you think of anything helpful. Do not go to the press with this, Carmichael. I am warning you.”

“I’ll give you another forty-eight hours, Montoya. But after that, I am contacting the FBI.”

I glare at him.

“She is my daughter!”

“She was. Until you fucking sold her to me, you narcissistic prick!” I spit. Audrey looks confused, but then again, she’s been confused since we got here. “Get me the names.”

He sits back in his chair again, but I have no doubt he means it. He will go to the Feds if I don’t find Alana soon. And if I don’t find her soon, I doubt I will find her alive.

My legs almost buckle beneath me at the thought of never seeing her again. Of never telling her how much I love her. Of our last conversation being me letting her believe I regretted our marriage.

I push the thoughts out of my head. They serve me no purpose right now. “Come on. We’ve got a plane to catch,” I say to Jax.

A few moments later, the two of us are in our car being driven to the airport.

“Do you think he’ll come up with anything useful?” Jax asks.

“No,” I shake my head. “I don’t think it has anything to do with him. But I had to be sure. Had to look that fucker in the eye myself and make sure.”

“I understand, amigo,” he replies.

“Did you believe him, too?”

“Yup,” Jax nods. “I don’t think he has a clue where Alana and Lucia are either.”

That’s the fucking problem right there. Nobody does. Carmichael was my Hail Mary. Bobby Conroy doesn’t have the cojones for this. And besides, there’s no way Alana would share personal information with the likes of him. Jax has checked all our tech for breaches, and I’ve been hands on and bloody for the last day.

So far, nobody has any clue where they are.

Chapter

Forty-Four

ALANA

Ilook across the room at Lucia. She came around shortly after I did, during what I assumed was yesterday. It’s hard to keep track of time in this goddamn basement. There is no natural light, no hint of the outside world. We both remain bound—all except for when we need to use the bathroom—which is no more than a bucket in the corner. Lucia has at least been removed from the chair and allowed to sit on an old sofa bed on the other side of the room. Still shackled, but more comfortable.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I ask her. She’s pale and shaking.

She nods at me. “Yeah. I just feel a little lightheaded.”

“Hey, tattoos,” I say to the man who seems to be the one in charge.

“My name is Rafe,” he replies with a grin. I don’t want to know his name. The fact that he’s offering it suggests he’s confident it won’t matter.

“Can you let her get some fresh air? She’s pregnant.”