Page 46 of John’s Yearning

“Rock ‘n’ roll,” Grayson replied and followed them to the elevators.

When minutes later, they shot out of the garage in John’s Mercedes, Savannah looked in the mirror to make sure Grayson was following them. But she didn’t see a van following. The only other car exiting the garage behind them was an Audi sports car.

“He’s not behind us yet,” she said with a sideways glance at John.

“Oh, he is,” John grunted in displeasure. “But as usual he’s decided to ignore my orders and taken his own car.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “The R8 behind us is his. Showoff.”

“Can’t be easy working with the boss’s son.”

John shrugged, but remained silent.

“Were you arguing with your boss about the case earlier?”

He whirled his head in her direction. “What did you hear?”

Taken aback by his abrupt tone, she fidgeted. “Uh, nothing. I mean, not much. But it was evident that you two had an argument. He seemed furious when he stormed into your office.”

John seemed to relax and concentrated on the traffic again. “It was nothing. Just some administrative issues. Nothing for you to worry about.”

She could tell that he was lying. But she didn’t press him for more information, knowing that it wasn’t her business. Just because they’d had sex didn’t mean she was entitled to know everything. By blowing her off like this, he’d made sure she knew not to cross that line again. She wasn’t his girlfriend or lover, she was just a client who he’d had sex with in a moment of madness. And that was all there was to it. His silence afterwards had already made her suspect that he regretted what had happened, and his evasive answer now was confirmation.

Savannah turned her head to look out of the window. It had been a mistake to sleep with John, to indulge in a few minutes of pleasure. Now that it was over, she felt guilty for having allowed herself a few moments of sheer and utter bliss, while her daughter was locked up somewhere, scared and alone.

She was a bad mother.

A terrible mother for having sought a few moments of happiness in the arms of a man she barely knew. Arms that had felt comforting and soothing. Arms she longed to feel again.

And that thought made the guilt she felt even worse.

20

The photographer’s studio was located in a live-work loft in the South of Market district only a ten minute drive from Scanguards’ headquarters. The converted warehouse contained eight such lofts, and according to Savannah, the photographer, a woman named Kerry Young, occupied one unit on the top floor.

John pulled to a stop in front of the building, blocking the entry to the common garage, since there was no parking spot in sight. Knowing that the police would take at least a half hour from the time a resident called to complain, there was no chance that he’d get towed. They’d be gone by then. And if he really needed to stay longer, he could rely on one other failsafe: once the arriving officer from parking enforcement ran his plates, he’d get a notification that the car was being used for official police business. He wouldn’t tow it, and John would get a text message, alerting him that he needed to move his car. It was a perk Samson had negotiated with the police chief to make it easier for Scanguards staff to patrol the city.

John got out of the car, as Grayson pulled up next to him, double parking the sportscar. John closed the car door, then walked around the front. He didn’t get a chance to display his old-fashioned Southern manners by opening the door for Savannah, because she’d already hopped out of the car and was shutting the door. John clicked his key remote, locking the car.

“Ready for this?” he asked her, meeting her eyes.

“What are we gonna say to her? I mean, we can’t just storm in there and accuse her of having kidnapped Buffy and the other girls,” Savannah said, with a doubtful look on her face.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle this. All you need to do is get us into the building.” He pointed to the entry system, a rectangular box with buttons, a speaker, and a camera, which allowed the residents to see who wanted to gain entry. “Ring her flat and tell her you need to come up to see her urgently. Grayson and I will stand to the side so the camera will only show you.”

John moved aside, out of the camera angle and motioned for Grayson to do the same. He watched Savannah punch in a few numbers. A ringing sound emanated from the box, then a crackling, accompanied by a female voice.

“Yes?”

“Ms. Young, I’m Savannah Rice. You remember me? I came with my daughter Buffy to have her picture taken a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh yes, now I recognize you. Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” Savannah said, “I need your help.” She looked around herself as if she heard something. “My cell phone’s battery is dead, and—” She whirled her head around and then back to the intercom. “Oh God, no! That man, he’s still following me. Please! I need to get off the street and call for help.”

“Quickly!” Kerry Young said. The buzzer sounded at the same time.

Savannah pressed against the door and held it open.

John walked to her. “That’s quite some acting.” He gripped the door, let Savannah enter ahead of him, then walked into the foyer with Grayson on his heels.