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“Do you still want to go to the house?” Hank, my burly and equally sleep-deprived and cranky, bodyguard asks.
I’ve been wearing the same clothes for over twenty-four hours, including at a crime scene, I haven’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday, I reek like a locker room after a football game, and Gavin won’t answer his phone. Before I go to my next destination, I have to clean myself up. “Yes, to the beach house, please.”
When we get to the house and I determine that Gavin is in fact not here, my level of agitation becomes unbearable.
“Where the fuck is he?” I shout to no one in particular. “
Turning to Hank I shout out orders, pointing at him. “You, go home and rest! Get one of the other guys out front and in the car waiting for me!”
“Yes sir.” Hank hurries outside to locate a colleague.
After a lightning fast shower, I pull out my phone and call Sasha. Van Zandt is the one I should be calling, but if I lose my shit over Gavin’s absence, I don’t want it to be to a total stranger.
“Mitch?” Her voice is groggy. I woke her up.
“Sasha! I’m headed to Gavin’s father’s house. Can you tell Van Zandt and Halifax to head over? Dennis Walker has to be the one with the answer to all of this shit. He’s the only link between Gavin and our suspect.” I’m shoving my feet into a pair of shoes and leaving the house while I talk.
“Should you really be going back there, Mitch? The man isn’t going to talk to you.”
What if the suspect got Gavin? Fear stabs right through my heart, making me irrational. “I don’t have a choice! I have to go, Sasha! Just send the fucking Feds and stop fucking thinking for a second!” My breath catches and I have to strangle a sob. It becomes harder to pull air into my lungs, the pressure around my throat tightening. Of it’s own volition, my hand reaches for my collar, needing to relieve the strangling sensation. It falls uselessly to my side when I realize I’m not wearing shirtsleeves or a tie.
“Okay. Okay, Mitch. I’ll do it right now,” she acquiesces quickly.
I get into the car I climbed out of not twenty minutes ago. Without saying another word, I end the call.
A big bruiser named Tyrese climbs behind the wheel. “Where to Mr. Hale?” He puts the key in the starter and waits for orders.
I suck in a deep breath so I can calm down long enough to speak. “Tyrese, do you have any defensive driving experience?”
The man’s unflappably serious façade cracks, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Tons.”
“Okay.” I rattle off the address. “Get there as fast as you can. Fuck everything else.”
The engine comes alive, the loud roar ripping through the early morning silence. “My pleasure,” he responds, right before burning rubber out of Gavin’s driveway.
By the time we pull in front of the long drive, I’ve tried Gavin’s cell at least a dozen more times with no response. My nerves are frayed, my body is so tired it’s about to give out, and my pulse is so fast it feels as if I might be having a heart attack.
A huge tree trunk of a man comes rushing up to the car as Tyrese throws it into park. I spot Gavin’s Range Rover further up the driveway.
“Anders? What’s going on?” Tyrese asks.
“I just heard shouting and was about to go inside when you pulled up,” the man explains.
“Let’s go,” Tyrese grunts,
reaching into his waistband and pulling out a handgun.
“Wait!” I level my gaze on the new guy, Anders. “Why are you here?”
“Mr. Walker asked me to bring him.”
Fuck me. Gavin is inside the house. I unholster my Glock and charge towards the front door. I haven’t gone two steps when another car pulls into the driveway.
The doors swing open and Van Zandt and Halifax jump out, looking as shitty as I feel. “What the hell is going on?” Halifax shouts when his eyes find my weapon, then Tyrese’s.
“Gavin is in there. He hasn’t answered his phone in over an hour,” I explain, turning to stalk up the drive. They can fucking follow me if they want to hear the rest. “I came to talk to his father and Anders here was about to go inside when we arrived.”
“I heard someone scream,” Anders elaborates, now holding his own pistol in his hand.
