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The car slowing to a stop wakes me from my slumber. Rubbing the back of my neck from how I was sleeping, I glance around. I don’t recognize where we are.
“What is this? Where are we?” I ask as Jason gets out of the car. He grins.
“This is home.” He slides out and closes the door, coming around to my side to open my door. How chivalrous, this motherfucker has never opened a door for me. I climb out and take in my surroundings. This isn’t Jersey, we are obviously out in the country of Alabama somewhere. There are trees surrounding us and it’s quiet. No noises from the city. No neighbors. No one can hear him when he hits me. I feel the bile rising up in my throat. Jason is halfway to the door by the time I realize I’m still standing by the car. I clutch my purse tighter to me as I wait for him to unlock the door. He ushers me inside but I freeze in the doorway.
This house is a carbon copy of our house in Jersey right down to the way our wedding picture is hanging in the foyer. He gives me a little push through the threshold and closes the door, throwing the lock. He squeezes my shoulder to the point of it being almost painful.
“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he says before pressing a kiss to my cheek.
Shit.
Zander
Removing the sling from around my neck I toss it on the couch. Stupid fucking mission. Stupid fucking Special Forces. I knew one more mission would almost kill me and this last one nearly fucking did. I rub at my shoulder, trying to ease some of the tension. That tends to happen when the mission you’re on is botched, your entire team is captured, and you’re chained by your wrists from a ceiling for nearly a full day before you can finally bust your asses out of there.
I’m sliding into my desk chair when I hear my apartment door slam shut and Ford comes barreling into my living room. He’s in a mood. Shit, I would be too if some psycho kidnapped my girlfriend. I wiggle the mouse and both monitors come to life. I start punching keys as Ford drags a chair up beside me.
“What’s the plan?” He huffs out, scrubbing his hands down his face.
“Patience, big bro,” I murmur, pulling up the street cameras near his neighborhood and narrowing it down to the time we think Alexis left with Crenshaw.
“Holy fuck, Z. Did you just hack into the town's street cameras?” Ford breathes out, his eyes pinging back and forth between the monitors.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to….” I trail off. “Bingo. Gotcha motherfucker,” I say, zeroing in on a newer black Toyota Camry. I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial those friends in low places that I was telling Ford about earlier.
“Yo, bro,” Caine answers the phone, “what’s up?”
“I need you to run a plate for me.” I say, zooming in and rattling off the plate number.
“Sure thing. Gimme a sec,” I hear him whispering something to someone over the line and I hear a woman giggle in the background. I crack a grin, “Shit Caine, am I interrupting something?”
He chuckles, “Nah, she’ll wait. They always do.” I hear a keyboard clicking in the background. Ford’s now pacing the length of my living room practically coming out of his skin.
“Alright, got it. The car is registered to one Stanley Flemming. Looks like he retired from the Spring Lake police department about 10 years ago. Died about 8 months ago. Dead men don’t drive, ya know,” he cracks up at his own joke.
I’m on the move at this point, locking up my computer and heading for the coat closet where I keep all my weapons and ammo. Caine’s still relaying information to me. He lets out a low whistle, “shit son, this fella owned some real nice property in Blountstown before he kicked the bucket.
“Blountstown. Where? Is it remote?” I throw on my shoulder holster, tossing Ford a gun. “You haven’t forgotten how to shoot, have you?” I crack at him and he narrows his eyes.
“I’ll shoot your fucking ass right now if you don’t shut your mouth,” he responds, expertly loading the gun and stuffing it into his waistband. Caine cracks up.
“Super remote, off the grid type shit. Looks like his estate is still in probate, he’s got a couple of bratty kids fighting over it, so it’s empty.”
“It’s not empty. Send the location to my phone. Thanks bro,” we disconnect and a second later my phone pings with the location.
“Let’s go get your girl,” I say as I clap Ford on the back and prowl past him and out the door.
Lex
Jason locked the door behind me when we got here. Like, locked from the inside and stuck the key in his pocket. There are locks on every door and window that require a key. He said he had some work to take care of and disappeared into the back of the house. I’m still trying to take it all in.
This house is a carbon copy of our home in Jersey, right down to the paint on the walls. What the fuck? I meander into the kitchen to look out the windows above the sink. They overlook the backyard that butts up to a body of water with trees all around. I thought when I agreed to go with Jase to keep him from hurting the kids and Crawford that once he got me to our home in Jersey I’d be able to get away at some point, but we definitely aren’t in Jersey. The lake and the marsh surrounding it resemble Alabama so we can’t be too terribly far from home.
Home. That’s what Monroeville is to me. But it’s more than just the town. Home is wherever Ford, Zane and Aria are. Home is nights at the local pub with Avery. Get togethers with Ford's family. It’s away games and stolen kisses in my classroom. Oh my god. The girls on my cheer squad. My heart’s breaking. A quiet sob escapes me as I continue to peruse the kitchen, looking for any way out. There’s what looks to be a butler’s pantry off to the left so I swing the door open and I freeze.
The walls are covered in photos of me. Photos from the last four years. I walk in farther and slap my hand over my mouth. There’s pictures of me at Half Moon doing yoga. Photos of me and Ronnie shopping in Neptune City and a snapshot of me unloading my jeep at the bungalow. Newspaper clippings of all the football games we’ve won. A picture of Ford and I at the hotel bar on the weekend of the state championship. Pictures of Aria and Zane playing in the front yard. Bile starts to rise in my throat and I scramble, making it to the nearest trash can and violently throw up.
I stand after I’m done. He’s been watching me. I can’t even believe it. I can feel his presence behind me and I spin, suddenly filled with rage. Rage that he’s been stalking me all this fucking time. Rage that he’s been taking pictures of our fucking kids when he has no right. None. I shove him.
