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“I told you. I’m not—”
“Some strange man picked the kids up from school, Wren,” I hiss. “Track her fucking phone.”
The teacher has backed away, and is chatting with other teachers, pointing in my direction.
Cars honk behind me, and I ignore them.
“Wren,” I growl when he doesn’t respond.
“Working on it, Finn. Hold tight.”
There is nothing tight about me right now. I’m fucking falling to pieces. I try to convince myself that it’s an honest mistake. That the teacher somehow put the kids in the wrong car, but that would require whoever picked them up being a complete idiot and not realizing that they had the wrong kids. Grasping at straws isn’t helping my anxiety.
“There are no cameras outside the school aimed at the pickup line,” Wren says. “Come back to the office and regroup.”
“Where is her phone?”
I never thought I’d be in a position to have to tell the woman I’m falling for that her children were abducted, but I don’t want to do that over the phone.
“Have you had any luck tracking Ty Penman? Did he pick them up today?”
“From what I can tell, he’s still in Federal custody.”
I know this. Wren and I have talked about Ty more than once over the last week, and his status hasn’t changed. What we do know is that Ty is not only in Federal custody, but the man is also a key witness in a case they’re building against Keres. He hasn’t handed over that fucking jump drive to the feds either. It seems he’s still trying to play both sides of the fence, probably looking for a huge payday, either from them for giving up Keres, or in hush money from Keres so they can keep operating their criminal enterprise.
“Got it,” Wren snaps. He gives me the address location where Kendall’s phone was last pinged, and it’s only then that I put the truck back in drive and take off.
Wren assures me he will contact the police and keep looking for the kids in whatever ways a hacker may use to track someone before I hang up.
After-school traffic is ridiculous, and I scream more than once at idiots who have nothing but time on their hands as they drive through town. I’m a fucking ball of nerves by the time I pull up to the address Wren gave me. Talk about the shittiest house in one of the shittiest neighborhoods.
Her car is not in the driveway or parked across the street, so I pull out my phone and call her. It rings several times before going to voicemail. I don’t leave one because just what the fuck would I say? Call me when you get this. Your kids have been taken by a stranger.
Eeriness and helplessness wash over me as I open my door and climb out. The front door isn’t completely closed, and that helplessness turns to fear as I push it open further.
The air in the house is heavy, and I pull my gun from my waistband holster at the sound of someone in one of the rooms.
I wish for a chance to just rewind the whole damn day. I should’ve talked to Kendall this morning or gone back to my condo after my epiphany in the truck on the drive to work. Waiting to tell her how I feel allowed all of this to be possible.
I use the door frame as a block. Considering how big I am, I make a pretty easy target, but I don’t find an intruder or a completely empty room. A crying woman gasps and cries harder when she sees me, her whimpers of fear muted by the gag in her mouth.
I inch forward, my gut twisting and turning because something clearly bad happened here, and my girl is nowhere to be found.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say, not holstering my weapon because I haven’t cleared the rest of the house.
I turn away from her, moving quickly and efficiently through the rest of the tiny house and even checking the doorless shed in the backyard before going back inside.
“My name is Finnegan Jenkins,” I tell the woman as I reapproach her, weapon now tucked safely away. “I’m looking for Kendall Stewart.”
The woman’s eyes widen, and this time she doesn’t flinch when I reach for the gag in her mouth.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Do you know Kendall?”
She begins to sob. Normally a woman crying would tear me up, and I’d do anything to try to calm her, but my girl is gone, and I don’t have the patience.
“Lady!” I snap. “Kendall Stewart?”
“I don’t know!” she screams. “I don’t know what they did with her.”
“So, she is in danger?”
The woman nods, her face disappearing into her hands.
I should call the police first because this woman has clearly been the victim of a crime, but my first call is to Wren.
