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He wouldn’t do that. The man was white-collar, not a fucking mob boss. Sure, he’d been involved with some bad guys, but outright kidnapping? This was a big step for him.
I ripped my phone from my pocket and put in a call to Melanie.
“Good morning, Mr. Baker,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“Summer’s gone,” I replied gruffly. “I need you to send me the last known location of her cellphone. She’s got the FindMe app.”
“Full name, please.” I liked that about Melanie. She didn’t ask questions. She was a good personal assistant who read when it was the right time to ask for information or not.
I told her what she needed to know then hung up and waited for the information to come through. It was unethical for me to get that intel about one of the people who used my app. The only exception was when those people hired my security company to look after them. But this was an emergency, and most of the authorities out here wouldn’t have access to the FindMe cloud and its information.
“Come on, come on.” I paced up and down the beach, gripping my phone tighter and tighter. My mind drifted from one possibility to the next, each growing substantially worse the longer it took for the text to come through.
Summer hurt. Summer abused. Summer dead.
“No,” I muttered. “Not happening.”
Living in a world without her around wasn’t an option.
How long would it take for Melanie to secure the information? I’d never done this personally before, but more than a few minutes was too much. It was something I’d have to look into when I was back in Florida—shortening the time it took to access that information. The thought itself was crazy given the circumstances.
I shot off a text to Paul with the news of what had just happened. I wanted to handle this myself, without getting Interpol or anyone else involved—chances were, if Cruz found out the cops were onto him, he’d either run or hurt Summer.
“Jesus H,” came Paul’s reply. “Sorry man. Don’t know how this is possible, given that he’s still in FL. Don’t call the local cops.”
Fuck.
“It’s too late for that,” I typed back.
“You’ll need my help on this. Want me to mobilize some shit this side?”
I hesitated, my thumbs hovering above the screen. “Not yet.” I hadn’t received a ransom message, but I didn’t doubt it would come through soon.
“Matt!” My sister’s voice rang out across the sand. I turned toward her.
She’d been so happy and radiant this morning, but now, she was clearly freaked, her hair all over the place and her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She pushed me back a couple steps. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Huh?”
“What is this about? Why do you want to handle this yourself? What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Jesus, Emmy, relax.”
“I won’t. My best friend is missing. Why? There’s something you’re not telling me,” she said, pointing a finger in my face.
Any other day I’d have told her to calm the fuck down, but not now. She was suitably distraught. Christ, it was Summer. “Did you call the cops?” I asked.
“Yes. They’re on their way.”
Fuck. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why? Explain to me why.”
“What’s going on?” Scott came jogging up the beach toward us. “Em?”
“My brother’s lying to me about something.”
“Emilia, this is not the time to discuss this. Our focus should be on getting Summer back, and that is all,” I said firmly. It was the tone I’d used on her a few times in the past. Em was the more emotional of the two of us. She’d always had a penchant for overreacting. Or just plain freaking out.
“I want to know what’s going on. Why is she missing? Who would take her?” Emilia asked.
Scott stroked her back and slipped his arm around her, providing support. As I should have done for Summer. I wasn’t there. I’m an idiot. I should have realized right away that Cruz would be after her.
“Tell me. I can see it on your face, Matt.”
What my sister didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, the minute she knew, she’d either blame herself or she’d want to know why Summer was the target when it was me who had to cough up the files. And that would only hurt her even more and make the situation worse.
“Matt!”
My phone buzzed, and I walked away from her and answered. “This is Baker.”
“Hello, Baker,” the voice said—it was marred and deepened by one of those cheesy voice-changers villains used in the movies. “I’m glad I could get ahold of you. Do I have your attention now?”
“Let her go.”
“I think I’ll keep her for a while, actually. I’m going to have some fun with your little friend here.”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“You know what I want.”
