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“We need to find him. Now.” I’m tired of standing in this study, tired of waiting and watching. Turning to Jock, I bark, “Get our computer guys on the phone now. I want them looking into every traffic cam in the area so we can map out his route.”
“I’m on it.” Jock crosses the room, speaking quietly into his phone a moment later.
“What can I do?” Paul asks. “Please, let me help you.” Beckett stands up a little straighter, lifting his chin.
“You might send some of your guys out looking for this car and plate,” I suggest, though I doubt they’re going to get very far. He has a huge head start. “Beckett and Jock can keep an open line of communication, and Beckett can pass on any orders from us. How does that work?”
“Whatever you need.” The men exchange a glance which Beckett takes as an order. He types out a text and mere moments later more than half a dozen cards appear as if by magic. He gives them their orders while Jock finishes delivering his before shooting me an expectant look.
“Thank you for your help.” I extend a hand to Paul, who takes it and grips it tightly.
“I hope you don’t take this as any indication of my men not—”
I cut him off with a short shake of my head. There’s no time for this bullshit now, but that’s the thing about being in my position. I can’t so much as set a smoking match to any bridges in case there’s a little bit of life left in it. “Of course not. I assure you, that’s the last thing I’m thinking.”
How could I be thinking about anything other than Delilah? And that girl, the girl whose name I never learned. All the things he did to her. As I take pains not to raise any alarms, walking briskly but casually through Paul’s home on my way to Jock’s car, all I see in front of me is the girl I walked in with. Her face, her body, so perfect, so fresh and young and unspoiled.
I don’t know who this man is. I don’t know what he’s really all about or what he’s getting out of this.
I only know that if he so much as bruises her, he’s dead. I’ll fucking kill him myself.
