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"Yeah, but where?" Hawk asks, pushing to his feet. “We have no idea where to search, and with the storm, everyone will be holed up inside or rushing to get out of the rain. They aren’t going to notice some guy dragging a struggling woman or carrying an unconscious one.”
Stupid fucking storm.I have no doubt it provided this asshole with the perfect opportunity to strike.
I don’t have answers to Hawk’s question yet, so I ignore it. “Have you called Wilder? He didn’t answer me, however we need all hands on deck.”
Hawk shakes his head. His face is set in a deep scowl, anger radiating from him. “He didn’t answer my calls either.” Still, he pulls out his phone, dialing Wilder’s number, and puts it on speaker. I’m only half listening to the sound of Wilder’s phone ring as I put together a plan of action.
The call rings out, and we hear Wilder’s voicemail before Hawk curses and hangs up. “Why is he never around when we fucking need him?” He immediately redials.
This time, it only rings once before someone answers, and Hawk is growling down the line before Wilder can get a word in. “Where the fuck have you been?” Shaking his head, he must decide he doesn’t care. We don’t have time for whatever bullshit Wilder has been filling his time with while he wallows in self-pity or whatever the fuck he’s doing. “Where are you?” Hawk demands instead, still not waiting for his response before barreling on, “Get to Emilia’s classroom.Now.She’s missing. Her stalker has her.”
“I’m coming,” is Wilder’s only reply before hanging up, and then Hawk meets my gaze, ready and waiting for my orders.
Hawk may be my boss, but he knows shit like this is what I’m trained in. Hell, managing shit like this is why he hired me. I’ve just never had a personal attachment to any of our clients. The last time someone I cared about was in danger…
No. Don’t go there!
I curl my hands into fists to hide the tremor as I force all thoughts of that day to the back of my head.Thatwon’t happen to Emilia. I’m not a foolish teenage boy anymore. I’m a highly trained Marine, specially qualified to deal with this exact situation. This time, I won’t fail.
“Okay,” I say, getting my head in the game. “Go to security and search the recordings for any sign of her. Call if you find anything.”
Nodding, he asks, “What about you and Wilder?”
"We'll start in this building and work our way across campus."
“You think she’s still here?”
“Maybe. The bad weather certainly makes it easier for this psycho to get her off campus, but there are still people in classrooms and surrounding buildings. It would only take one person to see him and call campus security or the police. If I were him, I’d hide out until it was dark and then move her.” I wave toward a still-unconscious Nigel. “He clearly has access to something to keep her subdued. If he waits until classes are finished for the day, then anyone who sees them will probably think he’s just carrying a typical drunk student back to her dorm.”
“What do we do with him?” Hawk asks, gesturing to Nigel.
“I’ll call someone to come get him.” I pull my phone out to do just that as Hawk takes off to check the security tapes.
By the time I’m finished with my phone call, Nigel is starting to come around, and I bend down to check on him as I hear hurried footsteps rushing toward us. Placing my hand on the gun at my hip, I watch the door until a drenched, muddy Wilder appears frenzied and haggard, with his wet hair sticking up all over the place, dirty clothes suctioned to him, and bloodshot eyes. The fucking idiot has obviously been out partying or doing god-knows-what since he stormed out of the house two days ago.
“What happened?” he asks breathlessly, stepping into the room and staring down at Nigel.
I scowl as I give him a quick once-over before focusing on the man lying in front of me. Nigel opens his eyes, and I allow him a few seconds to come around until his eyes focus on me hovering over him.
“Emilia!” he gasps, sitting upright too quickly. “Ugh, it feels like a marching band is stomping on my brain, and why does my mouth taste like someone stuffed it with cotton?”
“You were drugged,” I explain.
He does a quick search of the room before meeting my stare. “Emilia. Where is she?”
“He took her. Can you tell me what happened?”
Nigel slowly pushes to his feet, and I help him stand up. “Yeah, I stayed behind after class as per protocol. She got a phone call from you,”—he waits until I nod before continuing—“then the lights went out, and the next thing I know, your ugly mug is in front of my face.”
“Okay. Stay here. I’ve got someone coming to pick you up.”
He nods, leaning against the desk and clutching his head in his hands, while I walk over to a scowling Wilder. “What do we do?” he asks impatiently. He looks like shit, but he’s here, so I guess that counts for something.
“Hawk went to talk to security. You and I are going to split up and check the building and work outward from there.”
He gives a curt nod and turns to exit the room, pausing when I call out his name. “Do you know how to use this?” I ask, holding out a small handgun I had strapped to my ankle.
Wilder stares at it for a moment. “I’m really more of a knife person. Don’t suppose you have one of those hidden somewhere on that body of yours?”
