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“I’ll check the bathroom.”
I nodded absently at Terry’s words, more focused on kneeling in a pencil skirt without putting my hands on the motel bed. I reached under the bed, hoping my fingertips didn’t happen upon a used condom, or worse. But then I felt it, something hard and plastic.
“Her phone!” Skirt be damned! I flattened myself against the floor with a grunt and reached until the phone was in my palm.
“What?” Terry stood at the foot of the bed, blond brows dipped into a frown.
“Her phone. Madison left it under the bed.” I held it up like a trophy, keeping a death grip on it as Terry helped me up.
“Thanks,” I said, flashing a quick look of gratitude up at him and ignoring the rush of excitement that stole through me at his touch.
“Anytime.”
Yeah, right. I turned back to the phone instead of my ridiculous attraction to a man who thought I was a stuck up rich bitch who only cared about herself. Madison was what mattered right now. The screen was cracked but I tapped it anyway, relieved when it lit up.
“It’s working.” I heard the relief in my voice and looked over at Terry.
He looked at me like he thought more of me than he did five minutes ago, and it reminded me how easily men lied. People in general, but men especially.
“You get that for her?”
I nodded. “I did. So I could let her know if I found anything. Look, the recorder app is still running.” I stopped and saved the recording and then replayed it.
There were two voices, a man and a woman.
“We can’t leave her here. Who knows who she’s talked to?” The woman’s voice was unfamiliar but I suspected it belonged to Donna McLaughlin.
Then the man spoke. “We have two options, Montana or Texas.”
“Texas is closer to the border and bad things happen to girls all the time down there.”
Her words were ominous, but the meaning was clear. It would be better for them, whoever they were, if Madison was dead.
The man grunted, the sound of Madison’s terrified breathing loud in the phone’s speaker.
“She could make a lot more money in Chicago. Not to mention Mueller is a bishop over there.”
Mueller. Another connection to the Church and Rhymer.
“It has to be the McLaughlins and Mueller,” I insisted. I didn’t need Terry to believe me or confirm it; I was sure Mueller was behind Madison’s kidnapping.
“I gotta make a call,” Terry said and stomped off, giving me time to listen to the recording again while he checked in with Jasper.
Since they didn’t know Madison was recording, the man and woman spoke freely, but the end of the recording grew faint because the door was open, and they were farther away from the bed.
“Drop her at The Last Stop with any driver heading south. Get rid of her.”
What followed was what I feared, sounds of Madison struggling against someone stronger, probably bigger too. And angry.
I knew exactly where The Last Stop was, at the crossroads of three different interstate highways that could get you to Mexico in just a few hours. With the phone clutched in my hand, I headed for the door just as Terry stepped inside.
“I talked to Jasper,” he said, but I cut him off.
“I know where they took her. I’m going after her. Oliver will give you a ride back to the arena.” I didn’t stop to get his reaction, at least not until his hand flew out and wrapped around my wrist, giving me no choice but to stop.
He flashed that panty-melting smile at me, and I knew, without a doubt, he felt my pulse jumping and knew he did that to me. He gave me a long look and said, “I don’t think so, Kitty Kat. You go, I go.”
Because it was his job, I reminded myself, not because he gives a shit. Terry wasn’t a bad guy, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I was just his best friend’s bitchy little sister. Not a desirable woman, at least not a woman he desired. Nope. Friend zone.
Best to keep that in mind moving forward, so I yanked my wrist out of his grasp, grateful he let go so quickly.
“Fine. Let’s go, Stalker.” His chuckle sounded behind me, but my legs moved quickly, knowing Madison and her captors had at least a forty-minute head start on us.
“Hurry it up,” I snapped, “she could be on the fifteen freeway headed toward Tijuana by now.”
“Go as fast as you want, Kitty Kat. I got the keys,” Terry said, amusement in his voice which both turned me on and pissed me off.
“I’m glad this is amusing to you,” I growled and stood beside the passenger door, tapping my foot impatiently.
Terry’s laughter pissing me off by the second.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Terry
Kat said nothing to me for the first thirty minutes of our trip to rescue the tough girl who’d gotten to her. She kept her eyes on the road ahead, arms folded and a mostly blank expression. But the way her dark brows dipped low and her lips pinched tight told me just how pissed off she was.
