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Is anything more important than tamping the fire currently roaring inside of me? I want to say no, but my good sense is gaining more and more traction with every shrill ring.
Finally, Timofey stands up and I climb out of the bed and rummage for my phone. It’s in the jean pocket where I left it after I bought the tickets to Mexico.
Tickets I bought because I’m so afraid of Timofey that I have to get my family and friends as far away from him as possible before I even try to take him down.
I mentally curse myself for being so stupid. Thank God we were interrupted. Who knows what sort of mess that could have caused?
I answer my phone, half my mind still pinned to the mattress beneath the man intent on ruining my life. “Hello. This is Piper Qu—”
“Kidnapper!” A voice roars through the phone. “Where is she? What did you do with her?”
I hold my phone away to protect my eardrums from the screaming. “Who is this?”
“It’s Grant! You were at my house!”
“I remember you, Grant. I know who you are.”
Timofey stands straighter at the mention of the boy’s name. I turn away from him so all of my brain power can be devoted to the young kid screaming in my ear.
“What did you do with Olivia?” he screams. “I know you took her! Where did you—”
“Wait!” I yell, interrupting him. “What are you saying? Is—is Olivia gone?”
“Yes! And you took her! She’s gone, and—”
“Grant, stop,” I say firmly, already stepping out of the purple dress. I can’t even be bothered that Timofey is staring at my naked butt right now. There are more important things to worry about. “I don’t have Olivia. I don’t know where she is. But I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m going to help you find her.”
Grant yells something else back, probably warning me not to come. But I hang up before he can finish.
I yank on my jeans and turn to explain things to Timofey, but he’s standing behind me with my sweater in hand.
He tosses it to me. “Get dressed. I’ll drive.”
60
TIMOFEY
I can feel the dampness in the air the moment I open the garage door. The sky is darker than usual. Gray clouds hang low and heavy, swollen with rain.
I grab the motorcycle helmet I’ve come to think of as Piper’s and roll my motorcycle into the driveway.
While I wait for her, I pull out my phone and dial Rooney’s cell number.
“Detective Rooney.” The greeting is short and clipped, as far as greetings from James usually go. It lets me know someone else is within earshot. He wants this to sound like a professional call, which works for me.
“Missing kid. Seven years old, give or take. Blonde hair.”
“Did you—” He cuts himself off and clears his throat. “When did she go missing?”
“I’m not sure.”
“How are you not sure?” he hisses.
I realize all at once what he’s asking. “Because I didn’t fucking kidnap her,mudak.”
“Oh. Okay. Good.” Rooney sounds relieved, but I don’t know why. I’ve never hurt a child. Ever.
“No, not good,” I growl. “A little girl is missing, and no one knows where she is. You need to get up and go look for her.”
