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“That wouldn’t be smart, man. I think I found something you lost.”
His fingers gripped the handle of his truck as he froze. “Something?”
“Uh-huh. A gray backpack with a couple of dangling charms. Aww, one of them is a neon pink M, so I knew it had to be yours. And the white tassel is so you. Looks like there’s a change of clothes inside and some thoughtfully packed snacks. I love these little jerky sticks. Hmm…”
Ethan had perfectly described Madison’s backpack, right down to the food he’d tucked inside for her.
Heart racing, Matt lunged into the cab of his vehicle and turned it over, squealing out of his parking spot. “When you found the backpack, was it alone? Did you findanythingelse?”
Matt’s heart pounded as he waited for Ethan’s reply, hoping the gnat was smart enough not to say anything sensitive over the phone. If he’d somehow stumbled onto Madison’s belongings and not the woman herself, what did that mean? What could it mean, other than someone who didn’t have her health and welfare in mind had gotten their hands on her?
“Oh, it’s not alone. Something else very interesting came with it. But I might hang onto that for a while. It’s…warm. And very attractive. Kind of my type and all. But I thought you should know about the backpack.”
So Ethan had Madison. Matt let out a huge sigh of relief. For an instant, he almost didn’t care that the bastard was yanking his chain. But if Ethan laid a single finger on her, Matt swore he’d take the cocksucker apart limb by limb and inflict maximum pain. “Is everything you found in good condition?”
“Excellent, actually. A little routine maintenance and all seems well.”
Thank fuck. Somehow, Madison had fled Nash’s apartment and found a place to lie low without being caught by the thugs who had nearly carved up his pal. “Where can I find my backpack and the accompanying item? Which, by the way, ismine.”
“C’mon, Montgomery. Don’t be so stingy. You know what they say… Sharing is caring.”
The asshole wanted Madison? Over his dead body. “Fuck you.”
“Pass. I’m not into cowboy hats or hairy scrotums. But if you want to get your hands on your…backpack, why don’t you meet me here? I’m not far from you, I’ll bet. I’m east of where the nuns live, just south of the highway that kinda sounds like a dude’s dong. Look for lots of blue and flags out front. Once you’re there…well, if you’re a Drew Brees fan, you’ll know where to find me. Hope you got all that. See you soon.”
Three beeps told him Ethan had hung up, and unless Matt figured out the asshole’s riddle, he wasn’t going to find Madison.
Quickly, he ran through the brain teaser. “Where the nuns live? Are there any Catholic churches nearby?”
What was he saying, of course there were. Lafayette was Cajun country, and they tended to be very Catholic. But did nuns actually live in houses of worship? He didn’t think so. Didn’t nuns live in convents? Yeah, but what was just east of a convent?
No idea…but there was an East Convent Street northwest of the campus. It intersected with Highway 167, aka Johnston Street. That wasn’t Johnson, but it was close to another way of saying a dude’s dong. That had to be what Ethan meant.
Matt floored the gas pedal and headed in that direction. When he reached the intersection, he turned right, following Ethan’s direction and driving south. Then he started scanning the surrounding buildings.
It didn’t take him long. Third building on the left. It was white with blue trim and colorful flags flying out front. The Blue Bayou Bar and Motel. Probably built in the fifties, they had a tacky neon sign proclaiming the fact they honored AAA discounts while boasting about their air conditioning, color TVs, and swimming pool.
He parked haphazardly around the side of the building, where his truck wouldn’t be visible from the street. He hadn’t been followed, but he didn’t need anyone out there still looking for Madison to stumble up on his truck and start nosing around.
Once he cut the engine, he left his phone in the glovebox—just in case the powers that be were eavesdropping—and hopped out, settling his cowboy hat on his head and pulling the brim low. He stared at a row of faded blue doors with overgrowing vegetation sprouting from crumbling brick planters. There were ten in front of him in a neat row, beginning with number one. Which room was Ethan and Madison holed up in? The only part of the riddle left centered around Drew Brees.
But Matt didn’t understand. How could being a football player’s fan help him pinpoint the right door? Brees had won Super Bowl XLIV, but this motel didn’t have a room forty-four. He tried to think beyond the obvious… There were lots of stats in sports, too many to name. What number could he associate with Drew Brees?
Then Matt got it, the number most associated with any player in any sport. And though he loved football, he wasn’t much of a Saints fan. Still, he fucking knew the number on the famous quarterback’s jersey.
Nine.
His heart thudded against his ribs so hard it fucking hurt as he jogged to the door and knocked.
It took a nerve-wracking minute, but Ethan cracked the door, gun in hand. “There you are. That didn’t take long. I guess you’re not just a stupid cowboy, after all.”
When the bastard flipped the brim of his hat with the barrel of his gun, Matt stepped back and grabbed his wrist in a vicious grip. “Where. Is. She?”
Ethan raised a cocky dark brow. “So impatient.”
“Stop fucking around, or I swear to god—”
“You’ll what?” Ethan turned on a dime, all hint of grinning mockery replaced by a snarl. “You’re an asshole. I think the appropriate term is ‘you’re welcome.’”
