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Lock raised an eyebrow. “You’re fucking weird, man.”
Shrugging, Jinx pulled the car to a stop outside the clubhouse. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
He did love Brenna, but he hadn’t realized everyone else knew it.
“C’mon, let’s see if anything new is popping here.”
He followed Jinx into the clubhouse. Every step felt like walking through quicksand, battling to move his legs and progress forward. Harper met them at the door, holding Caleb, who took one look at him, reached his arms out, and said, “Dadada.”
Lock stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t breathe or blink, terrified to miss it if it happened again.
“Yo, did the little dude just talk?” Jinx asked, making Harper roll her eyes.
“I’m pretty sure the little dude just said his first word. Do you want your dada?” she asked as she held him out to Lock.
“Dadada,” he said again.
“Holy shit,” Lock whispered as he pulled his son close. “I probably shouldn’t curse around you if you’re saying shi… stuff now. You know I’m your dada?”
Caleb grabbed his nose and giggled.
The ache that had occupied Lock’s chest twenty hours ago intensified. Brenna would love this. She’d be over the moon, gushing about what an intelligent boy Caleb was and what a proud dada Lock was.
God, he missed his woman more than he thought himself capable. She’d make a fantastic mother. Would she want that? More than sex? A relationship? Being Caleb’s mom?
“I’m gonna bring her home, buddy,” he whispered to the baby.
Jinx and Harper slipped away, giving him space to bond with his son alone.
“Dadada.”
“Yeah. I’m your dada, and I’m gonna bring Brenna home. Make her mine. And one day, I’ll make her your mama.”
Caleb smiled as though he understood the words. Lock pressed a scratchy kiss to his soft cheek, making him squeal in delight. He hugged the baby close, letting his warm softness ease the storm inside.
The clubhouse door slammed open with so much force the walls rattled.
Caleb jumped and began to cry.
“Got the motherfucker!” Jo shouted as she raced inside, waving a piece of paper.
“Oliver?” Lock croaked as his throat dried up. Could this be it?
Jo looked him in the eye. “Damn straight. I found Oliver.”
“Here, I’ll take Caleb. You go see what Jo has,” Harper said as she rushed over and grabbed Caleb from him. The little guy was so good and social that he went straight to Harper without a problem. She immediately began rocking and singing to him to quiet his whimpers after the fright Jo gave him.
With his son in capable hands, he turned back to Jo. “What’d you find?
Before she could answer, Tracker strode out of Curly’s office straight for his ol’ lady. “Babe, what did you do?” he asked, scowling down at her.
She waved away his concern. “I still have a few friends in the police department. Trustworthy friends. And one owed me a favor,” she explained to her frowning ol’ man. None of the Handlers had love for the cops, but Jo had been one for a time, and Lock would take any help he could get at this point. Hell, he’d jump into bed with the devil himself if it returned his woman safe and sound.
“We reviewed CCTV footage from local places he frequented based on repeat credit card charges.” Jo handed him the paper. “Turns out Ollie is a bougie bastard who hits up the spa for a facial every Friday afternoon like clockwork. Got a pic of his car leaving the lot.”
Christ, she was a skilled investigator. Lock glanced down at the paper in his hands. Sure enough, there was a printout of a sporty Porsche with a Florida plate, number JK3 LEQ4—a match for Oliver’s car.
Fire pumped through his veins. Their first fucking lead. “Where did he go?” He glanced up, holding the paper so tight it crinkled in his fist. “Do you know? Were you able to follow him?”
