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Larson rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested in her beyond my paycheque, Jackson, so shut the fuck up.”
He took the shot and went to send it, speaking as he typed. “Don’t alert the cops, yada, yada.”
He then lifted his gaze to the window behind me, focusing on something outside.
His features settled into a frown.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I haven’t even hit send.”
I twisted, trying to see. In my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of a large group of people on the street. A net curtain hid us, so I wasn’t sure that they could see us, but I opened my mouth to shout.
“No, you fucking don’t,” he snapped.
Larson marched over and put the Taser to my temple. It had a shock point as well as the firing mechanism. At close range, it could give me brain damage.
I closed my mouth, breathing through my nose.
“Now listen up. Whatever assumption you made about why I’m here, you’re wrong. I don’t give a fuck about Ariel. Aside from this specific use.”
“What use?” I didn’t believe him.
He stood over me, watching whoever was outside. “I’m not explaining it to you then repeating myself. Lucky for you, your obsession is right outside with a whole inconvenient troop of others.”
Ariel had come. And not alone.
I closed my eyes, wishing her anywhere but here.
Larson stooped and collected something from the floor beside me. Then he dragged it over my head and strung it around my mouth. A gag. Tightened so I couldn’t speak.
He placed a phone call, somehow connecting to Ariel.
The line was answered, no one saying a word.
“The door’s open,” Larson told her. “Come inside, Ariel. Bring your brother. Either one of you makes a move I don’t like, or anyone outside causes a fuss, and your boy here gets a shock to the brain. Understood?”
To my horror, her voice returned. “Loud and clear.”
Chapter 35
Ariel
“Don’t go in there,” Lochinvar challenged.
On the snowy path outside Bridgette’s house, her doorbell cam on the ground by my feet, I felt no cold. Nothing but burning need to get to the man I cared about.
“He’s got Jackson,” I countered, turning to face the twenty people who’d come along.
I’d brought an army and I couldn’t use them.
After the phone call from Bridgette, it had been so obvious where Larson had been hiding. Jackson had told me her mom had wanted a favour—something to do with their house. It had taken me thirty seconds to see how Bridgette had publicised being on holiday on her social media, sharing goddamned bikini shots as well.
What better way to advertise an empty home?
I despaired over that kid. I also wanted to hug her—her risky behaviour had enabled me to find Jackson.
“I have to go in,” I insisted. “What other choice is there?”
“We rush him,” someone in the group called.
