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“Soon, but we won’t be able to talk to him until tomorrow at the earliest. That’s if he remembers anything.”
Dalton sank into a chair. “We’re all overlooking something very important. Logan didn’t complete his mission. What are the consequences for that?”
TWELVE
An alert from Rosalie’s laptop cracked through the room like a gunshot. She yanked away from Cannon and hit the space bar on the keyboard. A screen with the FBI logo popped up.
Cannon gripped the arms of his chair and leaned closer. “Is it another message from Malgor?”
She nodded as fast as she typed.
“How can you tell?”
“After his initial attack, he always sends an email to my FBI account. The address is always a string of numbers and letters I can’t seem to trace. Still, I try every single time.” She blew out her breath and stopped typing. “The sicko gets his jollies knowing he sends me on a wild-goose chase with each message.”
Her finger hovered over the laptop’s touchpad as if afraid to read this one.
“Open it.” He scooted his chair closer to hers. Grady leaned over their shoulders.
Two cartoon roses, like the one on the card from Malgor, popped onto the screen. One sprouted stick legs and arms. Little white snowmen with charcoal eyes and black top hats appearedon the petals. The other rose sprouted arms and legs too. An orange snowboard appeared in a stick hand.
Rosalie slapped the table. “The snowboard Logan hit me with this morning was orange.”
Both roses began dancing a jig on their spindly legs to a circus tune.
Grady braced his hands on the console next to Cannon. “What kind of sick asshole is this guy?”
Another crack sounded from the laptop. The snowman rose melted into a pile of pixels as the snowboard one burst into red and orange fragments.
Rage exploded through Cannon’s body like fireworks as the fragments on the screen coagulated in the middle to form a crude circle that resembled Rosalie’s scar.
Her sharp breath triggered pain in his own back. He squeezed her knee hard. “What a sick bastard.”
She covered his hand with hers and whispered, “He’s just getting started.”
A message slid onto the screen.
FBI = Consequences
No ransom payment = More Consequences
A knock sounded at the door. Cannon spun in his chair. Before he could yell, “Come in,” Annie burst in, her face as pale as when she’d been held at gunpoint.
Rosalie stood. “Is Logan out of surgery?”
Annie shook her head. He knew that shake. Logan was out of surgery, but he couldn’t be questioned.
Ever.
“How?” Cannon spit out the word through gritted teeth and rose.
“He had a heart attack on the table. Likely caused by the hallucinogenic in his system.” Annie’s voice wavered. “It’s a wonder he lived this long with the amount shot into him.”
“Fuck.” The kid hadn’t just died. He’d been as good as murdered.
“I spoke to his mother on the phone when he was still—” Annie sniffed and wiped her nose with a tissue. “When he was still alive. He sounded like a good kid.”
Grady pulled Annie into the room and enveloped her in a hug.
