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“It’s not your fault, Lance.”
“You weren’t even here, Brent. Don’t fucking patronise me!”
“Calm down cous, get here safely. You’re no good to anyone as roadkill. I’ll see you soon.” The line goes dead, and I contemplate throwing my phone out the window but that probably wouldn’t be productive, so I go for a couple deep cleansing breaths instead.
When I get back to the apartment, both Hayden and Brent are on their phones. Walking through the door, I stand expectantly waiting for them to give me updates. Pulsating with apprehension, I can’t stop thinking that I am to blame for all of this.
Hayden ends his call and comes at me in quick, strong strides with a frown on his face.Fuck. He’s going to hit me, I deserve it, I won’t even flinch. I’m stunned when he grabs my face in his warm, ringed fingers and presses a firm kiss to my lips.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?” My voice breaks and I swallow down the lump in my throat.
“Beating yourself up. It’s not helping. We’ll get her back, Lance. Just get your head on straight.”
I lean my forehead against his and close my eyes, pushing moisture out onto my cheeks. He kisses me again, softly, with a tenderness I probably don’t deserve, but still he grounds me. “Okay.”
“Sydney left his office at five and no one I spoke to could, or would, tell me where he went after,” Brent says, coming over to us as we break apart. “However, I spoke to the doorman at Keith’s place and managed to confirm which car he’s in. I’ve followed it on the cameras out of the city and that’s as far as I can go.”
Honestly, Brent could have been in intelligence if I hadn’t sucked him into this life. It’s been less than ten minutes since I got off the phone with him and he’s narrowed our search by half. “Right, so we’re looking at properties outside of the city. That’s still too big an area to cover.”
I close my eyes and breathe deeply, catching a hint of Hayden’s oceanic scent and letting it focus my thoughts. Elle has her phone on her. She always has her phone on her. Likely she would have been made to turn it off so tracking it would be useless…unless…
“Can you get a direct number for me?”
“Who?” Brent asks.
“Peter…I don’t know his surname but he’s the Maxwell’s head of security.”
“Give me ten minutes,” my cousin confirms, placing a large hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “She’s coming home, cous. We’re getting our girl.”
Eight minutes later, Brent gives me Peter’s number and I dial.
“Swanson,” he answers.
“Peter, it’s Lance Preston.”
A beat of silence follows. “Mr Preston, is Eleanor alright?”
Breathe. Trust. “No, she’s not. Have you by any chance tracked her?”
“What’s happened?”
“I will tell you, if you answer my question,” I keep my tone even.
“It would be unethical to track someone without their knowledge and consent…” he starts carefully. I don’t respond, waiting for him to finish that thought. “But I have tracked her phone.”
“Standard software?” I ask hoping he’ll come through.
“That would be pretty pointless as it would be ineffective as soon as the phone was turned off. There’s a small tracking device attached to her phone under the case.”
“Can you send me her location?” I try to not let the relief flowing through my veins to show too much in my voice.
“Only when you tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Within the hour, Peter and two of his men are in our kitchen, a laptop in front of him.
“The phone was turned off a couple of hours ago,” he says, typing away. “I can trace her to an old business park about forty-five minutes outside the city.” He turns his serious gaze to me. “What kind of back up will your father have in place.”
