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He gives me a ten second deadpan stare. “There’s more, man.”
Dread fills me. “What?”
“We found these things in the tunnel right by the elevator.” He hands me his phone which displays a photo of a Michael Myers mask and a syringe. I scrub my hand through my hair. “Holy fuck.”
Savage shows it to Eric. “Holy fuck,” he murmurs. “Did you test the syringe?”
“A fast-acting sedative,” Savage says. “She probably has no idea where she’s at right now.”
I feel like a hand reaches into my chest and pulls out my heart. “I don’t know if I need to leave or stay.”
“I think it’s pretty clear that she’s with Brody,” Savage says. “And there’s no way he’s flown out of the city, not in this wind. Stay here. At least until morning.”
I glance at my watch. “It’s six o’clock,” I say, for no good reason, other than I know a night without Emma will be absolute torture. “I’m calling Brody.” I dial his number, and he actually answers.
“You finally made time for me?”
I glance at Eric and then Savage. “Where are you?”
“At the cigar club at Pier 79 with Terri Martin from Buckeye Cruises. He’s staying at a hotel down here. Want to join?”
“Meet me at the beach house in half an hour.”
“That would be rude and—”
“Listen to me, Brody,” I bite out, “I will come there and drag you out of that bar and beat your ass if you don’t meet me in half an hour.” I disconnect. “He says he’s at the cigar club at Pier 79.”
Savage pulls out his phone and makes a call, directing men that direction. Once that’s handled he focuses on me. “You know you’re going to have to drag him out of that bar and beat his ass. Let’s skip the beach house.”
“Agreed,” I say.
“We’ll hold the plane,” Grayson says, sitting down next to Eric. “We’re not going to make our meeting anyway and this is more important.”
“I owe you about ten times over,” I say.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Grayson says.
“Just find her,” Eric adds.
Savage stands up and I follow. A couple minutes later, we’re in the back of an SUV driven by one of his men, the wind gusting around us. “I don’t know if I should feel relieved right now or scared shitless,” I say, once we’re on the road. “If my brother doesn’t have her—”
“It means nothing,” Savage says. “He could have hired someone to grab her, just as her brother or Randall could have as well. And considering we have eyes on Randall and Chance, and they’re presently at a dinner function in San Francisco, that’s the direction I’m leaning. As for any way Emma might get out of the city. We’ve checked airlines, buses, trains, car rental locations. Nothing useful has shown up at this point.”
I eye Savage. “I need Chance’s number,” I say.
“Texting it to you,” he says, already keying it into his phone.
It buzzes to my messages and I hit the number, calling Chance. He answers on the first ring. “Chance Knight.”
“Where is she?”
He laughs. “Emma? I take it that she finally left your ass.”
“By way of a person in a mask who shot her up with sedatives, and I swear to God if I find out it was you—”
“Holy hell, it wasn’t me. Have you called the police?”
“I’m sending someone to talk to you from Walker Security. And to that piece of work, Randall, as well. He threatened her. You know that, right?”
