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“Go to bed, honey.” I kiss her forehead and run my hand down her thick hair. “We can talk more in the morning.”
“No, I’m fine,” she says, waving me away. “You can talk to me if you need to.”
I pick her up and lead her to the stairs. “I’m going to eat something, and then I’ll be up in a minute. Really, go to sleep. It has been a long night.”
Eve looks reluctant, but then she throws her arms around my waist, presses her face into my chest, and nods. She stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks over her shoulder at me, smiling. “I love you.”
I wink. “I love you, too.”
I pad back into the kitchen once she is gone and contemplate eating something, but my stomach is still too nervous. Instead, I grab a pack of cigarettes I’ve had hidden in a high cabinet Eve can’t reach and walk to the front door.
Out of habit, I go to disable the alarm, but I realize it is already disabled. Probably from when the FBI burst down the door and Eve turned it off to stop the alarm.
I walk onto the porch, lean my head against the cool stone, and light my cigarette.
The streetlight in front of our house is out, casting the gate at the end of the drive and half of the lawn in shadow, and I stare out at the darkness and absentmindedly smoke. Eve hates the way they smell, and I can’t blame her, but the action comforts me. More than anything, it is a stress reliever. Some people meditate. I smoke a cigarette.
I’m only outside for a few minutes—no more than ten—but it is enough to help me calm down and feel ready to go to sleep. I bend down to snub out my cigarette in a potted plant and realize with a frown that it is a pot of shamrocks.
I don’t remember seeing it when I got back to the house, but then again, I was sprinting inside to check on my family – not exactly paying attention to the foliage.
I throw the cigarette into the lawn and dig through the shamrocks. In the center of the pot, sticking out of the soil, is a card. I pull it out, and instantly, my blood runs cold.
There are no words on the card, just three printed gash marks like a lion pawed at it. Each gash is painted a different color: green, white, and orange.
The colors of the Irish flag.
With the card still in my hand, I turn and run inside to close the door and set the alarm, but before I even make it to the entryway, my head begins to swim.
My legs feel like they are filled with wet cement and my vision is blurred.
I look down at the card and then bring it to my nose. There is a strong chemical scent, and I throw it to the floor.
I’ve been drugged.
“Eve.” I try to call out, but my voice is slow and sluggish.
Struggling, I make it halfway up the stairs before I have to crawl the rest of the way, moving on my hands and knees.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I pull myself to standing and lean against the wall for balance, making my way to Milaya’s room.
The door is open, though I know it was closed when Eve and I left her. I step inside, clinging to the door frame, and see that her bed is empty.
“Eve!” I scream again, voice slurring, panic bubbling up inside of me.
I move into the hallway, my right foot dragging with every step. I know I don’t have very long before I pass out, but I can’t give up. Not until I know what happened. Not until I know where they are.
I make it to the bedroom and see that the blankets on the bed are still mussed from when we had sex earlier, but now the lamp on Eve’s side of the bed is knocked over, as well.
And Eve is nowhere to be seen.
I collapse against the side of the bed, holding myself up with the mattress, my breathing irregular and erratic. I try to calm down, but I can’t.
Eve and Milaya are gone.
My family is gone.
I pound my weak fists against the mattress and that is when I see another business card laying on the bed.
I almost throw it across the room, assuming it is dosed with whatever the other card was dosed in, but before I do, I see a familiar name written in a tight black script on the front.
Rian Morrison.
Then, everything goes black.
* * *
