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“From what I’ve seen, more of a loner. There was this girl he was dating, but that ended up being completely fake.”
“Fake?”
“Yeah. He suspected she wanted to spy on him, so he played along.”
“They spied on each other?”
“Among other things.” Stella stands and glances around the condo. “And then, Trevor is convinced he’s seeing someone in San Diego. I’m not so sure.” My ribs contract, but I focus on relaxing my facial muscles. “When you’re down there, if you get any scoop, you’ll have to give us the skinny. But of course, I’m the curious one. Trevor couldn’t care less.” That smile remains on her face, and I do my absolute best to mimic it. Stella claps her hands. “Okay, well, I’m gonna head back home. I’ll bring my son back later in the morning. He’ll be the one walking Trace.”
The door swings open, and a sweaty Ryan fills the doorway. His wet t-shirt clings to his pecs, and his skin is flushed. His presence sucks the oxygen from my constricted lungs, my belly goes on the fritz, and when his eyes scan me, I swear, unruly sensations course over my skin.
“He got ransom instructions. Twenty-five million to an offshore account. I’ll be ready in five.”
CHAPTER18
137 Hours Missing
Ryan
Alex spent the drive to the helicopter on her phone. Texting someone nonstop. I can’t read the screen on her phone at the angle she’s holding it, but before she angled the phone, I catch the name Timothy.
She has every right to talk to other men. The fevered back and forth of her texts implies to me he is a friend. What bothers me the most is how much the idea of him being more than a friend bothers me. I don’t do relationships. And my muscles shouldn’t tense. I shouldn’t have a desire to go alpha over her flirting with another guy. But I do.
After liftoff, I glance her way. She’s still on her phone.
“So, yesterday, and last night. We didn’t use a condom.” On her bed, I just didn’t want to stop her. In the shower, I figured why bother. But in the light of day, questions arise. “Don’t get me wrong, I liked it.” Bright green eyes flicker my way. “Hell, liked might be an extreme understatement, but, ah, we’re all good, right?”
“I have an IUD. We’re good.” She returns to her blasted phone.
I have no idea if I pissed her off or if she’s just more enthralled with Timothy. I fall into a meditative trance following along our coordinates.
When we arrive in San Diego, the same Range Rover from before awaits us near Helipad 3. Wayne Killington once again leans against the SUV, holding a phone, texting. The man must be a former smoker because once again he’s sucking on a sucker. As I shut the helicopter down, Alex continues to type away.
“Almost done?” I ask.
“Yes.” No smile, no warmth. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s pissed. But she can’t be angry at me. I’ve said nothing this entire trip. And if it’s about the damn condom, she could have said something either damn time.
After disembarking the helicopter, she approaches Wayne with a smile and a professional handshake. In his loud, Hawaiian-print shirt, khaki shorts, loafers, and sunglasses, Wayne looks like he should hang out in a cabana with a cigar and Magellan. The lollipop stick dangling from the corner of his mouth augments the laidback vibe.
The parking lot is empty other than Wayne’s Range Rover. A helicopter with the Sullivan Arms logo occupies one of the other helipad spaces. I point to the vacant pad.
“Jack out somewhere today?”
“Nah, he’s back at the house. He’s got SDPD and FBI with him. You guys making any progress?”
“Maybe.” The newly assembled FBI team might make fast work of this case.
“What’s the next step?” Wayne asks as soon as the car doors slam shut.
“We’re going to let the FBI tell us. They’ll be taking the lead on the case.” That’s the official stance. If the FBI and Jack disagree on how to handle the ransom, he’ll cut the FBI out and tell me to do whatever I need to do. It’s his daughter. He wants her back alive, and he doesn’t give a damn about the money or putting someone in jail. The FBI will want a prosecutable case.
The turn signal blinks, and he scans the road, looking both ways.
“Which FBI team is involved? Missing persons?” Wayne asks as if he’s making conversation, but I sense he’s interested. It’s understandable. Most people go their entire lives without coming across an FBI case. Plus, Jack and Sophia are like family to Wayne.
“That’s not exactly what they call themselves, but yes, missing persons.” I withhold the ATF mention. I expect that word of ATF involvement inside a gun and ammunition company will cause concern.
“Is all this hoopla normal for a missing persons case?”
