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“Think, Mal,” I demand. “You’ve been in the city your entire life. I haven’t.”
“And you kept tabs on the family the entire time you were gone. Start there.”
Malachi disconnects the call, and I snag my cell off the table and throw it at the wall. When it shatters, I let out a primal howl.
“Here.”
I glance at Story and stare at the cell phone she’s handing to me.
“What?”
“Take it. I’ll clone your number on it just in case she calls. You can buy me a new one when this is over.”
I take the device and grip it in my hand like I need it to survive. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She focuses back on her laptop. “Malachi said to start with the information you had on the family. Do I have all of that?”
“I shared everything with you when we started tracking him last year.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.” I gasp. “Wait. No.” I remove the flash drive that I keep on my key ring and hand it to her. “Here. There are a few files that I kept back.”
Story eyes me skeptically but doesn’t say anything. She plugs the drive in and gets to work. I, on the other hand, pace and try not to have a fucking heart attack.
* * *
Peppermint
“Where are we going?” I ask Nicholi for the hundredth time.
“You never quit, do you?”
“What? You thought I was going to make this easy on you?”
He smirks at me. “You’re tied up. I’d say things have been pretty easy so far.”
Asshole.
The only reason I’m bound in the backseat is because I tried to yank the wheel and cause him to wreck. He pulled over on the deserted road we’d been on and proceeded to tie me up. Oh, but being the gentleman he is, he gave me the option between duct tape over my mouth in the truck or rope around my wrists and ankles in the backseat. I chose the backseat so I’d still have my voice.
I can still scream. If we ever get somewhere there’s other people. As it is now, we’re so far away from civilization that I wonder if I’d have been better off in the trunk.
No. I would’ve worn myself out trying to get out of the trunk. And what the hell would I have done if I’d gotten the stupid thing open? It’s not like I could jump. Not without risking the baby. It irks me that I can’t do what I would normally do and fight like hell, but it is what it is.
“Just tell me,” I say. “It’s not like it matters if I know.”
“Shut up,” he snaps.
“I’d rather talk. I hate silence. It’s so boring.”
Jesus, P. Quit antagonizing.
Nicholi grunts but doesn’t respond otherwise. And I decide to be quiet, at least for a while. Talking is getting me nowhere. Besides, I need to come up with a plan, not trade insults and idle chit chat with my kidnapper.
When Nicholi stops the car about an hour later, I’m no closer to a plan than I was when I shut up. All I can think about is Nico and the baby, about how much time was wasted over the last two months. And for what? So I could keep my stubborn pride intact?
“We’re here.”
