Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“Yeah… just transferred from the Atlanta office,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate.
Which is fine. I’ve got shit to do. “Do you need me for anything else right now?”
Clay shakes his head. “I’m going to head over to Jameson when I’m done here. I’ll get up with you later to let you know if we uncover anything.”
“I’ll be there in a few hours,” I say. I figure it’s going to take at least that long to explain everything to her parents, calm them down, answer questions, and interrogate her brother if he’s there.
I nab my phone to order an Uber. I’m going to Jameson to collect my Maserati as there’s no sense in hiding that anymore, then I’ll head out to Hazelwood and hope her parents are home. I am not looking forward to delivering this news.
♦
While I had never seen pictures of Jaime’s childhood home, I’d heard her talk about it enough that it is just how I envisioned it. It’s completely representative of the low end of the middle class in Pittsburgh, and she has nothing but fond memories of growing up here.
There are two vehicles in the narrow driveway that runs along the side of the house with what looks like back-alley parking as well. One is a later-model truck that I assume is her father’s, and the other is a small economy car I presume is her mothers. I have no clue if Brian owns a vehicle, but since he has no job and no means, I expect not.
Reluctantly, but with determination, I trudge up the steps to their front door and rap sharply on the outer storm door. In moments, a woman answers. There’s no doubt it’s Jaime’s mother as they have the same hair and facial features.
She smiles pleasantly, but she doesn’t open the storm door.
“Mrs. Dolan?” I inquire.
Her smile stays in place, but I can see a slight bit of irritation in her eyes. I bet she thinks I’m here to solicit something. Quickly, I move to disabuse her of that. The only way to do that is to give her the most pertinent information that will get me in the door. I hope it doesn’t shock her too much.
“My name is Cage Murdock,” I say. Before I can continue, her smile broadens and she pushes the door open. She clearly recognizes my name.
“Come in,” she urges, stepping back. “Jaime told us about you.”
Yeah… bet she didn’t tell you we’re married, I think wryly.
As I step into the cozy home, Mrs. Dolan starts to move through the living room a few steps, but she suddenly turns back with fear on her face. As if she just realized how weird it is for me to show up unannounced when we’ve never met before. “Why are you here?”
“Is your husband home?” I ask instead.
“Is Jaime all right?” she presses.
“I don’t know,” I reply truthfully, “but I’m going to do everything in my power to find out the answer to that. I need to talk to you and your husband, though.”
Mrs. Dolan points to the living room, ordering me to take a seat. As I heed her demand, she runs upstairs, calling for her husband. I hear harsh, frantic whispers, then two sets of feet come stomping down the stairs. Her dad runs into the living room, skidding to a halt when he sees me.
I rise from the couch, sticking my hand out. “I’m Cage Murdock.”
Ignoring my hand, he demands, “What’s wrong with Jaime?”
Dipping my head, I rub at the nape of my neck as I try to figure out the right words. I’d practiced what to say on the way over here, but none of it seems right.
When I lift my gaze to meet his, I just lay it out as succinctly as I can. “You clearly know I’ve been dating Jaime. What you don’t know is we got married last weekend in Vegas. She was going to tell you in person this weekend, then bring me over some time after that to meet you.”
“What in the—” Mr. Dolan starts to say, but I cut him off.
“That’s not the worst of what I’m about to tell you,” I say calmly, holding up a hand that says, Please bear with me. “A few hours ago, Jaime and I were at her apartment when four masked gunmen burst in and kidnapped her.”
Jaime’s mom makes a keening sound low in her throat, clutching onto her husband.
“I’m pretty sure I know why it happened. I’ve got my people working on it, along with the FBI.”
“Your people,” her dad says, his face awash with confusion. “Your car salesman friends are looking for her, you mean?”
Fuck… that didn’t come out right.
“No. I’m not a car salesman. I’m an agent with a private security firm called Jameson Force Security. I’m a former Navy SEAL, and I work a lot of dangerous jobs to help people.”