Loco – Cheap Thrills Read Online Mary B. Moore

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Judd straightened, already more alert. “He’s there now?”

“He was headed that way for a drive-by,” she replied, “but he passed a van driving toward him on the way there. Said it looked beat-up, but the shape and size matched the one from the scene. He was going to see if—” The line went dead.

Judd pulled the phone from the hood and looked at the screen like it might explain something, but the call had dropped clean.

“Shit,” he muttered, “signal’s gone. Towers are still spotty this far out after the storm.”

But my gut twisted. The timing was too perfect, too sudden.

Keir stepped closer. “You think someone cut her signal?”

“I don’t know,” Judd said, already redialing. “But I don’t like it.”

I stared at the horizon, the morning light finally settling across the trees like a cruel mockery of peace. Somewhere out there, Kapono was either driving into something or already had.

Chapter 27

Sayla

The basement was cold, the air around us damp and heavy with the scent of concrete and old dust, but I barely noticed. I was too focused on the tiny bodies pressed against me, their warmth was the only thing anchoring me to the moment. Kaida had finally fallen asleep in my lap, with her little face turned into my stomach and one hand still curled into my hoodie like she needed to hold on even in her dreams. Kairo was tucked in close too, curled against me and into his sister as well—like keeping her safe was part of how he coped.

He hadn’t spoken in a while. His little face was buried against my chest, but I could feel the uneven rhythm of his breath. It hitched every now and then, like he was fighting tears or fear, or both, too young to understand what to do with it.

I leaned my head down and whispered softly into his hair. “You’re going to be okay, baby. I’ve got both of you. No one’s going to hurt you, I promise.”

He nodded against me just once, the movement small but sure. Then, in the quietest voice, he said my name as if it meant safety, and he trusted I could fix everything simply because I was here. And, God, I wished I could.

“Roque’s going to find us,” I whispered next. “He’s coming, and when he does, we’re going home. I’ll ask Auntie Heidi to make you and Kaida your very own cakes—any flavor you want. And we’ll order burgers or pizza. Maybe both.”

Kairo lifted his head just a little and murmured, “Both.” Then, after a pause, “Fanks.”

That broke me a little. Even in this terrifying place, not knowing where we were or who had taken us, he was still the sweetest, most polite little boy. And Kaida—my fierce, loving girl—was the kind of child who would sleep through fear if she thought I needed her to. They were so small, so brave, and I had never loved anything more fiercely than I loved them in this moment.

Then we heard the footsteps, slow and deliberate, moving overhead—along with the creak of floorboards and two voices speaking quietly. I couldn’t make out the words, but they were getting closer.

I stiffened, instinctively pulling the kids tighter into me as the footsteps stopped just above the stairs. My heart pounded so loudly that I was sure it could be heard through the floor. Kairo went rigid against me, and Kaida stirred, sensing the shift in the air even in her sleep.

The door at the top of the stairs opened with a groan. A moment later, the light in the stairwell flicked on, a harsh fluorescent glow flooding the room as a man began to descend.

I squinted into the brightness, shielding the kids as best I could. My breath caught as I registered the figure—tall, stocky, moving with purpose. Then I saw the person behind him, another man, thinner, holding a clipboard.

But it was the glint of silver on the first man’s belt that made my breath catch in my throat. He had a badge—shiny, official-looking, gleaming under the harsh light of the stairwell. Relief surged through me so quickly that it nearly knocked me sideways. Maybe Roque had already found us.

Another set of footsteps followed the first two, these slower and heavier. A third man descended the stairs, carrying a small stack of pillows, a bundle of folded blankets under one arm, and a plastic bag that crinkled in his hand. Without a word, he dropped everything on the floor a few feet from us—pillows, blankets, juice boxes, and what looked like individually wrapped snack bars. His gaze swept over the kids, then landed briefly on me. There was nothing behind his eyes—no cruelty or warmth—just a hollow indifference. Then he turned and walked back up the stairs, his footsteps retreating without pause.

I didn’t move, not yet.

The man who’d come down first didn’t follow. Instead, he crouched down, reached under the bottom step, and pulled out a wooden crate that’d been tucked into a shadowed gap. I mentally kicked myself for not checking every inch of this place earlier, but at the time, keeping the kids calm and collected had taken everything I had. Still, it stung, I hated missing details.


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