Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
That might’ve been true, but he hadn’t finished that sentence. He hadn’t added who else would’ve killed Elder. If he hadn’t arrived when he did, the Chinmoku would’ve killed Elder without a doubt.
Q had been the Grim Reaper’s servant who’d arrived to kill what was mine but somehow saved his life instead.
He could’ve held that over me. He could’ve reminded me that I’d been in the clutches of yet more peril and Elder slowly dying.
But he didn’t.
He stood there accepting full responsibly when really…the blame wasn’t entirely on his shoulders. If anything, he deserved my thanks.
I choked on the idea of an apology. I wasn’t in the right place to do such a thing but, perhaps, I could stop cursing him so much.
“S'il vous plaît.” He dropped the phone onto my skirts. “Call him.”
The oddest sensation of ludicrous laughter bubbled in my chest. How awfully coincidental—how similar to the first night with Elder when he’d offered his cell phone to call my mother and her line had been discontinued.
Now, I had the means to call Elder and didn’t know his number.
Fate’s cruel joke.
Q pursed his lips. “You don’t know how to contact him…do you?”
I shook my head, the bubbles of crazed laugher fading inside. “Not by phone. No.”
“How then?”
I looked up. “His yacht.”
“The Phantom?”
“Yes.” Glancing at Tess, her child, then back to Q, I added, “Find out where the Phantom is. Send a radio call. His captain, Jolfer, will answer. I know he will.”
My thoughts left the couch, galloping into scenarios.
Of Jolfer saying Elder was dead.
Of Jolfer saying I no longer had a home.
Of Jolfer saying…he’s alive.
Of Jolfer saying Elder had figured out who Q Mercer was and was coming for me.
The laugher bubbles returned full force. I let a few escape as I glanced at Q with almost pity.
He scowled, tilting his head. “What is it?”
“If what you say is true and Elder is alive—and I very much hope he is—I suspect you’ll find he’s closer than you think.”
Q frowned. “He is close. He’s in England.”
“Wrong.” I let the hope in my heart blossom, giddy with the anticipation of seeing Elder and apprehension at what he would do when he found me.
This happy family. This man who pumped lead into my lover. True love was a fiendish defender and didn’t take attempted murder lightly.
Where would I stand?
Defending them for Q’s strange role in saving my virtue or standing by and permitting Elder to beat him bloody?
I didn’t know yet.
I wouldn’t know until I heard the blessed words…he’s alive.
For now, all I could do was deliver a warning. A hint that Elder held karma highly, and it wouldn’t matter that Q had helped defeat the Chinmoku.
He’d taken me.
That was punishable by agony.
Holding Q’s green eyes, I murmured, “If he’s breathing, I’d bet you my life he’s already in France.”
Chapter Seven
______________________________
Elder
FUCK.
How much longer would it take to find those bastards? With every ticking minute, I couldn’t ignore images of Pim being tortured, Pim being sold, Pim being raped.
I trembled with a mix of fever, agony, and out of control rage at letting her down.
As minutes turned to hours, more and more pain layered, more and more guilt suffocated.
Goddammit, I can’t just sit here anymore.
I was doing everything I could—enlisting every hack, contacting every narc, but sitting still felt as if I didn’t care. As if knowing she was out there with strangers wasn’t the most urgent, heart-shattering problem I’d ever had to solve in my life.
Hoisting my broken ass from my chair, I slammed my laptop closed.
Fuck it.
I couldn’t stay here anymore. I had to be out there—storming the streets and physically hunting. Anything to keep my mind from spinning into deep, dark places.
Hobbling from my work-station, I flinched as my cell phone rang, chirping across my desk. The sounds of Calais couldn’t drown out the piercing ring as I snatched it and fumbled to answer.
The screen showed it was a patched intercom call from the bridge.
Not what I wanted.
I wanted a tip from a blocked number from a snitch on Calais streets. I wanted a criminal spilling an address for his reward.
My temper frayed, but I pressed the phone against my ear. “What is it, Jolfer? Be quick.”
If it had anything to do with docking issues or pier fees, I wasn’t fucking interested. I wasn’t moving from this wharf until I had Pim. End of story.
“Just received an interesting radio communication.”
“Interesting how?” My heart rate spiked at a thousand miles a second.
“A man named Mercer. Said he made a mistake and has something of yours. Gave an address.”
The world stood still.
I stopped breathing.
I stopped hurting.
“Hold on.”
Hopping back to my laptop, I wrenched open the lid and waited for the web browser to pop up. One-handedly, I typed in the name Mercer and pressed enter.
Immediately, images of the same bastard who’d mowed down the Chinmoku, myself, and my cello, stared arrogantly back.