Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him or anyone threatening her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Taking the shot is not the same as living with the weight of that death on your conscience.”
“This motherfucker held a gun to Nix’s head and, by the looks of it, tried to choke her to death. If I get a shot, I’m taking it, and I’ll sleep like a baby.”
Our stares interlock, and he searches my eyes in that way Grim has that peels back your skin to see what you’re made of. He gives a terse nod.
“I’ll get things organized, but if you come, we can’t have a repeat of that phone call. No taking over. It’s my operation, and you follow my rules.”
I just stare at him because when was the last time I followed any rules except the ones I made up? I don’t challenge him now, but surely he knows I will if necessary. I nod to satisfy the demand on his face.
My cell rings, and I grimace when I check the screen. “O, what’s up?”
“What’s up?” Owen asks, irritation prickling his voice. “When were you going to tell me Lennix had been taken hostage?”
Shit.
“I’m sorry.” I blow out a weary breath.
“She’s my campaign manager, Maxim. She’s my friend. Kimba told me what’s going on. I should have heard it from you as soon as you knew.”
“I’ve just been focused on finding her and figuring out how to get her back.”
“And did you find her?”
“Yes. Grim’s strategizing now.”
“How are you?” he asks, concern breaking past his initial irritation.
Something about my brother asking, about talking to Owen, batters the wall I’ve been building around my emotions to get through this crisis.
“Not good.” I pass a shaking hand over my mouth. “O, what if…?”
I can’t say it aloud.
“Max,” he says, his voice softening. “We’ll get through this. We’ll get her back.”
Even knowing he can’t guarantee it, can’t promise it any more than I can, hearing Owen say it, too, eases the band around my chest.
“Thanks, man,” I say.
“I called to see if there’s anything I can do. Of course, you know officially the American government does not negotiate with terrorists or involve itself in international kidnapping and ransom situations.”
I’m about to tell him I’ll rescue Lennix without help from anyone else when he surprises me.
“But unofficially,” he says, “what do you need?”
CHAPTER 6
LENNIX
“Rabbit ears, Britney Spears, iPhone, Home Alone.”
I’m not even aware I’m singing the words and familiar tune until Wallace nudges my foot with his shoe.
“What’re you singing?” he asks, leaning his shoulder into mine against the wall of the cave they brought us to this morning. At least it feels like morning from what I can see outside. It’s like that first gasp of dawn, with sunrays cutting through misty-breath clouds. I have no real sense of time after being drugged and waking up God knows how many hours later. But it feels like a new day.
It feels like the last day of my life.
A misplaced smile cracks my dry lips. “‘We Didn’t Start the Fire.’”
“Oh, I remember that. Elton John?”
“Billy Joel.” I twist my wrist in the plastic cuffs to touch the compass charm dangling from my bracelet. “Maxim and I sang it in Amsterdam. He made up all the words, and we…” The little doomed smile dies, and tears sting my eyes. “We saw the tulips that day and the windmills. We rode bikes along the coast by the water, and it was a perfect day.”
I close my eyes, and the memory rises so rich and vivid that the dankness of this cave fades, and fresh air filters into my lungs. Sea spray cools the sweat from my skin and sprinkles salt on my lips.
Raised voices speaking Spanish beyond the mouth of the cave yank me back, and reality turns the sea spray on my lips to the salt of my own tears. I swipe my body’s confession of fear from my cheeks, determined these fools won’t have the satisfaction of seeing.
“By my calculations,” I say, my voice soft and resigned, “my forty-eight hours are almost up. I’m out of time soon.”
“He won’t…” Wallace’s voice fades, and his eyes glaze over. I wonder if, even as he assures me Abe won’t kill me, he sees Paco’s body, his blood spilled on the ground. Because I do. The sight will haunt me forever. “We’ll figure something out.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, pressing my back into the cave wall. “It doesn’t look good.”
Wallace grabs my hand. “Don’t lose hope.”
How do I tell him I lost hope long ago? Now I live between flashes of faith and glimpses of hope, even as I fight. The one thing that has given me hope, the one thing that has renewed my faith, is another thing I’ll lose.
Maxim.
“Wall,” I say, squeezing his hand with new urgency. “I need you to promise me something.”