He’s been around plenty of men like me before in his time in the Teams. Recognizes the warning of the thundercloud growing exponentially by the second over my head.
“Not sure.”
But I’ve seen enough.
My arm muscles are twitching as I shove back from the table, the sound of wood scraping loudly on tile, as my chair nearly crashes over. “It’s the waitress,” I rasp, “the one who has the flowers tattooed on her arm. I saw something I don’t like.”
“What exactly did you see?” another of our SEAL buddies, Kane, asks.
Something she read on her phone upset her.
That message was bad. Something painful. Or disappointing. Or worse…threatening.
Already moving, I call back to my dinner companions over my shoulder, “Don’t know, but I’m about to find out.”
Right. Now.
A sliver of light passes through the exit just before the door closes behind her small frame. Her slight, feminine form pushes out into the dark alley.
Fuck. Don’t go out there, princess.
Not alone. Not upset.
Seconds later, I’m bursting out of the door. The crash bar clanking loudly, my hands slick from cold sweat as I shove the metal door open.
Having her out of my sight is…painful.
I need to know she’s okay more than I need my next breath.
No…I need to make her okay.
But darkness closes in around me in the alley. Empty. Eerily still. The stench of degrading food clings to the stagnant air.
Goddammit. And I don’t even know her name to call out to her.
Starting my search, I stride toward the north end of the alley first, searching behind the large dumpster, each step making me more and more frantic. By the time I reach the end of the alley, I’m a band of vibrating muscle.
How the hell did she get away so fast?
“Hey!” I shout desperation destroying my vocal cords, my sixth sense clawing up my spine like an animal scrambling up a tree. “Are you out here?”
Nothing.
Fucking nothing.
My boots scrape and thud loudly, rocks grinding beneath my tread as I sprint to the other end of the narrow street.
The narrow corridor is ink-black, cluttered. Someone knocked out the bulbs. A haven for trouble. Bad men. The kind that hurt women.
“Dammit!” I roar, hands fisting over and over again, vision throbbing with the timing of my pulse.
Come on, angel.Where are you?
THREE
Celeste
I don’t know what’s louder when I slide into the car with Jeremey, my pounding heart, or the awful head-banging music he has at full blast.
