She never texts me at this time. It makes no sense—we’ll be seeing each other in just a few minutes.
Yeah . . .I’ve become a man of fixed routines. If I’m in Boston, nothing keeps me in the office at night.
Lilly:Hey, love. Just wanted to let you know I’m heading to my neighbor’s for a cup of coffee. Should be back before you get here. Love you.
I notice the message came in about ten minutes late, and I’m hoping that by the time I get upstairs, she’ll already be back. Yeah, I’m a spoiled bastard who wants her full attention.
I open the apartment door, but it’s clear right away she’s not here.
After tossing my backpack on the couch, I decide to check my laptop—see if there’s any urgent work to handle. Mostly justkilling time, since the chances of a miracle happening and us finding Maria are slim.
She’s still the only thing keeping me up at night. I won’t have peace until I know we’ve caught her.
Fifteen more minutes go by, and nothing urgent pops up. A kidnapping in Eastern Europe, where my men were involved, ended with the victim rescued and the criminals dead—as usual.
I glance at the clock for the tenth time. Now Lilly is officially late.
That’s odd—she’s never late. In fact, she’s the most punctual person I know.
Would I look like a total idiot going over there?
Just to check,I lie to myself.
The truth is, a lot has changed since we got together, but one thing that will likely never change is my need for control.
That’s it. I’ll go, check that everything’s fine, and if my woman is having a nice time with her friend, I’ll be the good boyfriend and get dinner started.
I’ve never met the elderly lady, but Lilly has mentioned her. A lonely woman with a little dog.
There are only two apartments per floor, so just a few steps, and I’m at her door. I raise my hand to knock when the sound of something shattering, followed by moans, stops me cold.
I’m trained to stay alert at all times—so anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small, instantly puts me on edge.
Instead of knocking, I head back to the apartment and grab my gun from my backpack.
I return to the neighbor’s door, and then I hear my woman say, “No, I need to go.”
She doesn’t sound like my Lilly. Her voice is slurred, as if she’s drunk, and risking looking like a complete madman, I pound on the door.
“Lilly?”
Silence.
“Lilly, is everything okay?”
“Amos . . .”
Now there’s no doubt something’s very wrong. I try the handle, and when it won’t budge, I slam against the door, hitting the emergency button on my phone to call Ethan.
“What is it?”
“Get to your sister’s neighbor’s apartment. Fast. I may need backup.”
The noises inside suddenly stop. More determined than ever, I kick the door this time—and finally, it gives way.
The second I step inside, my worst nightmare takes shape.
Lilly looks unconscious on the couch while the woman I’ve been hunting for years holds a gun to her temple.
