“I’m coming over.”
“No. Stay where you are. If they took Savannah, they might come for you next.”
“I’m not hiding while?—”
“That’s an order.” My voice comes out harsher than I intended. “Stay at your place. Lock the doors. I’ll send men to watch your building.”
The elevator dings. I pull my gun and move to the door.
Silas steps out, hands raised. “It’s me.”
I lower the weapon. “Tell me you have something.”
“Maybe. The SUV they used was caught on traffic cameras heading east on Tropicana. We lost it near the industrial district, but I have men searching every warehouse in a five-mile radius.”
“That’s not good enough. We need to know exactly where they took her.”
“I’m working on it.”
I walk to the nursery. Stand in the doorway looking at the room we spent months preparing. The crib. The rocking chair. The name embroidered on the blanket.
Dante.
“They’re going to send demands,” I say quietly. “In a day, maybe two. Once they’ve had time to terrorize her. To make her think I’m not coming.”
“And then?”
“And then we give them whatever they want. Pay whatever they ask. Agree to whatever terms they set.” I turn to face him. “And the second I have her back, I kill every single one of them.”
“We don’t negotiate with?—”
“We do when it’s my wife and child.” My voice is steel. “I don’t care about pride or precedent or sending the wrong message. I care about getting Savannah back alive.”
“Understood.” Silas pulls out his phone. “I’ll put the word out. Every contact we have, every informant, every person who owes us a favor. Someone knows where they took her.”
“Offer money. A lot of it. Immunity from prosecution. Whatever it takes.”
He nods and steps into the hallway to make calls.
I stand alone in the nursery, staring at the empty crib. The room is silent except for the faint mechanical sound of the mobile when I wind it up. Elephants and stars spinning in slow circles.
Savannah was here four hours ago. Standing in this doorway, one hand on her stomach, probably thinking about our son.
And now she’s in the hands of people who want to cut that baby out of her and send him to me in pieces.
My phone buzzes. Another text from her number:I know you’re looking for me. Please stop. I made my choice. I need to start over somewhere new. Somewhere safe.
They can send all the fake texts they want. They can make it look like she left voluntarily.
But I know my wife. And she wouldn’t leave me.
I walk back to my office and pull up every file I have on Dmitri Kozlov. Every known associate. Every business front. Every property they own, rent, or have access to.
Somewhere in this city, they’re holding her. And I’m going to find her.
Even if I have to burn Vegas to the ground to do it.
35
