For a week, I had worked out of the cabin while Bronc and his team searched for my mother. I had faith they’d be able to find her. I knew they were the best at what they did. Sitting alone perched at the dining table beneath dawn’s thin light with a year’s worth of invoices scattered around me, I poured over one discrepancy after another. The motorcycle shop’s books had their own mysteries to solve.
The television over the fireplace gave off a soft glow, illuminating the dim living area. I’d gone to leaving it on a national news station hoping they might mention something about my mother’s kidnapping. Her story had fallen out of the news cycle pretty quickly after the first couple of days. I guess I knew until they had any leads, there would be no other mention. She was beyond our grasp until Harrison decided to make a move. I don’t care what anyone thought. He had her. My gut told me he did. I happened to glance up as I moved from one invoice to the next, and my eye caught on the familiar face of my father.
The chryon beneath, an urgent banner: KIDNAPPERS MAKE CONTACT. My stomach twisted as I dove for the remote, hit the unmute, then the DVR button. The voice of the anchor filled the room. “Jules Bettencourt heard from his wife Renda’s apparent kidnappers today.”
Then I heard his familiar voice, familiar but strained. “The people who took my wife sent me a message today. In it, they told me she was well, but that they were growing impatient. They sent a picture of her and told me they expect something in return. But I swear to you, I do not know what they want. I’m begging you, please tell me what you want and I will see that you get it.” The television screen filled with the picture of my mother wearing a sleeveless powder blue Chanel dress with a ruffled neckline and straight skirt. I knew this dress well. It was Harrison’s favorite. He bought one for me in three colors. I hated every one of them.
The anchor’s face was now back on the screen. “If you have information on the whereabouts of Renda Bettencourt, please contact the New York City Police Department.”
I replayed the footage, feeling sicker with every press of the buttons. My father’s emotions were unreadable to me. They seemed to fluctuate between fear and anger. Surely, he knew Harrison was holding her because of me. Of all the reasons for him to resent me, this one was the worst. The weak disappointment of a daughter caused him yet another reason to harbor animosity towards me.
Could I just ignore what was happening when I knew I could stop it? My mother was fully aware that Harrison had continually harmed me. She basically told me that love hurts. But could I return that same kind of cruelty? Stay hidden and safe while they tortured her in my place?
That question mark had lingered above every stack of books and ledgers I tried to work on as the days had passed before now. My eyes had filled with the familiar blur of numbers, and I couldn’t keep still at the table for more than five minutes at a time.
A weak morning wind played through the grass as I stood by the window, still clutching the remote. I closed my eyes against the strain of my thoughts. I had to decide quickly what I was going to do. Harrison wasn’t a patient man. This was his final warning. I knew it was.
I tossed the remote onto the couch and bent to gather a mess of papers strewn across the floor, my focus and sanity eroded in equal measure. Each receipt, the printed blurs of ink, turned as meaningless as the promise I made to stay put. My mother’s face flashed through my mind. Her possible suffering hung in the air of the cabin and crushed the breath from my lungs. The broadcast looped in my mind on the verge of constant panic. The dress, the plea, the terrifying confirmation that she was a pawn in his effort to get to me. If I waited for Bronc, her captivity could last forever.
How could I let my mother pay for my inaction?
I had to find a way to contact him.
The biggest problem was going to be not tipping my hand to Bronc. Speaking of, I heard a motorcycle outside.
The door flew open, and I saw in his eyes he knew something had happened. I hadn’t guarded the bond. But that’s alright. I’d have to tell him about the newscast no matter what. Maybe he’d see the picture and pick up some kind of clue as to her whereabouts. That was my biggest dream. If he and his team could find her, I could stay safe. I had to give them one more chance.
The floorboards creaked under Bronc’s boots as he stepped inside, sharp eyes scanning me like I was a map riddled with Xs. His silver in his beard caught the light from the wall sconce. My God, but he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. His gaze burned into me. He knew something had happened. His eyes, too knowing. I turned away, fingers crushing invoices in my hand.
“Team picked up a lead near Honduras,” he said, shrugging off his cut slowly, deliberately. Stalling. Testing. “Your mom’s trail’s still warm, Little Wolf.”
I spun around quickly. This was great news. A sigh of relief left my lungs. “Oh my God. That’s great!” I wrapped my arms around his waist. The feel of his hand stroking the hair down my back calmed my soul, if only for a moment. I stepped back and grabbed the remote control. “Your timing is perfect. You need to see this.”I clicked play on the DVR button and watched his jaw tighten as he looked on.
“Fuck. He’s getting bolder. That’s for sure.” He shook his head as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Menace. Motherfucker made contact with Bettencourt. Sent a picture. Check out Fox News. Got it? It’s mostly just her, but try to pick up anything you can. Timeline’s bumped up. Call Randall. We need to be airborne at twenty hundred hours. That gives us six hours’ prep.”
My head reeled. “Bronc? What’s happening?”
He cupped my face in his large hands. “Once we determined Hasting’s private jet had set down in Honduras, we started mission planning. We’re moving our operation base to Honduras. Either that’s where his lab is, or it’s near there. We’ll be better able to move on him quickly, the closer to him we are.” He leaned in and gave me a tender kiss, as though that was going to make his leaving easier.
“So, I’m going with you, right?” I was indignant.
He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “As much as the thought of being away from you for even a day kills me, I can’t have you there. You’d be too big of a distraction. My focus would constantly be on keeping you safe instead of finding and eliminating Hastings. I know if you’re here, you’re surrounded by an entire pack of people I trust who will keep you in their care.”
I wanted to stomp my foot. Rage at him. But I understood what he was saying. I also understood that this would give me the opportunity to take matters into my own hands if they didn’t locate my mother within a day or two. I couldn’t let their search go on for days and days. My mother didn’t have that kind of time. “Fine.”
The sideways glance I got in return for my response told me Bronc was suspicious as hell. “Juliet, we will find your mother. Don’t get any ideas about trying to interfere.”
Bronc’s hand lingered on my shoulder, warm and steady. “Once my team’s boots hit the ground in Honduras, I’ll checkin daily,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We will track that lab. Harrison can’t keep hiding forever.”
I nodded, forcing a smile that felt brittle. “I know you’ll do everything you can.”
And Ididknow he would.
Daily updates.
Progress reports.
Trust the plan.
