I hesitate before realizing I don’t care if I sound like a wimp. “Yes, please.”
Natalie remains on the phone with me while I walk downstairs. I keep her updated on what I’m doing and where I am. I ask, “You haven’t seen the guy come back or anything, have you?”
“No. I have a giant screen full of video feeds in front of me, and there is no movement, save the lights approaching your driveway. I’ll unlock the gate for you, if that’s all right?”
“Yes, please.” Dammit, I feel so incapable, so helpless.
A black, unmarked car speeds toward the house. All I can see are the bright lights on top, blinding me.
“They’re here,” I say to Natalie.
“Nothing on the scanners,” she says with a note of concern. “I’ll remain on the phone with you in case they have questions. I have some questions for them, as well.”
“Thanks so much,” I say as I open the door for the police.
Two male officers get out of the car and hurry to greet me at the door.
“May I have a word with your security company?” The taller officer holds out his hand for my phone.
“Sure.” I hand it over.
He jabs his thumb on the screen before pocketing my device.
I stare in confusion. “What—why did you do that?”
The second officer hits me before I even see it coming.
SETH
Another night racing through San Esteban to check on Madison. Damiano drives, his expression hard as he navigates the dark streets leading to Old Thirty-Three.
I can’t stand this. She could be hurt. Scared. And we aren’t there.
I don’t know what to say to Damiano. I’m afraid to ask if he sent our guys to guard her despite her wishes, and that’s how he knows something happened. It would be wrong if he did. And yet, I wouldn’t blame him.
Rather than continue to wonder, I finally ask, “How do you know about the break-in?”
“I was talking to Ironwood when her alarm went off,” Damiano says as he veers around a tight corner. His voice is tight, stressed. “I didn’t send Buster and Fletch back. Although now I wish I fucking had.”
I wish he had, too.
MADISON
As I stumble backward, pain throbbing over the entire left side of my face, two more people get out of the cop car.
Derick and Crane—my cousins.
The “police officers” push their way into the house, advancing on me. I’m still trying to shake off my dizziness when they grab my arms and wrench them behind my back. One of them stuffs something in my mouth—I taste dusty fabric tinged with blood. My lip is bleeding from where he hit me.
I think this is a man’s sock in my mouth. My stomach heaves.
They drag me back to a corner of the kitchen, far from the back door, far from the knife block.
I stare hard at my cousins as they step into the house. My house. Is this some kind of twisted revenge because I inherited the place that they wanted? What’s funny is Ford isn’t here, and he was the one actually living in the place.
The shorter “officer” points to my cousins. “Okay, we got you here. The rest is up to you.”
“Wait,” Derick says. “You gotta finish things.”
