Peter’s chest clamped tight.The Irishman?McCoy?He shook his head.“No.”
He turned to see Yolanda’s reaction to his answer.
And found the doorway behind him empty.
“Do you know why someone would abduct her?”
Huddart’s question snapped his attention away from his partner’s unexpected absence.“She’s trodden on some powerful people’s toes.”He shoved his hands into his pockets, stare fixed on Reggie’s message.
Not hurt.
Heading Nth.
“Such as?”
Peter huffed out a sigh.“Anyone who conducts animal testing knows who my sister is.She’s had more than one cosmetic company CEO in?—”
Huddart’s cell phone burst into life and, pulling it from her jacket, she held up a pointed finger to Peter: “One moment.”
Chest heavy, nerves strung, he left the petite detective to her call and exited the bathroom, heading back toward the stairs.Reggiehadtrodden on some powerful people’s toes.When it came to animals, she didn’t hold her tongue.She’d had more than one so-called professional animal breeder stripped of their license, had more than one animal shelter employee sacked for cruelty and that was in herdayjob.What she did in the wee hours of the mornings, in the dark, cold rooms of the city’s science labs and cosmetic factories had caused many a powerful businessman or politician to scream for her arrest.Or blood.They had no proof it was her releasing their test subjects, but they had their suspicions, fed in part by Reggie’s extremely verbose opposition to their actions.The list of people whom she’d annoyed was long and illustrious, but abduct her?Storming along the corridor, he dragged his fingers through his hair.
McCoy.
O’Connell.
The two names echoed in his head.Did one of them have her?Did both?He clenched his fists.The Forensic boys had phoned through the urine results as he drove to the mansion, reporting the samples as indeterminate, possibly animal.Which meant sweet fuck-all in helping him find Reggie.Locating the Jag was paramount.As soon as the McMahon Highway Patrol located the Jag he’d?—
“I do not care.”Yolanda’s low growl from the bottom of the staircase cut the thought dead and he frowned at her tense back.“Just do your fucking job,” she continued into the shiny black cell phone rammed to her ear, “Or I will rip your fucking balls off.”
“Who was that?”
His partner started, snapping the cell shut and shoving it into her hip pocket.She spun about, staring up at him.“My landscape gardener.”Without giving him any time to respond, she crossed the foyer in long strides, disappearing through the archway.
Gritting his teeth, Peter descended the stairs and followed her into an expansive, sparsely furnished room, the urge to strangle her almost as powerful as the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
“He fucked her here.”
Yolanda’s blunt statement froze his blood and he stared at her.“Who?”
“The man who has your sister.”She pointed to the cushion-covered chaise she stood beside.“He fucked her here.”
Peter studied the piece of furniture, noting numerous, tiny slashes in the tumbled cushions, frenzied gashes in the material that looked made by a small, wildly-wielded blade.Cold fury roared through him and an image of Reggie struggling to be free exploded into his head.“How do you know?”
“Can’t you smell it?”
He pulled a deep breath, but all he detected on the air was Yolanda.
“Their sex stinks the place.His sweat…” She leant forward, plucking something almost invisible from one of the torn cushions.Holding it up, she studied him over her pinched fingers, eyebrows raised.“Your sister’s?”
He focused on what she held, a single strand of long, chocolate-brown hair.At some stage, Reggie’s head had been pressed to the chaise.
Why?
Rape?
His gut twisted at the word.His heartbeat tripled.
Yolanda watched him, the closed expression she sometimes wore back on her face.“We will find her, Peter.”She placed her free hand on his shoulder, stepped forward so her thighs brushed his.A soft, almost sad smile curved her lips.“Trust me.”
