I’m up and out of my seat before she finishes speaking. “You call someone to come watch you.” My feet start running. As I pass Maddox. I say, “Watch her.”
Then I’m out the door searching for Fiona.
“She went that way,” Canyon says from a lamppost. “If you run, you can catch her.”
What?
“For a smart man, you’re awfully stupid.” He turns and walks back into the bakery, leaving me to dash off in the direction he said she went.
I run for a full five minutes until I catch sight of her. She’s almost jogging down the street.
What could have caused Fiona to make a mad dash down the street like this…The crying kid who walked into the restaurant. I pull out my phone and call Maddox.
“What?” Maddox snaps.
“Who was that girl?”
“I need a bit more than that. And why are you breathing hard?”
“Because Fiona is currently running down the streets of Urbium and I have no idea why.” I’m not breathing that heavily, but maybe I should up my cardio a bit. “So who was the girl that came into the bakery crying?”
“You mean Izzy?”
How would I know? “Go find out why she was crying.”
“I’m a little busy at the moment, if you will recall.”
Those addicts shouldn’t be anywhere near the kids on that street…except half of them probably were those kids at one time. “There’s something off with that group.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Make the time anyway. I don’t want to be running into something blind.” Quite literally running into it. Whatever made this woman mad has got all the adrenaline going.
“Fine.”
The phone clicks off.
It would probably be easier just to catch up with Fiona. But there isn’t anything stupider than getting between a momma bear and her cub. Whatever this is…it’s giving me that kind of vibe.
Fifteen minutes later, Fiona opens the door of a massive corporation.
I follow behind her but don’t approach the desk.
My company handles all of their cybersecurity. I was just here a month ago for a meeting.
The receptionist looks up and makes eye contact with me. Her smile says she remembers me. I nod towards Fiona. For a second, she gives a questioning look and then nods.
My phone rings. “Well?”
Maddox didn’t really expect a greeting. “Joseph Angel. He sexually harassed one of our kids who interns there. She’s fifteen.”
Well, that man just signed his own death certificate. “Thanks.”
“Maximus Rage—”
The friendly or not-so-friendly nickname reminder to control my temper doesn’t go unnoticed. “What?”
“The man is mine. That was one of my kids.”
