They’ll call back thirty minutes prior to the meet and tell me where.
The security team had me demand proof of life.
Proof. Of. Life.
She was alive. I knew it in my bones. She had to be. There’s no me without her, and I was still standing, still breathing, so she had to be.
I still hear her voice. “Jamie... they killed?—”
Then the phone was ripped away.
They killed someone.
Did she see it? Did they make her watch?
She’s alive. Her heart is still beating, and I’m not going to stop until she’s back here with me. Where she belongs.
We’re only one hour down, and I’m already losing my shit like a goddamned caged lion, ready to attack anyone who comes near me. I can’t stand waiting. I can’t stand sitting here, doing nothing, while Ashton is somewhere, scared and alone.
The security team has been using the kitchen as their hub while they’ve planned the strategy to get Ashton back. The door alerts go off each time they come in or out of the house, so I don’t think anything of it when the alert goes off again.
I don’t take much notice when one of Grandfather’s two Secret Service agents walk into the living room.
It’s not until he stops in front of me and clears his throat that I lift my head from where it’s hanging in my hands.
A young woman stands next to the agent. Light-brown hair pulled up on top of her head. Short denim shorts, a cropped black tee, and pink fucking Chuck Taylor sneakers I wouldn’t be surprised to see Ashton wear. “Who the fuck are you?” I ask, so fucking calm she should be scared of the restraint I’m showing.
“I...” She looks to the agent and shifts. “I?—”
“I don’t know you, and you just happened to walk into my house today.” I stand and step into her space. I don’t focus on the noise coming from everyone around us. Don’t acknowledge theirwords. Just focus on this stranger, who feels like a threat to my family. “Now. Who the fuck are you and who sent you?”
“Jameson.” Mom moves next to me and wraps her hand around my bicep. “Let her answer your question.”
“Fine.” I look back at this woman. “Speak or leave.”
“He’s going to kill her,” the stranger whispers. “He’s going to take the money and shoot you both.”
Two sets of guns are drawn on this woman, but she doesn’t even cower. And as I look closer at her, I see the exhaustion lining her eyes. Like this isn’t the first time she’s seen a gun. Maybe not the first time one has been pointed at her either. I also see something else...
“Who are you?” I demand, and the stranger sighs and reaches for her pocket.
The noise level jumps.
The guns draw closer.
The girl holds her hands up in front of herself.
“I’m getting my wallet from my pocket,” she says, sounding almost bored, like this has happened to her before too. Then slowly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a slim black wallet, handing it to me.
I flip it open and look at her license. “Delaney Rousseau,” I say out loud and hand the wallet off to the Secret Service agent for them to deal with. Hell, the one who walked her in has probably seen it already.
“Hey,” she calls out. “I’m going to need that back.”
“Why are you here, Delaney?” I ask, not even sure I’d say I’m hanging on by a thread anymore. The thread is gone. My sanity feels gone.
She shifts from foot to foot, focusing on the floor, and I get the strangest feeling when she lifts her eyes. Gold-flecked, caramel-colored eyes.
Ashton’s eyes. Evan’s eyes. Kyrie’s eyes.
