Harsh breathing comes from behind me.
I turn, already knowing who I’m going to see.
The years have weathered his face, but he’s still easy to recognise. His hair’s receded, now mostly white, his wrinkles are deeper than ever, but the same smirk twists his lips, the same glare is in those muddy brown eyes.
Jerred Loughlin.
My ‘uncle.’
“You fucking bitch,” he spits at me without preamble. “You killed my son.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
TRENT
I’m travelling so fastthat when I hit the corner, the wheels threaten to skid out on me even with the four-wheel drive. With some fast reactions, I quickly recover control, but my heart beats a little faster, and it was speeding already.
It’s been going a mile a minute since Sashe rang, concerned that my girlfriend had left with someone who looked like they’d just come off a three-day bender. The description of the investigator had reassured me for a split second, then spiked my fear.
Edwin might be working on someone’s instructions, but those directions hadn’t come from me.
“Why can’t you track her? You’re the one who installed the device in her bracelet to begin with.”
“And it worked when we tested it,” Caylon calmly responds.
Usually, I find his quiet confidence endearing. Right now, it makes me want to wrap my hands around his throat.
“What could block it?”
“The tracker is the size of an impressive grain of sand. There could be a million things in the way. It doesn’t like metal or concrete. If she dropped it inside a toaster, that’d be enough to block most of the signal and my phone isn’t as sensitive as my equipment at home.”
We’re taking the chance that driving while tracking will get us to Rosa faster than depositing Caylon in front of his extensive collection of souped-up computers at home and working from there.
A decision that satisfies my need to be doing something, going somewhere, taking action to get my girl back to safety.
A decision that could be the stupidest one I’ve ever made because the flip-side could be us taking so long to find her with the substandard phone software that Rosa winds up dead.
The choice roils my gut, making my head dizzy and my fists ready to smash through concrete.
Another corner. Another skid.
“Maybe slow down,” Caylon says, then hunches in the corner of the passenger seat when he clocks my face. “We don’t even know we’re heading in the right direction.”
His perfectly rational explanation makes my temper fire up another notch, now able to melt steel.
“You said it was most likely the north side of the city.”
He opens his mouth, then snaps it closed, turning his full attention back to the phone. A scrap of wisdom I wished I possessed.
His phone beeps. “Zach’s coming in from Rolleston. We’ll meet up near Avonhead.”
A small part of me opens in gratitude. For the past few months, everyone in my life has been drifting out of reach. Now, when I need them most, they’re encircling me, supporting me.
Even Sashe called with the news that has currently shattered my world but is a thousand times better than not knowing anything is wrong.
“Do you know anything more about the investigator? Stefan’s not getting back.”
Stefan had already packed up and vacated the house when Sashe’s call came through, leaving his men behind to sort things.
