“Do you trust me?”
With everything but her heart. “You know I do.”
“Then we’ll work together to bring him home, figure things out as we go. In the meantime, I’m going upstairs, see what kind of evidence those two scumbags left behind.”
She stood up from the chair. “I need to do something. Let me help.”
Reese reached out and took her hand, wrapped his warm fingers around it. “All right. It’s going to take both of us to make this work. Let’s go.”
TWENTY-SIX
Reese knew how to use a fingerprint kit. You didn’t have brothers, uncles, aunts, and friends all in law enforcement and not know the basics of how things like that worked. But Kenzie was sure the men had worn latex gloves, so their best hope was blood DNA.
His smile turned wolfish. There was blood on her keys and on the carpet, blood on her robe. She’d made them hurt and good for her. Unfortunately, Kenzie had showered off the blood and skin under her fingernails. His jaw hardened. She had fought them hard. Reese wanted to send both the bastards straight to hell.
Instead, he swabbed blood samples and bagged them, bagged the robe Kenzie had been wearing, then they went outside to see what else they could find.
“They must have carried the ladder in through the back gate and left the same way,” Kenzie said, her gaze going around the small enclosed patio.
Reese looked up at the window, still open, the curtain fluttering in the faint, moist breeze. “Takes a good-sized ladder to get up that high. They must have been driving a van or a pickup.”
“Maybe one of the neighbors saw something.”
“Maybe. But until we know what’s going on, we can’t risk asking too many questions.”
“Mrs. Landsdale has frequent insomnia. She’s our neighbor across the street. She’s a nice old lady but she’s nosy. Maybe she saw something that could help us.”
He nodded. “Let’s finish this and get it off to the lab. If we still haven’t gotten a call, maybe you can talk to her.”
As soon as they were back in the house, Reese called the office and spoke to his executive VP, Vincent Salvador. Reese told Vince he had a family emergency and was taking time off, asked him to take the helm until further notice.
“Anything I can do to help?” Vince was smart, ambitious, and good at his job.
“Yeah,” Reese said. “Keep everything running smoothly. If you have a problem, call my private number.” Reese gave him the disposable number. “But it better be important.”
“I’ll handle things, Reese. Don’t worry.”
Next he spoke to Louise, told her roughly the same story, gave her the same number, and added that Kenzie would be helping him until the situation was resolved.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Louise said.
“I will. Thanks.”
Next he called for a messenger to pick up the evidence he had bagged at Kenzie’s house. The package was to be delivered to Dallas Diagnostic Services, a private DNA testing lab that Chase used, a business primarily involved in determining paternity.
In this case, once the results were back, they’d be run through DNA databases in search of a match. Nothing they found would stand up in court, and without law enforcement, getting results could be tricky, but Reese figured Chase or Tabby could get it done.
Unfortunately, it was going to take time.
The messenger left with the package but still no word from the kidnappers. Gran was keeping herself busy working in the kitchen. She was diligently making soup and sandwiches, though it was unlikely anyone was in the mood to eat. When the plates sat untouched on the table, she went into her room and closed the door. Reese had a feeling she was crying and didn’t want anyone to see.
Kenzie sat stiffly at the kitchen table, Reese across from her, both of them edgy, neither of them good at waiting.
“Why won’t they call?” Kenzie asked, pushing up from her chair, pacing over to the window to stare outside at nothing in particular. Her face was pale beneath the darkening bruises, her hair, pulled into a messy ponytail, was still damp from the shower. She looked younger, fragile, and more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. Her heartbreak touched feelings inside him that Reese had believed long dead.
“They haven’t called because they’re letting us know who’s in control,” he said. “It’s a negotiating tactic.” One he had used himself, though the stakes had never been life and death.
He saw Kenzie’s lips moving, knew she was saying a prayer for Griff’s safety.
