Pulling back quickly, she takes me in with wide eyes. “Have you found out anything?”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth.
To be on the safe side, I keep Jasper locked in the house. I believed her when she said Tatiana didn’t share any escape plans with her. Tatiana merely saw a chance and took it.
But leaving Noah?
That’s where the whole theory falls flat. I was so certain she’d never leave him that I gave her access to her own money. Was I wrong in doing that? Did I misjudge her affection for our child?
No.
Tatiana is inseparable from him. That kind of dedication can’t be faked.
Jasper pulls the cardigan she’s thrown over a T-shirt tighter around herself. “She’s in trouble, Dante.” Her gaze is imploring. “I know it. I have a bad feeling about this.”
I hope to God she’s wrong. Yet my hope is futile, because the worry eats its way inside me until I’m nothing but empty shadows and hollow bones.
I squeeze her shoulder. “I’ll find her.”
Nodding, she bites her lip. She glances in Reino’s direction before speaking again. “Noah is asking for you.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Nodding again, she leaves.
I drag my hands over my head, ignoring the headache that’s turned into a persistent dull ache. “What about Teszner?”
“He’s still recovering in the hospital,” Reino says. “We’re keeping eyes and ears on him.”
After I cut out his tongue and stabbed out his eyes, revenge would be a logical motive. He’d do anything to get his hands on his sister and ultimately, on that necklace.
Making my way to the door, I leave them with an order. “Let me know the minute anything comes up.”
Their, “Yes, boss,” follows me out of the room.
Noah is curled up on his bed, clutching his dinosaur in his arms. I still in the doorway, taking a moment to gather myself. Seeing him like this and not being able to fix it for him right here and now is killing me.
“Hey, buddy.” I go over and sit down next to him. “How are you doing?”
He sniffs. “I want my mommy.”
His voice is thick from crying, his small body spent from pining for his mother for two whole days, which, at his age, feels like an eternity. I know. I remember how slowly time moved when I was four years old.
I lay a hand on his narrow shoulder. “I miss her too.”
He turns onto his back, blinking up at me with eyes that are strikingly similar to mine. “Will you really find her?”
I force a smile. “Of course.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” I smooth a hand over his curls. “Do you want me to read you a story?” Maybe it will help him fall asleep.
He makes an affirmative sound.
I stand up and aim for the bookshelf, but he catches my hand and tugs on it. When I give him my attention, he points at the tattered book on the nightstand.
“You want me to read the story about the yellow plane?”
