He stares at me for a moment before responding. I don’t know what to expect. “I’m on it. I have to make some phone calls.Christ.You call him, too.”
I take my cell phone and call Lyam, but not surprisingly it goes to voicemail.
Thayer’s talking on the phone, his voice hushed but vehement. “No, I have no idea where he is. Jesus. Theonetime I don’t get on his ass about not staying in touch.”
Minutes later, he’s got Philippe in the room and Fabien on the phone. Men and women I’ve never seen before or heard of pile into the apartment one at a time. Some are officers in uniform, still others look like beefy bodyguards. Thayer fills them all in simply.
“Lyam is missing, and we need to find him.”
“Is it possible, sir, that this had anything to do with the mob scene near the Louvre the other day?” someone asks.
“The what?” Thayer’s eyes are thunderclouds. “Someone tell me what the fuck he’s talking about.”
I pull out my phone and start searching.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Thayer?—”
I scan the article and look for a picture, but all I can find is a fuzzy picture of the back of his head. It doesn’t matter, though. I’d know Lyam anywhere, anytime. It’s him.
I hand Thayer the phone. “Motherfucker,” he mutters under his breath. “We need to find out everything we can.”
I scan the details and look on social media until I piece things together. “This was right after our fight,” I say in a little voice. “We were—he left, angry, and it looks like shortly after that there was a mob attack. But there’s no telling where he is or if he was taken, he just… vanishes.”
My throat is tight. I’ve heard Lyam’s cries in the middle of the night. I’ve seen his scars. I’ve seen him thrashing in the sheets as if trying to escape. If they took him again… if he’s held at the mercy of someone else… God help his captors. He’ll slaughter them. That is, ifIdon’t get to them first.
“Cosette.” Thayer’s sharp tone cuts through my mental haranguing.
“What?” I snap.
“Sit down.”
I stare at him as if he has an eye in the middle of his forehead. “What?”
“Sit down.” He points to a chair. “Now.”
I don’t have the energy to argue, so I sit but I glare at him just the same.
“Have you eaten today?”
“Are you even serious right now? Lyam is missing and you want to know if I’ve eaten?”
“Of course he does,” Philippe says, shaking his head at me. “What would Lyam say?”
I know exactly what Lyam would say. I grumble but I take the piece of bread with butter Thayer hands me and eat it. I chase it with hot tea, hoping it melts the lump in my throat, but no luck.
“Sit, Cosette.”
I didn’t realize I’d stood back up.
“Stop pacing andsit.”
I flounce into a chair and look away from Thayer. Aggravating, bossy brothers.
I look around the apartment. It looks like the middle of a crime scene investigation. Computers open, notebooks at the ready, twelve of the most high-tech mobiles I’ve ever seen. People are concentrating, speaking in hushed voices. There are phone calls and notes, someone’s brewed a pot of coffee. One thing is clear for sure: they’ve lost one of their leaders, and it’s more than a little unnerving.
I want to bury my head in my arms and cry, but I can’t. I have to stay strong.
I stand and stretch. Drink a bottle of water. Pace the room. Look down at my phone and back up again.
