A terrifying fact blares in my mind:Luna dead means the money is his.
Could the man kill his own daughter?
Bill Lamont’s twisted mind makes no sense to me, but I can’t risk hoping he’ll be gentle with her. With frantic fingers, I dig my phone out of my pocket. My first instinct is to call 911.
But I hesitate.
From what Luna’s told me, the guy is tied up with a lot of criminal activity.
If he hears sirens, what’ll he do?
Panic? Shoot at the cops?
I don’t want the woman I love caught in the cross fire.
Instead, I call Paige. She picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, Chili Dog.”
“I need to talk to Dash. Now.”
“I’ll get him.” My best friend knows when I’m not joking around.
A second later, a deeper voice comes over the speaker.
“What’s wrong?”
“Luna’s gone. I think your father took her. He knows about the inheritance.”
Dash doesn’t waste time doubting me, curses pouring from him like poison seeping from a wound.
“I didn’t call the cops,” I say. “Should I? Fuck, I don’t know what to do.” The one thing I do know is, I can’t stay in Nashville when Luna is likely in New Orleans.
Pig has been following at my heels, whimpering. I grab her leash, hooking it to her collar, and snatch up my keys, all while keeping the phone pressed to my ear.
“Bill is a piece of shit, but he’s not homicidal.” There’s rustling on the other side of the phone, like Dash is moving around.
“She wouldn’t have just gone with him,” I point out while ushering Pig into the back seat of my car.
“No,” Dash agrees. “He could hurt her. He’s done it before.”
“Damn it.” I pound my fist against the hood of my car.
“Don’t panic. We’ll figure out where she is. Can you come here?”
“Already on my way.” I slide behind the wheel, shoving my key into the ignition.
I’m not a violent man. But for Luna, I’ll tear New Orleans apart.
CHAPTER 52
LUNA
The duct tape is easy to get off.
Most people would think the pendant necklace I wear has some kind of sentimental meaning. They wouldn’t notice the smaller, sharper edges hidden in the curves of the metal.
All I have to do is bend my arms at some interesting angles to maneuver my hands in front of my body, slip the necklace off, and grip the cord of the jewelry in my teeth as I catch the tape on the sharp edge. A few slices and splitting through the bindings, and it becomes as easy as ripping open a bag of chips. With free hands, the tape around my feet doesn’t stand a chance.
