Page 3 of Unplanned Target

Fine. Where do you want to meet?

Unknown number

Lot Number 1. Three o’clock.

Allie

I’ll be there.

I go through the texts again, hoping my daughter didn’t actually agree to meet at that freaking coffee shop. The same coffee shop where Kinsley first confessed she’d been seeing a much older man. The same older man who is likely responsible for her disappearance.

Allie is independent and headstrong, but surely she can’t be this stupid, can she?

It’s a question I don’t have to consider long, because I would have been that stupid when I was sixteen. Possibly worse. And my daughter is pretty much my dumbass clone.

Closing out the app, I open my contacts and dial my brother Tony’s number, hurrying through the house to collect my keys and purse. I’m just opening the door to the garage when he answers, voice strangely slurred.

“Hello?”

My feet stall out. “Anthony? What the fuck is wrong with you?” I start moving again, racing out into the garage. “Never mind. I don’t care.”

“What’s wrong, Miranda?”

His speech is only getting worse. He’s probably having a stroke. It’s not surprising with how pissy he is all the time. Probably popped a fucking blood vessel scowling at someone.

I want to be worried for him, but I can’t. I’ll be concerned about his brain capacity later. Right now I just need his help.

“Allie’s gone. I came to get her for dinner and her room is empty.” My voice catches, the fear rapidly taking hold of me making it hard to breathe. “I opened the app I have that sends all her text messages to my phone, and someone claiming to be her missing friend reached out and convinced her to meet them.”

“The fuck?” Tony is still drowsy sounding, but his words become less messy. “Al’s gone?”

There’s the sound of movement on the other end of the line. A shuffling noise like the phone is changing positions. And then there’s a new voice in my ear. This one is clear and calm.

“This is Owen. I work with Butch. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Owen? Are you a cop?” I don’t know the full details of the reasons behind it, but I do know my brother doesn’t trust anyone on the force. And if he doesn’t trust them, I don’t trust them. “Where’s Tony? Put him back on the phone.”

“Take a deep breath.” Owen is infuriatingly chill. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Of course it’s going to be okay, because I’m going to hunt down whoever has my daughter and peel their eyelids off. Then I’m going to stomp their scrotum into the dirt and dig their brain out through their ear canal.

The divine feminine rage is strong in me.

“I need to go. Tell Tony to call me.” I start to hang up, but Owen’s deep voice stops my finger just as it hovers over the end button.

“I’m not a cop, Miranda. I’m a mercenary.”

I stand at the open door of my SUV, wondering if I heard him correctly. “A… mercenary?”

“That’s right. I work for Alaskan Security.” Owen is starting to sound just a little out of breath. Like he’s running.

“Mercenaries kill people.” I think through where I obtained that knowledge and decide maybe basing the assumption on movies isn’t the best idea. “Right?”

“Mercenaries do what needs to be done through any means necessary.”

Owen carefully lays out his version of the job description, clearly trying to avoid saying certain things outright. And that’s just not good enough for me.

“So you kill people.” I toss my purse across the seat, going back to my original plan because I need someone on the same page I am, and he doesn’t seem to be it.