Reid
We’ve been driving for more than an hour. The adrenaline that was pumping through my body when I sped away from the house has settled somewhat. I no longer feel like I can lift trucks off toddlers, but I still feel like I can take down an armed murderer with only my bare hands.
Cruise hasn’t spoken a word since we left the house, and neither have I, but each time I glimpse to the side of his head, I witness his jaw clench and see the strain popping the vein at his temple. There is no doubt that tension pulses rapidly through his blood.
One hundred and fifty-five—that’s how fast the speedo tells me I’m travelling. I press my foot down slightly and watch the orange arrow shift to one hundred and seventy. We’re on a straight road, and there’s no traffic. However, that will change as soon as the sky grows even brighter. The thick black night we’d departed in has all but gone. Morning is now upon us, and that means traffic will soon be here, too.
“We don’t have a weapon. We aren’t even wearing shoes,” Cruise says matter-of-factly, entirely out of the blue.
“We have a knife.” I shrug.
He huffs.
“It’s a weapon.”
“A knife won’t do shit. Why the fuck didn’t we get shoes?”
I shrug again.
“Do you even have a plan?”
“To get Morgan.”
Cruise drops his head and cradles it in his palms. “I’m calling the cops. We need their help.”
“Sure, go ahead. Did you bring your phone?” I’m smug. I hear it in my tone.
He lifts his head, and when his eyes meet mine there’s anger swirling in them. “No.”
“Detective West has mine. Trust me, brother, we’ve got this. At least it’s no longer dark.”
“You’re not thinking clearly. Reid, what if John hurt the kids?”
“Max would’ve heard us take off the moment we pulled this beast away from the footpath. I held that horn down the entire stretch of street, there’s no way he didn’t hear that. Shit, you know Mum would have if he didn’t. She’s the lightest sleeper we know.” I nod, confirming my own thoughts. “Max would’ve seen the note. He’ll get help. I trust him.”
“And what if none of that has happened?”
“Shirley wouldn’t let John hurt the kids. She loves them.”
“John apparently loved your family, too.”
My heart instantly aches. How could John betray us? Betray Morgan? He was a father and grandfather figure to our family. A pillar of strength. We’d built a foundation for our families on pure honesty and good morals. He was like blood. I thought our bond was unbreakable.
My hands grip the steering wheel as I think about John taking the call Shirley described. Did he set out to befriend us knowing that it would lead to this? Would he actually go as far as hurting our children?
“This is bullshit,” I growl. “Shirley wouldn’t let him hurt the kids. No. She wouldn’t.” Who am I trying to convince? Cruise or myself? My stomach drops with sudden and intense worry.
“How do you know Shirley isn’t in on this as well? Right now, we could be driving straight into a trap, this could be a bloody set-up.”
“Morgan is all that matters,” I bark, hearing insanity entwined in my words.
Maybe I’m not doing the right thing. No—my instinct tells me this is what I have to do. Morgan doesn’t have any time left. Max will have the kids. The coppers will already know we’re on our way out to the cabin, and they will be in pursuit too.
But what if none of that’s happened? What if Max or mum didn’t wake and the kids are in danger? What if he hasn’t told the cops the new location where they need to search for Morgan? Are we racing straight into a trap? Did I even think this through?
My mind jumbles with so many thoughts that I snarl out my frustration, and rip my hands from the steering wheel only to bang them back down again. “You said you’d help me, and if you’re not going to, then you can get the fuck out of the car.” I lift my foot from the accelerator and we instantly slow.
“I’ll help you.” Cruise sounds defeated in his response. “But Reid, brother, I want to protect you, too.”
“I don’t need protecting. Morgan does.”
My foot hits the gas again.
Minutes pass. We’re flying as we were before, and I still can’t get my mind to settle. I’m trapped, walking a tightrope between right and wrong. Have I made a calculated decision, or have I let emotion cloud my ability to do so?
Wind suddenly blows my hair and causes me to blink excessively. “What are you doing?” I eye Cruise, wondering why in the world he’s lowered the window.
“I needed fresh air.”
“The air-conditioning is on.”
“I need fresh air.” He turns his head away from me.
A red car is coming, followed by a black one. I shift my eyes to the rear-vision mirror only to see a white utility off in the distance. We’re no longer alone on these streets, and soon we’re going to be surrounded by traffic.
I press my foot harder against the accelerator and hope I can get to the cabin before the traffic boxes me in.
I need to get to Morgan before the police do, because I don’t plan on leaving there without Morgan in my arms, safe and warm, or without the fucker who took her dead.