Miles
The coffee cup popped open, dark brown liquid raining down the yellow painted wall.
“Calm the fuck down, Carlson.”
I slapped my hands down on the table, growling, “Calm? You said to wait it out until I saw you. You”—I stabbed my finger at him, an errant laugh slipping free—“said you’d have a fucking plan.”
But he’d arrived with nothing and no one.
“Well, where is it?” I spun in a circle, my hands spread wide. “What the fuck is going on, Pete?”
The apartment, the one the team leased to reconvene and stay on track, was fucking closing in on me.
I’d been there for days, waiting.
As if I didn’t have the ability to get a team together and storm that sick fuck’s property if I wanted to.
If only they’d give me a warrant, which Pete said they couldn’t or wouldn’t do.
“We did, but it’s …” He loosened the collar of his shirt, blowing out a breath. “It was unethical, and they wouldn’t sign off on it.”
“Unethical?” I scoffed. “They do know we’re dealing with Thomas Verrone, right? Tell Anthony I want a meeting. Now.” Straightening, I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.
Pete’s pale round face tinged pink.
“What?” I asked.
“We don’t know anything for sure. We have no proof she’s been taken. No evidence of foul play.”
My hands speared into my hair, and I did my best not to think about what my girl was going through. “And you fucking believe he hasn’t? She’s there!”
He cursed. “Calm down, Carlson. Jesus Christ, you’re worse than working with Jamison.” His nostrils flared as he huffed. “What’s got you so damn wired?”
“I want her safe.”
Pete sighed and scooted the chair back, the old wood scraping beneath his weight, and stood. “Listen, you don’t need to tell me, but where’s Shelley?”
More people than I’d like to admit knew about our situation. Not that it was her fault. I’d only said those words out of anger and frustration.
I knew I was the one to blame.
I could’ve said no. We could’ve picked someone else to step in. I could’ve given up this case and moved on months ago. I could’ve kept more of a distance between her and my damn heart.
But I didn’t do any of those things.
And now, the woman I was going to give up everything for was in the hands of a monster, and no one seemed to give enough of a shit about it.
I knew their aim. They were waiting. They were used to this and so was I. But what I wasn’t used to was this feeling cinching my chest tighter as each day passed.
Finally, I admitted, “Shell took a leave of absence and went home.”
Home, where we grew up and got married, was three hours north of this mess. And I didn’t blame her for finally giving up.
Shelley was strong. She knew the job and what it sometimes entailed intimately because she worked in the same branch, but everyone had their limits. She’d reached hers far later than I thought she would.
It made me smile for a brief second.
“Shit, Carlson. That’s rough.” Pete patted his pockets for his keys, tugging them free. “Sorry man, but I need to head back. I’ll be in touch.”
Nodding, I looked over at the wall of intel I’d gathered, not seeing it, not seeing anything besides the rage that’d kept me going for the past week.
A map of his house, coordinates, and supposed sightings of him around the city mixed with photographs of him in his obnoxious suit, his daughter, and some of his connections.
My eyes zoomed back to Lou Lou.
Unethical, yes.
But sometimes the only way to lure a lion from his den was to steal his cub.