Chapter 59 On Autopilot
on autopilot
Liam
“Hey, where’s Lorien?”
My sister beams a smile up at me from her spot on a bar stool as she feeds Sophia and tilts her head to the back deck. “She stepped out a few minutes ago.”
I turn toward the door, but my sister grabs my wrist, stopping my movement. Turning back, I look from my hand to her face.
“I’m happy for you, Li. You deserve it.”
I dip my chin.
“I’m serious. Somehow you two make sense. She’s as good for you as you are for her. I see great things.” Her face is open and her smile is mischievous. “You might get a wedding after all.”
I gently release my hand from hers and flash my ring to her. “Already married, sis. I don’t need the getup to keep my promises.”
“I know. But will she with her family?”
I tilt my head to the ceiling. I hadn’t thought of it. I haven’t had time to think past any given day with as much as is being thrown at us. “We’ll figure it out.”
“I know you will. Now, go get your girl.” She returns her gaze to my goddaughter.
I’m through the doors, my mind tumbling around the idea of a wedding, of Lorien walking toward me on her dad’s arm, choosing me. Not in a tee over tacos, but in a gown, as my brother stands at my side calming nerves I shouldn’t have for the woman I’m already married to.
“Lorien?”
That’s weird. Total silence.
I peer back toward the hot tub and pool toward Ayla’s bedroom. Nothing. To the other side, is the outdoor kitchen. “Lorien?”
She must’ve gone back inside. There’s no one out here. The only thing that even remotely looks like this place is lived in is a piece of linen on the ground brick. I lean down, noticing stitching… RBB.
Striding through the sitting room door, I drop the fabric on the bar, and ask the women there, “Any idea whose this is?”
“That stinks,” Anni puts in, covering her nose and mouth.
“It does,” Ayla says, lifting it. “And no. It’s a monogram. That’s the big B in the middle, but I don’t know any RB. And I rarely hear middle names anymore. What if they don’t go by the R? What if it’s BB?” She lifts it to her nose. “Whoa. That’s… ugh.”
Briggs Barnett.
“Don’t. And wash your hands.” I swipe the fabric from her fingers and stalk to her pantry, searching until I find what I need. I place the fabric in the zip-top bag and wash my hands thoroughly. “I’d say get some fresh air, but—”
“But what?” Christian exits the mouth of the hall.
“I need your cameras. Now.” I shove past him, heading to his office, him firmly on my heels.
“What is it and why does Ayla need fresh air?”
“Camera. Back deck. Last twenty minutes or so.”
Christian does what I request. Demand. Whatever. It’s semantics anyway.
And we see… nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“Back it up another twenty.”
That does it. There, bold as brass, and without a fuck in the world, Briggs Barnett slinks out of the shadows, looks straight into the camera and smiles, before—my blood runs cold—before drugging my wife, and dragging her by her armpits out of view.
“The fuck.” Christian’s voice is icy. “Get here now. We need extra coverage for the women,” he says into what I assume to be his phone.
“Driveway,” I bark as I pull up Lorien’s phone for tracking, just to have my device shows me my wife’s phone is still in the fucking house.
The cameras pan to the driveway and a familiar SUV there. My father is in the driver’s seat of his own car. What a stupid motherfucker. Briggs slides into the passenger seat after shoving Lorien in through the liftgate.
It’s at that moment that glass shatters against the wall behind me. “That son of a bitch.”
Christian has lost control.
In contrast, I lock down everything in me that wants to buzz and vibrate until I’m nothing.
Chilled…
Lethal…
On autopilot.
One lesson my father taught me early—consequences are a bitch. He’ll be learning that one as well.
“How many feet away is he?”
“What?” Christian seethes.
“Is he breaking the restraining order?” Anger-later. Vengeance-later. Now, we calculate.
“He is.”
“Send the footage to Sherman, the sheriff’s office, and CBI. See if we can get an APB on his vehicle.” I rattle off the plate number, year, make, and model as I pace.
I also take the time to search my fucking father’s phone, triangulate the signal, and begin tracking. I send that to Christian as well.
“I’m pursuing.” I rip through his office door, only to be stopped with a firm, tan hand on my chest. I stare down at it, knowing that ripping it from his body will do me no good, but making sure he knows my feelings all the same.
“Wait. You need a man at your back.”
I shake my head. “Stay with Ayla.”
“Fitz,” he proposes.
“Fine.” Before the word has left my mouth, the man in question pushes through the door. “You’re with me.”
Christian is barking into his phone as I leave.
I give one last glance at my family, at my nephew and my nieces, and hope it’s not my last.