17. Savannah
17
SAVANNAH
As we follow Fabian’s car, I watch Huxley from the passenger seat, a coiled spring of focus, dissecting each word Fabian tosses over the line as their conversation continues. Motives for the kidnapping circulate between them. Grudges, retribution, leverage?
One detail from Fabian catches Huxley’s attention—a botched business deal in Monterey, a partnership gone sour. I see the vein in Hux’s neck bulge slightly, a sign I’ve come to recognize as his intrigue peaking.
“Do you really think it’s him?” Fabian’s voice breaks through the tension. “How could he do this to Kayla? He was my friend!”
“Until he wasn’t,” Huxley’s tone is matter-of-fact. “Where’s he now?”
“Still in Bozeman, last I heard.”
“Does he have the resources to move Kayla across state lines unnoticed? Maybe a private plane?”
“No. He’s wealthy, but not private-jet wealthy.”
“You need to call him. ”
“And say what?”
“Make something up about your business with him. Keep it casual. And for God’s sake, don’t let on that Kayla’s missing.”
“Okay. I’ll call him right now.”
“Hold on, not yet,” Huxley commands. “Wait until we’re with you at your house.”
I can tell he doesn’t trust Fabian to handle the call without making things worse.
Soon, Hux is on the phone with his partner Chase Samson, a Red Mark contractor based in Bozeman. Chase’s bass-like voice fills the car, calm and methodical. “I’ll sweep the perimeter,” he asserts, indicating that he’s already on the property. “The place’s massive, Comet. We might have to call in reinforcements.”
Comet. I remember the other nickname his comrades at Red Mark coined for him. It sounds sharp and menacing. I’m glad I get to call him Hux.
Huxley’s next words are decisive, setting a time limit before involving the authorities. I nod, whether out of genuine concurrence or reflex, I can’t tell. My mind is mired in worry.
“Appreciate the help, Hux,” I murmur.
“For a child, and for you, Sav, always,” he responds without missing a beat.
I find myself pondering aloud, “To think a business squabble could lead to this. Does the guy despise Fabian enough to take a child?”
“Money is the root of evil.”
I counter, “It’s not just money. I think it’s humans themselves who are the real root of evil. Desperation, needs, envy—these emotions can drive anyone to commit unthinkable acts.”
Huxley nods thoughtfully. “Our best hope is to find Kayla before we even need to untangle the kidnapper’s motives. For now, we’ll keep an eye on Mr. Monterey. But we deal in evidence, not speculation.”
Changing course, I express my curiosity. “I can’t wait to meet Chase. What’s he like?”
A chuckle warms his response. “Chase is more ‘Samson’ than anything else,” he jests with a glimmer in his eye.
“Ah, so less swift-footed cheetah and more formidable grizzly?” I suggest, trying to draw a mental image of Chase Samson.
His smile persists. “Precisely. Though remember, a grizzly can charge at speeds up to forty miles per hour.” Our laughter melds together. “The man’s a retired Navy SEAL. Sailed the globe solo before anchoring down in Bozeman.”
“Sounds like a real adventurer.”
“He is.” His smile wanes as if something troubling has just struck him. “Now, tell me about this Juliet. Kayla’s mother?”
My lips curl without humor. Juliet and I have always been like oil and water, yet beneath her overt unfriendliness, I sense uncharted layers. “Juliet’s the type to nurse a grudge along with a bottle. But now she’s in rehab, probably eyeing the custody odds. As Fab told me, she went all out, picking one of the top-notch clinics in California.”
“How about Fabian? Does he care for Kayla? Truly care?”
“He’s an insufferable son of a bitch. But Kayla is his world. He’ll do anything for her. Not always wisely, though,” I admit, remembering his manipulative tactics.
Hux understands the subtext. “Does Kayla see you as a mother figure?”
“I’d like to think of myself more as a guardian angel than a replacement. Kayla deserves that much,” I say, sincerity in my voice.
Hux makes a turn, steering us smoothly into the more affluent sector of Bozeman. The streets here are lined with houses that appear like resorts surrounded by lush landscapes.
While observing the grandeur, I reflect aloud, “Honestly, though, the court’s decision to grant Fabian custody for now was a relief.”
“But he clearly thinks his wife’s chance of overturning that decision is high.”
“Juliet remains a formidable contender. She’s Kayla’s mother, after all, and the court tends to take that into consideration,” I reason. “Particularly if she parades her newfound sobriety. Besides, she can marshal a legal brigade to fight for Kayla. Coming from a wealthy background, Fabian’s downfall and their divorce haven’t touched her.”
Hux’s nod carries a wealth of understanding. He’s seen enough of humanity’s spectrum in this line of work, every shade of love and neglect. And when I share my unease about Juliet’s lack of maternal affection, his frown tells me his protective instincts have flared as fiercely as mine.
He says, “Courts do love a redemption story, especially when it comes with a thick wallet. But your take on Juliet being cold…”
I continue, my tone darkening, “Kayla’s a trophy to her, not a daughter. A son would have been her victory cup.”
Huxley’s frown deepens. “I’m not one to judge, but Juliet’s not winning any points with me.”
Fabian’s house looms before us, boasting the opulence that success can buy. He’s done well for himself, rising from financial ashes to a Montana real estate titan.
And there stands Chase Samson, a bulwark of a man, more reminiscent of the biblical colossus than a retired Navy SEAL with all the formidable presence but none of the fabled locks.
Chase gestures for us to follow. “This way,” he says, leading us to an elegantly framed window set high on the house’s sidewall. The lower edge of the window barely clears his head, and he stands nearly eye-to-eye with Huxley. With a careful motion, he points to a series of faint dirt prints on the windowsill, likely left by shoes. “Looks like someone used this as an access point,” he concludes.
Huxley leans in, examining the patterns. “Notice the grouping of these prints? Likely two intruders.”
Chase agrees with a nod. “The marks on this side are deeper than on the other.”
Huxley turns to Fabian, squinting as he looks up. “Where does this window lead?”
“To Kayla’s room,” Fabian murmurs, his face losing all color.
“Let’s go. We need to see the inside.” The command comes swiftly from Huxley, driving our host before him.
We enter the house. The living area is a picture of normalcy, but Kayla’s bedroom is a different story. It speaks of a struggle, a rebellion in the form of scattered pillows and a lone sock.
Fabian fights back tears while Huxley’s voice is a low note beneath it, piecing together a narrative none of us wants to read.
“Was the room like this when you found Kayla missing?” Hux inquires, his eyes sweeping the room with clinical precision.
“Yes. I haven’t touched anything. I mean, I did crawl around, thinking she might be hiding, but I don’t think I disturbed anything significant.”
Hux releases a breath, then remarks, “She gave her kidnapper, or kidnappers, a hard time, that’s for sure.”
“I heard nothing. Nothing at all,” Fabian quavers.
The revelation shakes me. The girl’s only five years old! I can’t fathom what she endured. Rage bubbles within me, aiming for Fabian, but I push it down. Now is not the time for blame.
Huxley bends down, retrieving a shimmering object. “What have we here?”
A golden pin comes into the light, sinister and out of place.
“That doesn’t belong to Kayla,” Fabian stutters.
“Pass it here,” I command as the emblem comes into clearer view—a trio of serpentine lines cradling a gun-bearing hand, a symbol that haunts my darkest recollections. My gaze whips to Fabian, piercing him with an accusatory stare. “The Blackwater Brutes—you had dealings with them, didn’t you? Back in the day?”
“No! I never knew them!” Fabian denies.
“Or perhaps you’ve rekindled that old connection?” I press, my suspicion deepening. His recent wealth. Did he really gain it through legitimate means?
“Those mercenaries tangled with West Sun Corporation, not me. Do you think I’d let those men harass you like that?”
More than harass! They obliterated us. But I keep it to myself while Huxley’s eyes are on me, a question lingering in them as he tries to connect the pin to my past, the past I’ve fought hard to keep at bay.
I pivot away, and Huxley’s arms are there. “Savannah?” He searches my face. “These Blackwater Brutes men. They’re the ones behind your scar?”
Reluctantly, I admit, “Yes, I did kill one of the juniors and even managed to shoot the leader he was supposed to protect. Unfortunately, the leader somehow survived.”
I whip my head to the side, hiding my disgust. How could I have missed his heart? If I had a chance to relive that day, I’d aim half an inch closer to the left.
“Sav?” Hux touches my hand .
I clear my throat and continue, “Fabian was right. They were only hired men. As far as I know, the gang had been disbanded after West Sun crumbled with its owner’s fall.” If only that meant reclaiming the Mitchell Ranch was possible… But that lament remains mine alone.
Hux’s eyes narrow as he confronts Fabian, “Tell me what you know about them.”
“Lakefall Valley—that’s where they operated. Hired by West Sun to intimidate Savannah and her father,” Fabian’s voice wavers. “They were known as ‘masters of the night’—but the attack at the Mitchell Ranch was an exception. I guess they had the backing of a billionaire, so they believed they could do whatever.
“When West Sun took over Mitchell Ranch, I owned half of the estate. They somehow interfered with my company, too, and my finances nearly collapsed. Rumors were the Brutes turned rogue, assassinating their employer. Found him shot dead and strung up at the ranch.”
Huxley’s suspicion casts a long shadow. “Maybe they set up shop in Bozeman and scored a new boss in that ex-business partner of yours? What’s his name?”
“Redford.”
Huxley orders, “Call him.”
The call goes unanswered, prompting him to devise a plan. “Chase and I will canvas the neighborhood, then if the trail leads to Lakefall, that’s our next stop.”
“I should join you,” I volunteer, desperate to be part of the search. “I knew a lot about these guys. I did all the research I could when I was still fighting to get our ranch back.”
“No, it’s not on the table,” he replies, giving no room for argument.
Frustration churns within. “What can I do, then? ”
“Text me everything you know about them. And make sure Fabian sends the house’s CCTV footage to Red Mark. Would you be all right if Fabian drives you home?” he asks, his gaze holding mine, seeking agreement.
Splitting up seems the logical step, though it does nothing to ease the tug of reluctance. I nod to Huxley, my focus sharpened on the single goal that unites us—the safe return of Kayla.
Fabian dials Redford once more, but the call is still unmet with a response.
Hux instructs, “Go and see him, then. If there’s even the slightest sign he has Kayla, call me, but don’t let him out of your sight!”
“Yes. Yes. I’ll find him,” Fabian’s agreement is a shaky vow.
“Sav, take my car,” Huxley hands his keys to me, changing his mind about Fabian driving me home. “I’ll ride with Chase.”
As I prepare to leave, a last-minute thought strikes me. “Wait, Hux,” I halt him. “I’ll go and find Redford before Fabian talks to him so I can gauge what’s going on.”
Huxley gives a slight nod. “If you’re sure, that’ll be a good idea.” Then he turns to Fabian. “He doesn’t know about Savannah, does he?”
“No,” Fabian answers decisively.
“Good. Don’t mess this up. And don’t you dare put Savannah in danger.” Hux’s face tightens into a look I know all too well. It’s the same fierce expression he had right before he unleashed hell on Fabian. It is protectiveness amplified, mixed with a raw possessiveness that says he’ll tolerate nothing and no one threatening his boundaries.
“I won’t,” Fabian assures me.
I fix my ex a look that brooks no argument. “Act your part well. Any mistake that risks us or Kayla, I’ll kick your balls, and that’ll be a point of no return for your possessions.”
Fabian moves with a restless shuffle, his impatience evident.
“And I’d sort out that nose of yours if I were you,” Hux points out, putting my ex in his place.