2. Is Something Off?
Chapter 2
Is Something Off?
HUNTER
“ W hy are you driving like somebody’s ninety-year-old grandma?”
“I’m trying to get us to the airport in one piece, Hunter,” Lars grumbles as we bob and weave through traffic a bit too slowly for my taste.
The two of us are headed to LAX airport to catch the next flight to New Orleans or to catch Fabre taking the next flight to New Orleans. There’s a second security detail following us in another car as well, just in case we face any trouble when we get there. At this point, I don’t know anything for sure, totally relying on instinct and a single Red Bull for nourishment.
“Hey,” Vaughn answers my phone call.
“I’m not even sure if this is the right play,” I say to him when he picks up on the first ring, my doubts swirling around my brain, making me question every decision I’m making.
We don’t know what Fabre is planning or if he’s even headed to New Orleans, but it’s the only logical answer I’ve come up with. He came here to get his daughter and return her home. So where else could he be headed?
“It’s the play that makes sense,” Vaughn replies.
“They could be at a smaller airport so they can fly out undetected. That would be the smarter way to go.”
“We’ve been over this, Hunt.”
“But you haven’t seen Naomi or Megan’s names come up in any flight list out of LAX, and I don’t give a shit who Fabre is, there’s no way he can get those girls on a major US flight without identification.”
“He’d have to pull a lot of strings to pull off a private flight without me knowing. I know it sounds counterintuitive but it’s easier for them to get out at LAX.”
“It would take some balls to just take my woman and fly out of a major airport.”
“I think we’ve already established that Mr. Fabre has got balls the size of tennis balls. He knows exactly who you are and still took Megan in front of her house. He’s arrogant and thinks he’s invincible. Which is why I think he’d do exactly what we think most people wouldn’t do.”
I don’t really like how much sense Vaughn is making. I don’t need common sense right now. I just need answers.
“What about reporting her missing?” I suggest.
“Hunt, you know that’s not what we do. They’re only going to get in our way.”
We’ve always kept our business in-house no matter what but desperate times call for desperate measures. I’ll even depend on police support if it means that I get Megan back, but maybe only after we’ve exhausted all our resources.
“Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll call you back.”
I catch Lars looking at me cautiously in the car’s rearview mirror. He’s worried that I’m losing my shit but he has other things to concern himself with like where the hell Parker is.
“Have you heard from Parker?” I ask him.
“No,” Lars says solemnly. It’s obvious that he’s worried about his partner and friend but fuck Parker. If he was doing his damn job, Megan would be in the penthouse in our bed next to me where she belongs.
“How long has it been since you’ve talked to him?”
“I don’t know, maybe a few hours. The last time I saw him was with you.”
“Was he acting strange? Did he say anything that made you think something was off?”
“That kid is always acting strange,” Lars mocks. “But to answer your question, nothing was off.”
“If he isn’t dead already, I’m going to kill him,” I say with a hard edge.
“He could be in some real trouble, Hunter.” And I can feel that just like Megan are the words he withholds from the rest of his statement.
But I know Lars is right. Disappearing without a word is not something Parker’s ever done. For all we know they have Megan and Parker. But I’m just so consumed with rage and fear that I can’t see straight. I want to blame somebody when there isn’t any one person at fault but myself.
When we arrive at the airport, Lars double parks at the departure area, knowing full well the car will be towed by some predatory towing company but we can deal with that later. We both quickly exit the vehicle and I run to the closest airline agent, cutting in front of a line of angry travelers.
“Hey, you can’t just cut the line like that!”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
The agent purses her lips at me when I don’t budge out of the way.
“Sir, there’s a line.”
“This is an emergency,” I tell her, trying my damndest to hold on to the last bit of restraint I have. “A woman has been kidnapped and brought against her will to this airport. I need to know how many flights are headed to New Orleans today.”
“Sir, you have to wait your turn.”
“Did you not hear me? A woman’s life is at stake?”
“Would you like me to call LAX police to help you, sir?”
A random man tries tapping me on the shoulder, probably in an attempt to punch me in the face for my intrusion but I can hear Lars taking care of it behind me so I continue with my pursuit of information.
“I need to know the flights.”
She exhales in clear frustration with me and points to the electronic board a few feet away. “You can check the board for all outgoing flights right over there, sir.”
“The board doesn’t show every flight leaving today, only upcoming ones, and I need them all,” I retort, slightly raising my voice. Then I take a breath. “Just give me what I need and I’ll move out of the way so you can help the rest of these people.”
I can tell I’ve flustered the woman who rapidly blinks a few times and then furiously types at the keyboard of her computer.
“There are five more departures with three different airlines. I don’t have the capability of printing them out so here.”
She jots down each flight and airline on a small piece of paper and hurriedly hands me the note.
“Thank you.”
The good news is that the departure times are spread out enough that we should be able to catch each one before they leave. The bad news is that LAX is a huge airport and the gates for these flights are spread out. We’ll have to split up.
“You take these two gates,” I tell Lars. “And I’ll check these three. The other team can keep an eye on the entrances and exits just in case he changes his plans. Keep your phone on. Leave no stone unturned. She may be in a restaurant or a bathroom or–”
“I’m on it, Hunter. Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”
I never took much notice of just how many people travel through the airport on any given day but now I see. Searching for Megan among the throngs of people sitting in departure areas and eateries is like looking for a needle in a haystack—especially when every woman I see suddenly looks like her.
“Excuse me, have you seen this woman?” I show every single person I come across one of my favorite pictures of Megan on my cell phone. It’s one taken in the morning light and she’s working on one of her paintings in the apartment. I called her name and she turned around, somewhat startled, but smiling…and I took the shot.
I check in with Lars and the second security team thirty minutes later and feel defeated when they tell me what I already know. They haven’t had any luck locating Megan and suddenly my rage morphs into a moment of sudden clarity.
I call Vaughn.
“We did exactly what he wanted us to do,” I tell him. “We’re spinning our wheels.”
“How so?”
“They’re not here Vaughn. I don’t feel her.”
“You don’t feel her? What am I supposed to do with that kind of logic, Hunter?”
“Fabre knew we would come here looking for them. Think about it. Taking Megan was not in the plan. She just happened to be downstairs when they got Naomi.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And if it was us and we had to suddenly change the plan, what would we do?”
There’s a long pause and then Vaughn responds, “We’d drive.”
Exactly.
“I’ll get Lars. You pull the teams. We need to get on the road. We’ve wasted too much time in here.”
I check the time.
If Fabre stayed in that damn car with the girls and hit the highway, they have two hours on us.
“They’ll have to pee at some point, especially because Megan’s pregnant. They’ll stop and burn up valuable time. If we haul ass we can catch up to them. It’s a long fucking way to Louisiana from here.”
The thought that he’s dragging my pregnant fiancee across the country, pregnant, and probably scared is almost too much to bear. Trying to catch up when he has a two-hour head start is not productive.
But I know what is.
“No,” I say in a deadly calm voice. “We’re going to fly to Louisiana and meet that motherfucker with a welcome party of our own. Book us a private jet in Burbank.”
“On it.”
“And Vaughn?”
“Yeah, Hunt?”
“Don’t skimp on the ammo.”
It’s about to be war.