46. Liam
LIAM
The first jolt runs through the jet without warning. The crystal tumbler rattles in my hand. I set it back into the molded console as the aircraft rolls again.
“The LIE is a parking lot,” Max says over the phone. “I should’ve taken the helicopter.”
He’s not exaggerating. My PI told me the same thing when I sent him to Helena. I thought he was closer. He’s not.
“She’s still not answering,” I say.
“She’s not answering me either. So it’s not personal.”
A second jolt rolls through the jet, harder this time. The seatbelt sign illuminates above the cabin door. Max’s voice breaks in my ear. I caught half a sentence before the call cuts entirely. The satellite won’t reconnect, and my phone shows nothing but dead bars.
“Fuck.”
I don’t like being cut off mid-call, and I sure as hell don’t like not being able to reach her.
Gradually the shaking smooths out. The vibration steadies. A chime signals restored connectivity, and the signal bars crawl back to life.
My screen lights up. One missed call.
Helena.
“Goddamn it!”
I tap the message.
“Liam. It’s me. Something happened to Olivia. There’s been an accident in Mexico. Tijuana. I’m heading there now. Call me back.”
Everything inside me hardens into steel.
The pilot’s voice cuts in. “Mr. Hunt, we’ll be beginning our descent into JFK shortly. We’ll be on the ground in approximately twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes. Too long.
I dial her again before the announcement finishes. Voicemail again. “Helena, call me as soon as you get this.”
I then call my secretary. “Get me the Mexican embassy.”
“Certainly, Sir.”
I text Max while I wait, bringing him up to speed. My phone is stacked with notifications I don’t have time to deal with, but I see it. An unread message from her.
“The line is busy, Sir,” my secretary’s voice returns. “I’ll keep trying.”
“Check if there has been an accident just outside Tijuana involving Olivia Mercer,” I say, my eyes already on Helena’s message.
Cowards take the money and leave. Sounds familiar? Liam Hunt, I’m not your bet. But there’s something I need to
It stops mid-sentence, perhaps sent in a rush. But that first line?
“What the hell…”
I said those words to Victor, in an entirely different context. And the bet—that goes back to the first game, the money I offered when I thought she wouldn’t play. Yes, I bet on her. But he twisted it. He let her hear what he wanted her to hear.
And that last line—there’s something I need to—that isn’t anger. That’s hesitation, something unfinished.
My phone rings before I can think further. The number is international.
“Mr. Liam Hunt. This is the Mexican Embassy,” the voice says after I answer. “There are currently no reports of any accident involving Olivia Mercer. We have checked hospital intake and police filings, and found no relevant entries. We will contact you if new information becomes available.”
I thank him and get back to my secretary. “Give me Olivia Mercer.”
“Certainly, Sir.”
I’m on hold for a few seconds, then my secretary says, “It’s gone straight to voicemail.”
This has Victor written all over it.
If he killed Pierre in Paris to get the will at dawn, he’d only need eight hours to return to New York. Less if he pushed it, more than enough time to reach Helena before Max or my PI had a chance.
We land. I’m already moving by the time the jet bridge connects.
Max rings. “She’s not home. I asked around. No one saw anything. Rush hour, nobody pays attention.”
“Get to the office,” I say. “I want Victor’s last twelve hours. Every move.”
“Done. What about Olivia? You have confirmation?”
“The accident in Mexico never happened.”
“All right. I’ll pull aviation logs,” he says. “We’ll find where that son of a bitch is headed.”
“Was Anna there?”
“No. The house is quiet.”
“No barking?”
I can hear him thinking. “Actually, no. Call Prior?”
Sergeant Prior from the NYPD—the guy is our insider, our security guarantee for the Game.
“No. Not yet. You go to the office. I’m going to her place.”
Her studio is locked. So is the front door. I’m about to knock again when a bark erupts from the corner of the property, followed by a woman gripping a leash that’s doing absolutely nothing to restrain Alaska as she launches toward me.
“Who are you?” the woman demands, braced like she’s ready to yank the dog back.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I reply, crouching just in time to catch Alaska as she barrels into my chest.
“You’re lucky she likes you.”
“I’m Helena’s partner,” I say. I don’t have to sell it. The word comes certain because whatever happened between us, I still believe it.
The woman sizes me up before saying, “Jenna. I’m dogsitting.”
I rise, Alaska still pressed against my leg. “Did she tell you where she was going?”
“There was an accident involving her sister.”
“I heard,” I reply. “But something doesn’t add up. I really need to know where Helena is.”
Jenna hesitates, then unlocks the front door and lets me in. She lets Alaska loose.
“Do you mind if I check her room?” I ask.
She looks me over, weighing it, then nods. “Go ahead.”
Alaska stays at my heel as I move through Helena’s room, taking it in piece by piece without knowing exactly what I’m hunting for. The bed’s half-made, nothing is overturned, nothing screams struggle.
In the bathroom, something white catches my eye in the trash. It’s sitting right on top. I reach in and pick it up before I’ve even decided to.
“My God, Helena…”
I asked her if she was pregnant. She said no. Maybe she didn’t know. Fuck—I hope she didn’t know. The test still looks recent. I cling to that.
My palm plants against the sink. For years, I treated fatherhood like an equation I didn’t want to solve. Now the answer stands in front of me.
I’m going to be a father.
The thought doesn’t scare me. It fills my chest with joy that I never expected nor experience. A laugh escapes me, rough and real.
Father.
The word ignites something deep in my chest. Protective. Fierce.
Soft.
Alaska nudges my knee as if she senses the change.
“I know,” I sniffle as I ruffle her fur. “You’re going to have someone small to guard.”
But they’re not here.
I head back downstairs. “Jenna, did you notice anything when you arrived?”
“I saw them leave while I was stopped at the light on the other side. They grabbed a taxi. Just after noon.”
“From right outside?”
She nods. “She said she was going with an old friend. I’m sure it was a guy.”
“Thank you.”
When I’m back in my car, I call Max again.
“Found anything?”
“Victor filed for FAA privacy blocking. He’s dark on public tracking.”
That confirms he’s flying, but we have no visibility on where he’s headed. “Fuck him.”
“I’m trying other channels.”
“Pull taxi data from her address just after noon,” I say. “Cross-check airport drop-offs. Private terminals first.”
“We’ll find her,” he says.
“Hell, Max—we’re not losing her.” The two lines on the pregnancy test won’t let me go. “Let’s start in Tijuana. Get Arturo to help us.”
“Hang on, Liam. I’ve got something,” he says, keyboard tapping in the background. “Mexicali! He filed a flight plan to Mexicali.”