Chapter 45
DECLAN
We drive a few blocks before pulling over. Oliver parks and we hash out our theories. It’s been twelve minutes since Charlie called. “Let’s determine where we think he might take her before we head back to headquarters. I may send you back out on your bike to go find her,” he tells me.
We need to find her first, then we can address Ian’s deception and figure out just how long X.C. was working against us before he staged his death.
“We could message one of Ian’s team to ask if they could hack his computer for us . . .” I begin.
Ian may have secret messages from X.C. that could give us some clue, but I’m not sure I trust any of his team until we can re-evaluate anyone our head of IT hired in the last year. The look Oliver gives me confirms he has the same qualms.
My phone chimes, as does Oliver’s.
I check my device and it is a message from Charlie. I tap open the message at the same time Oliver murmurs “Jesus!” under his breath.
The message loads on my phone. It’s an image.
Charlie is tied to a chair. Her face is tight. She is wincing in pain, or perhaps at the harsh light on her.
Charlie Ross
Tampa shipyards. Now.
That’s all the text below the image reads.
“It’s X.C.,” I say aloud.
I want to scream. I want to rage and pound my fists against Oliver’s luxurious dashboard.
I want to end X.C. for all he has done to hurt and betray me, and now he has Charlie!
I wanted to punch Blaed and Castillo for being flirty with her.
But this?! Kidnapping her? Tying her up?
I will murder this man if I ever see him again. It is a fact.
Oliver starts the car and navigates to the other side of town. Each stoplight is a personal affront. Every slow driver is culpable, an accomplice to Charlie’s kidnapping.
This is a nightmare. This is the epitome of terror.
My greatest fear has been realized, and not even twelve hours have passed since I decided to break my steadfast rule.
Since I let Charlie in and let myself love her, and now she has already been taken.
My subconscious is playing out in real time.
My anger subsides to let in a crushing wave of sadness and loss.
Can we get there in time? Can we save her? What if we can’t?
Lock it up, Davidson, I chide myself. There will be time for emotions later. Not now. I need to focus and think. To use my specialized skills to save her.
My mind races with options. Can I trade myself for Charlie? Whatever fate X.C. has planned for her, I’ll step in and take it. The man wanted me dead before anyways.
Stress radiates from Oliver as well. “I’ll never forgive myself,” he mumbles as we sit at the longest red light known to man.
I feel the same exact way. I shouldn’t have left. To go on a training ride? Yes, it was to clear my head so I could think straight. But I shouldn’t have left her.
Our conversation from last night replays in my mind.
“Do you sometimes think someone else could save the day?” she’d asked me.
I’d reflexively answered no because all I’ve ever wanted to do was help, to save people.
It’s who I am. And when it comes to Charlie, I’ll be damned if I don’t try to save her now.
I get what she was after, though. Can someone else take all the risk?
Can I let my life be dedicated to something else?
For once in my life, the answer to letting someone else be the hero is both no and yes.
I want to be the one to save the day, but I also don’t want the day to have to be saved at all.
We near the port and I ask Oliver, “What’s our plan? Come in hot? Split up?”
Oliver gestures for me to pop open the glove compartment. One handgun is in there. I check and it’s loaded. “I have another in the back.”
I nod, grateful that I don’t have to tell him my handgun is in the glove compartment of my SUV, which is at the safehouse because I spent the night there.
“We have a shipment of leftover shirts heading out today from the Tampa shipyards,” Oliver explains. “I don’t believe in coincidences. I bet whatever ship it’s on, that’s where they’re keeping Charlie.”
I remember this now; Charlie was managing something about it when we were in the storage unit.
“Have you neutralized Ian?” I ask Oliver.
He pulls up his phone and the video feed for the safehouse. Ian is rocking on the floor next to the metal door to the tunnels, his face scrunched in pain.
“He isn’t the only one who knows his way around a keyboard,” Oliver says with a wink.
“Jammed the wireless signal. Even with his unlimited data, he’s not getting a message in or out of there.
And I’m not about to let up on the alarm either.
Let him burst an eardrum for his trouble. ” Oliver pockets his phone.
I give him a nod, because it’s not my place to tell my boss “good work!” but with Ian contained, we now know there shouldn’t be any extra surprises waiting for us inside.
The shipyard is locked on a Saturday morning so Oliver parks outside. I get out and tuck the handgun into the pouch at the back of my cycling jersey. Oliver heads to the back of his SUV and opens his toolbox. Roadside tools, a set of shears, and a spare gun are what he needs.
First, we use the jack to prop the car and Oliver turns on the hazard lights, giving us a plausible explanation for the car being on this stretch of road. The shears cut a perfect line in the fence so we can sneak in. Now all we have to do is find the right ship.
I give a nod to Oliver and we get moving. There’s no time to waste.
I’m coming for you, Charlie.