Chapter 16 Kick
KICK
Iwoke to the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand.
For a moment, I didn’t move. Isabel was still curled against me, her breath warm on my chest and her hand resting over my heart. Light filtered through the curtains, soft and gray. It was barely dawn. I didn’t want to disturb this—the peace we’d finally found, the quiet after the storm.
But my phone buzzed again.
I reached for it carefully, trying not to wake her, and saw a text from Thomas.
Need to see you at the main house. Urgent.
I frowned. Thomas wasn’t the type for dramatics. If he said urgent, he meant it.
I eased out from under Isabel, replacing my body with a pillow so she wouldn’t wake to cold sheets.
She murmured something in her sleep and burrowed deeper into the blankets, one hand moving to rest on her belly.
I stood there for a moment, watching her.
The woman I loved. The mother of my child.
Safe and warm and finally, finally mine.
I put on jeans and a sweatshirt, shoved my feet into boots, and headed out.
The walk to the main house took less than five minutes. The vineyard stretched out on either side of the path, its dormant vines reaching toward a sky heavy with clouds. The air was cold and damp, carrying the promise of rain. I shoved my hands in my pockets and picked up my pace.
The main house was a sprawling Victorian that had been in the Whitmore family for generations. Thomas had restored it himself over the years, and it showed—every detail was perfect, from the wraparound porch to the stained glass windows flanking the front door.
I knocked and waited.
Footsteps sounded inside, then the door swung open to reveal Bas, half asleep, hair sticking up on one side, wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt. He blinked at me, then rubbed his eyes.
“Kick.” He stifled a yawn and ushered me inside. “I saw you guys come back late last night. Izzy’s okay?”
The casual use of her nickname—the one only certain people were allowed to use—didn’t bother me the way it might have a month ago. “She’s good. We’re good. And shit, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday. There was just…a lot.”
“Glad you found her.” He rested against the wall. “So, if that’s all you came by to tell me, then next time, wait until a decent fucking hour, would you?” He squinted past me at the sky. “I mean, what time is it?”
“Uh, a little after six?”
“Jesus.” He pushed me out of the way so he could open the door. “Go back to bed, Avila. It’s way too early for this shit.”
I laughed, but it faded quickly. “Yeah, well, I’m not here to apologize. Even though I should be.” I took out my phone and showed him the text. “I’m here because your father asked me to come up to the house.”
Bas frowned at the screen. “My father?”
“That’s right.”
“Kick, my dad’s not here.” Bas straightened, suddenly more awake. “He meets a bunch of his buddies for breakfast in town every week. They get together at dawn, of all the ridiculous times. He left over an hour ago.”
We stared at each other.
The realization hit us both at the same moment.
“Oh my God,” Bas breathed.
I was already turning, already running, my boots pounding against the porch steps, the gravel path, the wet grass between the main house and the cottage. Behind me, I heard Bas swear, heard the door slam behind him, but I didn’t wait. I couldn’t wait.
The cottage door was open. Not ajar. Not cracked. Wide open, swinging gently in the morning breeze.
“Isabel!” I tore through the house. “Isabel!”
The bedroom was empty. The sheets were tangled and still warm when I pressed my hand to them. Her clothes from yesterday were draped over the chair. Her purse sat on the dresser, her phone beside it.
Bas appeared in the doorway, breathless, his feet shoved into unlaced boots. “She’s not—”
“No!” The word came out raw. Broken. “She’s not here.”
“The security cameras.” Bas was already reaching for his phone. “Dad has cameras all over the property.”
His face went pale.
“What?” I grabbed the device out of his hand. “Let me see.”
I watched the footage with my heart in my throat. The time stamp showed five minutes ago, and I watched as Isabel walked out of the cottage.
Isabel, walking out of the cottage. She was wearing my T-shirt—the one she’d slept in—and a pair of jeans she must have put on in a hurry.
Rubber boots, the kind we wore in the vineyards, were on her feet.
A man walked beside her, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in black.
His hand rested on her elbow. Not gripping. Guiding.
She wasn’t struggling. Wasn’t fighting. She walked to a dark SUV parked as close as it could get to the porch and climbed in without looking back.
I watched it three times. Four. Looking for something—a signal, a sign, anything that would tell me what had happened in those moments before the camera caught her.
The fifth time, I saw it.
Just before she climbed into the SUV, her hand moved to her stomach. A quick, protective gesture. She pressed her palm flat against the swell of our daughter, and then she got in the vehicle and was gone.
To anyone else, it would look like she left willingly.
But I knew better. There was no way she’d leave me. Not by choice. Not after everything that happened yesterday. She was protecting the baby. She was doing whatever they asked because someone had threatened our child.
“She didn’t run,” I said. Of that, I was certain.
“I know.”
“She wouldn’t leave without her phone. Without her purse.”
“I know, Kick.”
I rewound the footage. Watched it again. The way Isabel held herself, spine straight, chin up. The way she didn’t look back at the cottage.
She was scared. She was complying. And there was only one reason she would do that.
“They threatened something,” I said. “They threatened me. Or the baby. That’s the only way she’d go with them.”
Bas nodded. “That’s what I thought too.”
“Baron.” The name tasted like poison. “He had us followed. From Paso Robles. He knew exactly where we were.”
I handed the phone back to Bas and paced. I didn’t know where to start. What to do. There was only one thing I was certain of beyond knowing Isabel was forced to leave—I needed Los Caballeros, and I needed them now.
I called Snapper. He answered on the first ring, and three minutes later, he said he’d call the minute they got to the airfield and were on their way. I didn’t know who he meant by “they,” and I didn’t care.
“My father’s on his way back. The sheriff is with him, and he’s making calls.”
The sheriff? Making calls? I couldn’t think straight. Blood rushed through my veins, and I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin.
“He’s trying to determine what resources Baron has, who he might have hired.” Bas looked up at me. “We should go back to the house.”
“Give me a minute.” I searched every room of the cottage, looking for anything at all that Isabel might’ve left as a clue, but nothing looked new or out of place.
Just as we walked into the house, Thomas arrived with a man he introduced as Clayton Boone.
“I’ve got deputies on their way,” he said as he shook my hand.
“You’re the sheriff?” I asked since he was dressed in plain clothes.
He may have responded, but I didn’t hear him when my cell buzzed with a call from my brother.
“Snapper? Talk to me.”
“We just boarded at Paso Robles Municipal. Flight time on the Cessna is under thirty minutes. Press arranged for a helicopter to get us at the Sonoma Country Airfield, so we’ll be to you in under an hour at the most. In the meantime, we’re calling in every favor from everyone we know.”
I thanked him and ended the call.
Thomas, Bas, and Clayton were all head-to-head and on their phones.
An alert sounded, and Bas raced into another room.
I followed him. On the monitor, I saw Press at the gate.
“That’s Lavery Barrett,” I told him. Bas pressed a button on his cell, and the gate opened.
Press arrived seconds later, and I met him outside.
“We’ll find her,” he said, pulling me into a quick embrace.
“Baron is behind this. I fucking know he is,” I seethed.
“There is no question,” he responded as I led him inside.
“I think I know where he took her,” Bas said, spinning in my direction when we walked inside.
“Where?”
He ran a hand through his hair. For a moment, he looked younger than his years. Lost. “Miremont.”
“Why would she go there? I thought her father sold it.”
Bas’ brow furrowed. “That’s what she told me too.”
Press was typing something on his phone. “That’s what I’d heard too,” he muttered. “But Baron did not sell it. It’s still one of the Van Orr Corp’s holdings.”
“That motherfucking sonuvabitch,” Bas said under his breath. “He lied to her about it?” He turned to his father, who nodded.
“I’ve heard rumors that Baron kept the property.
Let it go dormant. Closed the winery and fired the staff,” said Thomas.
“But I never confirmed it because it wasn’t my business…
” His eyes met mine. “I’d be willing to bet this entire place—the winery, the vineyards, all of it—that’s where he took her. ”
“Where is it?”
“Let’s go!” I shouted, racing toward the door.
“Hold on, son,” said the sheriff, blocking my way. “Let’s think about how we’re going to approach this.”
“The fuck I will.” I tried to get around him, but Press grabbed my arm.
Thomas shook his head. “You have to understand something about Baron Van Orr. I’ve known him for forty years. We were best friends before things went wrong between us. And in all that time, I’ve never seen him admit he was wrong about anything. Not once.”
“I don’t give a damn about his psychology,” I snapped.