Chapter 5
RAZOR
Ileave Sultan with my problem. I will return later today, and he will have information for me. There is no misunderstanding about that.
I'm confident he'll find out who took Sunday and where they've taken her. From what I've been told, Satan's Fury runs this town and doesn't tolerate strangers operating on their turf. They have a way of finding out whenever something goes down in their territory.
My destination is the next step in finding my girl, and as I park in one of the bays in the same lot she disappeared from, I prepare to question a few of the students.
As I scan the area, I note the small compact parked under a nearby tree, and my heart clenches.
Sunday’s car.
I have the license, make, and model number. The Reapers paid for this, and I have the details that Lucy sent over.
My tread is heavy as I slam the door of the van and take a few steps to the place she was last seen.
I run my hands over the shiny white paint, picturing her behind the wheel, singing along to the crazy tunes she adored, as if the world wasn’t watching.
It thumps me hard in the heart. Why didn’t I protect her? I set her free in a hostile world by not being better.
I noted it in her eyes, felt it on her lips. The soft smiles she directed my way, her light touch, and gentle kisses. Her easy conversation as we lay side by side in her bed, our fingers entwined, her talking, me listening.
I maintained indifference, but I’m a good actor. I hung onto every sweet word she said, loving the soft lilt of her words. Her smooth skin, her impudent grin, and the way she dealt with my shit.
Sunday was—is the first woman who gets me, and I let her down. Big time.
“Can I help you?”
I turn, noting two guys standing a safe distance away, nervously asking a question I would ordinarily ignore. However, I’m here for answers, and from the look of it, these guys may be forthcoming, and I lean against Sunday’s car.
“I’m investigating the disappearance of Sunday Monroe. Can you tell me anything?”
“Are you the cops?” One of them asks, his doubt obvious.
“A private investigator.”
He nods, my description adequate, and I wonder when kids will wise up and ask more questions before spilling their guts to any stranger who spins them a lie.
“We didn’t see what happened but Scott Patrick was talking to her before she was, well, abducted.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He’ll be at football practice. But you can’t go there. The coach won’t let anyone on the field during training.”
“Point me in the right direction.”
I shift off the car, and he swallows hard as I advance, his finger pointing nervously in the distance.
“Third building, turn right. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.”
I turn and heading off, I wonder how long it will be before the cops arrive.
The college is smaller than most, and as I round the corner, I notice the pitch in the distance; yells and movement proving the training session is underway.
As I head onto the field, a couple of the guys do a doubletake, and I call out, “Where can I find Scott Patrick?”
A man calls out.
“Who the fuck are you? Get the hell out of here.”
I’ve got to admire his courage and guess this must be the coach.
I turn and head toward him, my fists clenched, and where there were jeers before, silence is golden.
He stands facing me, an angry frown on his face, and I repeat my question.
“Where can I find Scott Patrick?”
“Who are you to storm into my practice and demand one of my players?”
“I’m your worst fucking nightmare if you refuse.”
My low growl is for his ears only, and he obviously prioritizes his health because he calls out, “Scott, get over here!”
There’s a movement behind me, and as I turn, I notice a jock heading my way, his expression nervous.
“You were there when Sunday was taken.”
I don’t waste words—I never do, and he nods, the worry on his expression telling me he is concerned. For her.
“It happened so fast.” He runs his fingers through his buzz cut.
“We were swapping numbers and then she had to get to class. Two cars boxed her in, and before I could raise the alarm or try to help, they tore off out of the parking lot with Sunday inside.”
Why can’t I get past the fact they swapped numbers? What the actual hell?
I narrow my eyes, the sudden need to tear this jock apart with my hands an inconvenient distraction, and I grit my teeth and snap, “Then what did you do?”
“I reported it to the principal. She called the cops, and that’s all I know.”
“Where can I find the principal?”
He points back the way I came.
“First block, main entrance. Her name is Principal Hanrahan.”
I say nothing, merely glowering at him with rage and spin on my heel, leaving him to deal with now being on my list. He wanted my girl. He had his hand on her phone, and he had better hope that’s all he had his hands on.
I’m aware I’m acting like a caveman; some things never change, but I am very protective over Sunday and I let her down. If I had been better, she wouldn’t be in danger now, and I’m angrier at myself more than anyone right now.
By the time I make it to the main entrance, the cop car is rolling through the gates.
I waste no time and head inside, going straight to a desk and noting the receptionist’s stunned expression.
“I’m sorry, can I help you?”
“I’m here to see the principal.”
“Does she know?”
For some reason, I appreciate her question and disguise a smile.
“No, but she will be happy to meet me because it concerns Sunday Monroe.”
“I see.”
She studies me with a blank expression, and I’m impressed with her resolve because she shakes her head.
“Then perhaps you should call the principal first and make an appointment. There are strict rules where it concerns student safety.”
“Like the one where you allow two cars onto school property to abduct one of your students in plain sight.”
“That was out of our control.”
“But it was on school grounds. As soon as those students pass through those gates, they are your responsibility, so ma’am, if it’s not too much to ask, please tell the principal I am here to ask questions.”
She shakes her head as the cops head through the doors, and her relief is tangible as she addresses them.
“This man walked in with no appointment and is demanding to meet with the principal. He is asking about Sunday Monroe.”
One of the cops steps forward. “I see.” His tone is dismissive as he turns to me, saying firmly, “Please step outside, sir. You must follow the rules and make an appointment.”
“Must I?”
I turn and lean on the counter, folding my arms and glare at the two cops who are considerably smaller than me.
“Before I do, may I ask you to call your captain? I believe his name is Bradley Riverton. I would like to hear it from him.”
“Sir, the captain does not take calls. You must leave.”
With a sigh, I say over my shoulder to the woman, “Call the principal. Tell her I want a brief word in her office.”
Then I lift my phone and press the contacts, holding it to my ear as the call is answered immediately.
“Brad, it’s Razor. I believe Ryder King may have mentioned me.”
The cops shift on their feet, glancing between them, appearing mighty uncomfortable right now.
“Two of your men are preventing me from going about my business at the college. Perhaps you would like to take care of that.”
I hand the phone to the cop who did the talking and love how his face turns white and his lower lip quivers.
“I’m sorry, sir, of course. It was a misunderstanding.”
He swallows hard.
“I apologize. It won’t happen again.”
As he cuts the call, he hands it back to me, and I direct my next sentence to the woman at the desk.
“Make the call, darlin’. If it’s not too much trouble.”
Then I jerk my thumb toward the exit.
“I won’t keep you. I’m guessing you should be out there searching for Sunday anyway and not preventing someone else from doing your fucking job.”
They nod, turning quickly, and as they head back the way they came, I hear the woman behind me whisper, “I have a visitor for you, Principal Hanrahan. I really think you should see him.”
As I wait, I sigh inside. Life can be so difficult at times. I blame myself for having these conversations in the first place, but nothing is getting in the way of me finding my girl.