Chapter Seven
KINGSTON
Never was a man so anxious to get home.
Nor a dog so particular about the place that was worthy enough to use as a makeshift bathroom.
I tried to tell myself that maybe a walk was good.
Maybe it would cool me down, let me go back into the house and take my time with her like we had the night before.
Though, I wasn't entirely sure how the hell I had pulled that off with the need coursing through me like never before. Stronger even than my first time.
All I could conclude was the desire to see her fall apart surpassed my own need to feel it myself.
Because, well, it was her.
The dream girl in real life, in my home, in my bed, in my arms.
We'd chosen not to talk about it. But, somehow, we managed to say a lot without talking. I didn't have to ask to know that she was on the same page as me. That this was something worth exploring. That getting a taste didn't satisfy the craving, that maybe no amount of gorging ever would.
I liked the idea more than I could say. Having her soft and sweet to come home to after a day of cold and hard.
Maybe she would be cuddled up under blankets on the couch with Padfoot, or—let's be real here—the four or five dogs she had insisted needed to come home and join our family.
And she'd kiss me with that wild abandon she had the night before, and this morning.
Then we'd take the beasts for a long walk, come home, make dinner, fall into bed and into each other.
We could show up at Sunday dinner holding hands, take the ribbing from our friends and family as a united force.
We could move into her place eventually, after the work was done.
Maybe, just maybe, if I was the luckiest sonofabitch in the world, she could give me kids some day.
We could watch them from the back porch, kicking balls around as the dogs chased them across the field.
Roots.
And a foundation.
We could have that together.
It was something I had never really had, at least not since I was young myself.
I wanted them more than I could say.
And I wanted them with her.
Maybe it was new, technically, but we had known each other for a long time, we'd had endless conversations, we knew each other's quirks.
Sure, there was still a lot to learn, little bits to uncover, love, or learn to tolerate.
I wasn't naive enough to think everything would always be morning kisses and pancakes.
There would be little frustrations. There would be big issues to discuss.
There would be compromises and uncomfortable discussions.
It was all part of sharing a life with someone.
I knew that well enough, having shared so much of my life in very close proximity to four other people—fighting, compromising, debating, coming to decisions as a group.
If anything, I felt it forged stronger bonds—being able to talk shit out, or fight things out, no single person's opinion holding more weight than another.
"Thank Christ," I grumbled when Padfoot found a patch of grass behind an abandoned warehouse and finally peed.
"We got our girl at home, you know," I told him, his head angling up, tipping to the side like he was listening.
"And you're out here acting like you have all the time in the world," I added as he finally fell into step beside me.
Nixon would be showing up soon to take Savea over to the shop to handle the animals.
The people who owned the parrot would be picking him up in a few hours too.
That would be a bit of a weight off of Savvs, not feeling guilty about the animals in boarding not getting as much attention as she would normally give them.
All the other animals at the store lived their lives in cages, so it didn't faze them that they continued to do so.
Without a bunch of people peeking in at them, kids tapping on the glass even though the signs expressly ask the parents to keep them from doing so.
She might still stress about the store itself being closed, the loss in revenue they clearly couldn't afford, but that was Harry's problem. If and when I could find him, that is.
That slimy bastard was elusive for a common deadbeat.
It wasn't like he had some ties to criminal masterminds or anything.
But he had somehow managed to fall off the face of the earth since his beating.
Which proved he wasn't the moron I originally took him for. But, of course, it made my job harder.
That was why Nixon was on Savea-watch again today when I wanted to be with her. I needed to get her case solved, make her problems go away. We couldn't give something a real start if we were living in this world where she was stuck, she couldn't live her own life.
It wasn't normal.
Or likely healthy.
For her, for us.
As much as I liked the idea- in a primal, selfish sort of way—of hiding out together, away from the world, with no distractions.
But we would need to learn how to coexist as the two human beings we were, with our own lives and obligations, with our own schedules and demands on our time.
That was when we would know for sure how this was going to go.
So the sooner I got to the problem with her chickenshit of a boss, the better.
I mean, I get that he got himself into some shit, but the moment he realized he was putting Savea in jeopardy with his actions, he should have manned up, dealt with it.
Not skipped town and make her handle it on her own when it had nothing to do with her.
When she was an innocent. A saint, really, for putting up with his crap as long as she had been doing it.
Today, I wanted to make some strides, get closer to an explanation, a trail to these guys so we could work something out, make sure they left her alone so she could get back to her life.
I heard it before I saw anything.
The beep.
Not just the steady, disconcerting, but un-alarming beep beep beep of the alarm as it waited for you to plug in the code.
No.
This was the screaming siren song of the system being breached.
My heart surged in my chest as my hand went for my pockets, wondering why I hadn't gotten a call, realizing I hadn't grabbed my cell.
I was running before I was even aware of telling my body to do so, working on pure adrenaline, moving faster than I was sure I ever had before. And I was someone who was practiced at running away from crime scenes. I knew how to move.
I was pretty sure I could win an Olympic medal, though, when the alarm was screaming in a way that said Savea was vulnerable, that someone might have exploited a careless moment, that she was paying for my stupidity.
"Savea!" my voice bellowed into my apartment, knowing immediately she was gone, feeling the churning sickness in my stomach at that realization.
It wasn't like she had come to find me and forgot to set the code, or Nixon had shown up and didn't do it either.
No.
Because even as my body was charging through my place, screaming her name, I could hear them.
Sirens.
The alarm company had called the NBPD.
I was about to be swarmed, inundated with questions.
But I couldn't find a way to think about that, about how I would explain without hindering my own investigation.
All I could think about was Savea.
What she had felt.
If she had screamed for me, sure I would come to save her, only to fail.
Only to have her be taken.
"Rivers!" a voice called, screamed over the ear-splitting alarm as my eyes fell on the overturned coffee table, the suspicious red stain on the edge.
My stomach clenched.
Suddenly, the ringing stopped, surprising me enough to shock me out of my thoughts, my worries, to find Nixon standing there, eyes keen, knowing without having to be told exactly what happened.
"You need to put a BOLO out," I demanded, turning to look at Detective Lloyd, someone I had dealt with too many times to count in conjunction with many of my cases.
I had always found him fair, passionate about causes that harmed someone too weak to defend themselves, people who the justice system he had devoted his life to, failed.
Lloyd was somewhere in his late thirties if I had to guess, tall, lean, dark-haired, a little rough in the eyes, but if you looked, you could find kindness there, a soft spot he was careful not to let others exploit if the cause was not noble enough.
"On who?" he asked, already reaching for a pad.
"Savea Saiza," I told him, charging through my apartment, finding my phone.
"Is she missing?"
"She was just kidnapped," I declared. "Two or three men. Dark hair and eyes is all I know. They have been looking for her for a while. I don't have time to tell you about it. Nixon..." I demanded, jerking my chin at him.
"I got it. Go."
"I am guessing I shouldn't ask where," Lloyd murmured, knowing that some parts of my business required things that skirted the line of lawfulness, and being in his job long enough to know that sometimes things like that were required to bring about results. So he looked the other way.
"Nix," I turned back.
"Yeah?"
"Get Atlas to take care of the animals," I told him.
"Savea would hand us all our balls if we didn't," he agreed, already reaching for his cell as I turned, ran out, knowing someone would show up, take care of Padfoot.
It was the major perk of a large family used to needing to close ranks, band together when it was needed.
Someone always had your back, got your mail, shoveled your walkways.
You never had to worry. You rarely had to ask.
Jumping in my car, I drove around town once, looking for her, desperate to be the one to swoop in and save the day. Before anything worse could possibly happen to her.
God.