Chapter 40
FORTY
brIAR
I pace through the apartment, my heart pounding, worry gnawing at every inch of my body.
They have River.
They have her.
Fists and sharp words, guns and fear filling every cell of my body. No freedom. Forced to do what they want. And feeling so fucking hopeless.
“Dammit,” I whisper, swiping at my cheeks as my tears spill over.
Freaking out isn’t going to help, I know that.
I need to be calm. Need to let Pascal do his thing.
But what if his thing yields the same results of the last few months?
Nothing.
I know exactly how dangerous the Lyons are.
They haven’t been able to get me here in Brooks’s apartment, but only because I’ve stayed on the top floor, living like a princess locked away in a tower, security monitoring each and every person accessing the building.
Groceries delivered.
Foster kittens and their gear too—though Buttercup and Tulip are officially ours now.
Friends coming here, and only here.
Safety. Companionship. Food. Connection.
I’ve had everything I need, even if I’ve been going more than a bit stir crazy.
Still, I’ve started filling out my life—signing up for several online classes, helping Chrissy and Rory with some administration work for their charities, trying and failing at several new hobbies.
Turns out I’m hopeless when it comes to quilting.
And crocheting. And embroidery.
Maybe I’ll try out scrapbooking next.
After we get my friend back.
My phone buzzes and my heart lurches, thinking it might be them.
But it’s just Brooks.
I swipe. “You find her?”
The pause before he replies tells me enough. No, they haven’t found her.
“Never mind,” I murmur. “What do you need?”
Another pause before his tone goes deliberately gentle. “Are you okay to look at a photograph?” he asks. My brows drag together but before I can say of course, he adds, “River’s in it, Raindrop. And it’s not going to be easy to look at.”
I inhale.
Fuck. Fuck.
Then I shove that all down. “Send me the picture.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I take a breath. “Let me help.”
A blip of quiet. “Okay, baby. Hang on, I’m sending it over.”
There’s a rustling, the whoosh of the text being sent, and a moment later, my cell buzzes. I put him on speaker, bring up the message, and the image slams into me, nearly sending me to my knees. I inhale sharply, vision going black at the edges.
“Briar?” Brooks’s voice is worried, like he’s called my name more than once.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “They took me there. When I…” Memories cascade through my brain and I have to breathe through them. “When I wouldn’t do what they wanted, that’s where they would hurt me.”
Someone curses and before I can place the voice, there’s a crash that has me jumping.
“Brooks?” I ask.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Thorn is here, he’s the one who got the letter, and”—he hesitates—“and he’s not taking it well.”
“Oh.”
“Can you tell us where the location is?” Pascal asks.
I close my eyes, shake my head. Then realize they can’t see me through the phone. “No,” I say. “They always took me in the middle of the night and blindfolded me during the drive.”
“So it was within driving distance?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, forcing myself to think beyond the fear and painful memories, trying to ferret out any details that might help them.
“It wasn’t a long drive. Maybe an hour and—” I stop, think, breathe.
“It was definitely near the ocean. I could smell the salt in the air, hear the crash of the waves when they brought me inside.”
“And what did inside look like?”
I tell them about the bodies bumping into mine as they led me down a narrow staircase, the echo of voices when I was brought into a large open room. A warehouse that would sometimes be empty, sometimes full of boxes on pallets.
“I didn’t get good glimpses of their faces,” I say. “It was dark and cold and I was scared. But the floor…” I tug at the memory. “There was a logo on the floor.” Yellow peeling paint, the black outlines of letters forming—
“It was a French name. Jardeaux? Jarnac? Jar—”
“—din?” I hear Thorn ask.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Jardin Logistics,” Thorn says. “They do international fulfillment for my company.”
Quiet falls.
“We need to move on this quickly,” Brooks says, and though I have the feeling he’s not talking to me, I tell them, “Go. I’ll text if I think of anything else that might be helpful.”
“Thanks, Raindrop,” Brooks murmurs.
“Just find her.”
“We will,” he promises.
I hang up, know they’re going to do their best to keep that promise.
But as the hours pass and no word comes, the knot in my stomach grows.
Because I know exactly how dangerous these people can be.
My phone rings and I jerk, dislodging Tulip and Buttercup.
Normally, their meows of protests would be adorable, making me smile as I cuddled them close again.
But I’m too focused on muting the movie I’m not watching and answering the call.
“Brooks?”
“We found her,” he says. “She’s okay and Pascal’s team detained the men who were holding her.”
Relief has me melting back into the couch cushions. “Thank God. Is she okay?”
“A little banged up, but otherwise she’s all right.
I’m still at the office since Pascal had to pull guys from here and the apartment to join in on the operation, but he’s going to swing by and pick me up once they’re close.
The rest of the team is heading directly back to you with River.
They should be there in a little under an hour. ”
“What does she need?”
“I’m not entirely sure, Raindrop,” he murmurs. “But I suspect a safe space to land and time to heal.”
“We can give her that.”
“Yes, we can.”
There are voices in the background. “I need to go, baby. I’ll be there soon and we’ll figure everything out.”
We exchange “I love you”s and goodbyes and hang up.
I sit in my relief for a second before nervous energy ripples through me and I jump to my feet. I’ll make her something.
Cookies or banana bread or—
No, just bread.
River’s sourdough starter is in the fridge.
I’ll make her that quick bread she likes.
Bustling into the kitchen, I start gathering ingredients—flour and the starter, eggs and baking soda and salt. I decide to get crazy and shred some cheddar cheese, chop a jalapeno.
Just as I’m pouring the batter into the pan, the doorbell rings.
I glance at the clock over the stove.
That was fast.
Hurrying to the door, I don’t really process that Pascal’s crew all have codes to the front door, that they wouldn’t have knocked and waited for me to answer, especially with River in tow.
A cursory knock before coming in?
Yeah.
Standing on the other side until I open the wooden panel?
No.
But that thought doesn’t cross my mind—
Not until I twist the knob, open the door, and…
See the woman pointing a gun at me.
The Lyons have found me again.