Chapter 9
Tristan
“Ashford!” My voice echoes off the garage walls as I storm back into the house. He’s in the living room, phone pressed to his ear, probably calling in more useless badges.
He holds up one finger. One fucking finger, like I’m some civilian he can dismiss. I reach him in three strides and knock the phone from his hand. It clatters across the hardwood.
“What the fuck—”
“Birdie’s car is gone,” I cut him off. “The bike is still here.”
“Any sign of struggle or breaking and entering?” He starts toward the garage, picking his phone up on the way.
“No.” I walk with him. “But see for yourself. You’re the detective.”
Latex gloves cover his hands. We stand in the garage, I on my phone, he playing cop.
“There is no sign of dragging here. No blood.” He glances at me in passing. “Is anything out of place or missing?”
My eyes roll. “The car.”
“Anything other than that, obviously?”
“Not that I know of. That fucking bastard must have carried her all the way here because there is no misplaced furniture or signs of disruption in the rest of the house either. He didn’t hotwire the car or it would have triggered the alarm.
It’s connected to the security system. He must have found the keys, which she keeps in her office, by the way, put her inside the car and took off. ”
“Unless,” he says slowly, “this whole scene was staged.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why would Birdie fake her own abduction? She has everything. Money, fame, freedom. What possible reason could drive her to do that? And did you forget that Abel did exactly the same thing with Saldana? He drugged her and put her in her own car before he fucking killed her.”
Ashford’s cop mask slides into place. “I didn’t forget, but there are many scenarios to play here.
Have you seen that note? It’s typed, not handwritten like the recent ones.
Something is off. Maybe she wanted to disappear and start over.
Maybe she realized her stalker was someone other than Abel and she was afraid.
Maybe she knew who they were and went with them willingly or maybe she’s even protecting them.
Nothing can be confirmed until forensics analyze the scene. ”
“Detective,” I spit his title like it’s an insult because it is, “she’s in danger, and you’re wasting time with conspiracy theories?
Birdie hated that car because Abel got it for her without asking for her opinion and didn’t even allow her to drive it.
Then, when she kicked him out, he put a fucking tracker in it to know where she was at all times.
If there had been anything willing about this situation, she wouldn’t have taken that car.
Add that to the long list of things you don’t know about her. ”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and glares at me. “If you ask me, she wouldn’t have chosen the bike either.”
“Because that one-of-a-kind bike she loves so much isn’t fit for stealth mode and can be easily found?”
“Because, at least, the piece-of-shit ex who got that car for her was dead.”
The urge to put my fist through his perfect jaw threatens to override every rational thought I have left. Focus. Find her. Kill him later.
“It’s my job to think of all possible scenarios, Morra. I’m not ruling out the abduction theory, but I can’t dismiss the possibility she wanted us to think exactly what you’re thinking—that she was taken against her will when she wasn’t.”
“You’re just jealous and bitter because she dumped you, and you’re putting her in danger out of spite.”
“Nobody wants to find Birdie more than I do! That’s exactly why I’m doing my job by following procedure.” He moves toward the front door. “I’ll put out a BOLO on her vehicle, check traffic cams again to see if I missed anything, see if we can track where—”
“By the time your procedure locates that car, she could be dead.” I’m already working on my phone. “I can find it now.”
“How?” But he knows how. I can see it in the way his jaw sets, the way his hand moves unconsciously toward his badge. “That’s illegal.”
“Relax. The GPS system I installed in the car has password-protected user access. If she hasn’t changed it, I can track the car. More reason to know she wouldn’t have taken the car if she didn’t want to be found.”
“Why do I have a feeling you already tried and failed?”
He’s right, but it won’t stop me. “There’s backdoor access for emergencies.” My fingers fly across the screen. “It just takes a little time.”
“You can’t just—”
A bunch of vehicles and police cars stream in. “Go dust for prints with your forensics, Ashford, while I find Birdie.”