Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
If they find the room at the hotel and everything I left there, they’ll find this.
I rose slowly to my feet, brushing the dust from my hands as I took in the empty room around me. The air was cold, heavy, and damp, and the walls wept with moisture and mildew, but the silence didn’t unsettle me. I wasn’t afraid because I’d already made my peace with whatever was coming.
All that remained was to wait and hold the line. I would do it for Webb, for everyone who had ever counted on me, and maybe—hopefully—for the raccoons, too. Outside the door, the lock scraped again, the sound slicing through the silence like a warning.
I stayed seated, not even bothering to lift my head, as the heavy thud of boots echoed across the concrete floor. The door creaked open, and in stepped the larger of Maddox’s men—the one built like he could lift a truck without breaking a sweat. His expression was carved into something between cold amusement and quiet anticipation, the kind of look that said he was already looking forward to whatever came next. He held something in his hand, and even before he spoke, I knew exactly what it was.
“Cute little stunt.” He stepped just inside the room, holding up the torn packaging as if it were a prize. “You left this on the bed. Thought you were clever, huh?”
My pulse ticked a little faster, but I kept my face still.
He dropped the cardboard onto the floor with a flick of his fingers and moved closer, boots scuffing the dusty concrete. “Nobody’s coming, sweetheart. You think someone’s watching out for you, but they’re not. You should’ve minded your own business.”
He waited, expecting a reaction, but I gave him nothing. Eventually, he turned and walked out, and the door slammed shut behind him. The lock clicked back into place, and I was alone again.
I let out a slow breath through my nose, shaking it off. Well, just a little. There was no way anyone could go through what I was without worrying about crapping their pants, and I was no different.
They’d found the packaging, but they hadn't seen the tracker. I still had a chance.
I stood and reached beneath the chair, feeling for the device I’d hidden earlier. Once it was in my hand, I lifted my shirt and carefully slid it down the front of my jeans, tucking it into the waistband of my underwear just above my hipbone. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was secure—and, more importantly, unlikely to be found. They hadn’t tied me up or bothered with a thorough search, and if they did, the device was small and flat enough to pass as nothing more than a harmless piece of clothing hardware.
Letting my shirt fall back into place, I brushed off my hands. For a few minutes, I leaned back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, letting my brain wander just to keep the panic from settling in too deep.
If this were a movie, something would’ve happened by now.
Maybe an earthquake. Something big and biblical, cracking the ground wide open and swallowing Maddox and his goons into the earth. Or a hurricane. A wild one, roaring through the building, ripping steel and concrete apart while I clung to a buried pipe, hair whipping around like I was on a poster.
Maybe SWAT would have dropped in with ropes, helmets, and precision timing. Or something even more unhinged—like genetically engineered dinosaurs breaking loose from some underground lab, stampeding through the site, and chomping on the mercenaries while I rolled under a forklift, slick with gasoline from the gas line I’d “accidentally” cut.
Perhaps even my army of raccoons running in to save the day.
But this wasn’t a movie. There was no dramatic twist, no sudden rescue, and no music swelling in the background.
It was just me in a concrete room, with a bruised face and the hope that I’d bought myself enough time to think of something. Because I had to.
If that tracker worked—if the signal reached the right people—Webb would come. I knew it like I knew how to breathe.
But until that moment came, I had to stay ahead of them—stay sharp, stay focused, and find a way out. And if I couldn’t? If this really was the end of the line? Then, at least, I knew Webb and his family were safe. So was mine. That was something I could live with, even if I didn’t walk away from this. Still, deep down, I wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Webb
Jackson’s house had become our makeshift command center, chosen out of necessity and strategy. The hotel was too exposed—too easy to watch, too public to risk—and the ranch was too far out. If we had any chance of finding Gabby quickly, we needed to stay local and mobile. Jackson’s place, hidden deep within a wooded neighborhood on the edge of Orlando, struck the perfect balance: close enough to the city to respond fast, yet quiet and tucked away enough to avoid drawing attention.