Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“He’s got Zoey.”
“No!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the car. She shot up, hand going for the door. Lunging over the console, I wrapped my arm around her, pinning her to the seat. If somehow he’d missed her, if I’d gotten her out of sight soon enough, maybe he didn’t know she was there at all.
“Lofton, stop.”
“Go get her,” she ordered.
“I can’t,” I hissed, the admission gutting me.
“Yes, you can.” She fought against me, wild and feral, her nails raking down my arms.
“Listen to me. I will fix this. I will get her. I swear on my life I won’t let anything happen to her. But right this second, I can’t leave you.”
Sobs wracked her body as she trembled violently in my arms.
The sound of doors slamming snapped my attention back out the window.
Blood streamed down Brooke’s face as she stood up, only to fall down again.
Inside the sedan, Zoey scrambled across the backseat, side to side, banging on the glass, trying to get away.
And I sat there. Lungs burning. Watching it happen.
One man.
Completely helpless to save her and protect Lofton at the same time.
The tires screeched as he tore out of the parking lot. He barely slowed as he took the turn out onto the road, sending Zoey flying sideways. Her hands shot out, trying to grab the seat in front of her, but she caught the side of his ski mask instead.
I sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide, leaning forward as it stretched.
His hand came off the wheel immediately, trying to stop it.
But as she toppled over sideways, it slipped off his head for only a second before he disappeared completely.
From the moment he’d pulled in to the moment he pulled out, the entire interaction had taken less than a minute. Forty seconds, maybe.
But that second—the one without a mask—was enough to change everything.
The recognition hit in jumbled layers, all in the wrong order. My brain scanned every memory, searching for where it belonged.
The face first. Filed somewhere deep. Seen once, maybe twice, in a context so far removed from anything to do with Lofton that my brain struggled to close the distance.
Dark eyes.
Brown hair.
And then the bar came into focus.
Chicago? No. The bad years.
San Francisco? No, right after Levee. The years when the bottle had been both the problem and the solution.
LA.
My brain worked overtime, scrolling and spinning, layer after layer, flash after flash.
A bar stool.
A man walking up behind me.
The taste of whiskey filled my mouth just as I felt a pressure on my shoulder.
Look up. Look up. Look up.
And then, finally, just like with Zoey’s puzzle pieces, it all clicked into place.
Marty standing over me. The last time I ever saw him alive.
“What’s up, brother?”
I shook my head, too drunk to trust my words.
He lifted his chin to the bartender. “Heard you got canned.”
Pain exploded in my chest. “Fuck you,” I muttered under my breath.
“Whoa, easy. Shit happens. You’ll figure it out.”
I tipped back the rest of my drink, catching a glimpse of the young guy standing on his other side.
Brown hair.
Medium build.
Five-eleven, maybe six feet.
Marty inched over, allowing the guy space to step up to the bar. “Devon Grant, I’d like you to meet Arrow’s latest fuck up—”
His mouth moved, but not a single sound came out.
I played the memory back in my head.
Again and again.
Each time slowing it down, desperately trying to read his lips.
What the hell was that guy’s name?
Suddenly, Marty’s voice slammed into my brain.
“Jason Horton,” I said out loud.
Lofton went rigid. “W-what?”
I snatched up my phone and put it to my ear.
“Cops are on the way,” Apollo stated. “I’ve got the cameras—”
“Jason Horton,” I repeated. “He works—or at least he used to work—at Arrow.”
“Devon—” Lofton called in a shaky voice.
“Had to have been four years ago, so work forward from there.”
“Devon,” Lofton called, louder and with more urgency.
I kept talking to Apollo. “He knew Marty. Our paths crossed once or—”
Lofton’s hand landed on my arm, and I finally cut my gaze to her. Her face was so ghostly white it sent fear surging through my veins.
Her chin trembled, eyes filling with tears. “Jason Horton is Zoey’s father. He signed away his rights when she was a baby.”
The realization detonated in the center of my chest, all at once and far too late.
Every camera angle.
Every perimeter check.
Every night I’d lain awake mapping Sebastian’s movements, tracing access points, building a fortress around a woman we’d thought was being stalked.
But it hadn’t been about her at all.
And the worst part was that the blueprint had been right in front of me the entire time. I’d just read it backwards.
Lofton was trackable. The paparazzi saw to that without any effort on Jason’s part. Whether it be tabloid photos or social media sightings, a woman like her did not fly under the radar. He hadn’t needed to work to find her. He’d just needed to follow the noise.