“Kash, you need to see this,” Mason said softly from the doorway to the closet. I looked over at him, rolled to my knees, and stood. “Give me Trip. Go into the bedroom and look at the wall. We’ll find her, okay? I swear to you we’ll find her.”
I handed him the golden retriever and rushed into the bedroom, which looked like a hurricane had hit it. My eyes widened when they finally landed on the wall opposite our bed. A roar filled the room, and before I could realize it came from me, two officers were holding me back and trying to get me to sit down on the bed.
On the wall in red spray paint were the words DID YOU THINK WE WOULD FORGET? Underneath was a symbol. One both Mason and I’d had tattooed on our left forearms during our last undercover narcotics assignment with Juarez’s gang.
“How?” Mason was asking a detective who was in the room with us. And that was a damn good question. Juarez had put a hit on Mase and me before we could take down his gang, but it had died when the guys hired were thrown in prison for another murder. And I knew for a fact Juarez and his boys were all in prison. “Recruiting people from the inside who got out? Or just using people he trusts? Set up questioning with each of them separately.”
I looked up when Detective Byson’s cell rang. His mouth snapped shut from answering Mason, and he answered the call. “Byson.” His eyes shot over to me and a grim look crossed his face as he listened. “Mmhm . . . Yeah. Set up something with Juarez and his attorney immediately. I’m on my way.” He turned to face me and slid his phone back in the holder on his belt. “Rachel is alive.”
“Thank God,” I breathed and tried to stand, but the officers were still holding me there.
“A call was placed about fifteen minutes ago, demanding that every charge against Juarez’s gang be dropped. Before the dispatcher could ask anything, the caller said they would call back in two days and expect progress on the charges being dropped, and would continue to call every two days until every member of the gang was released. If there isn’t progress, there will be consequences, and if they aren’t released within the month . . . she dies.”
“Kash, Kash, Kash, calm down. Come on, man. Calm down. I know.”
Mason gripped my shoulders and I tried to focus on him. The other two officers were now struggling to keep me down as I thrashed against them. Where I was going to go when I got away from them, I didn’t know, I just needed to go. They had my girl. I needed to find out who they were, and I needed to get her back.
“I know this is hard. But we’ll find her. I swear.” Mason looked just as panicked as I felt, and it was then I noticed the wetness in his eyes he was trying to keep back.
When I finally stopped struggling, the officers let me go at Mason’s request, but he kept me seated on the bed. “I need to get her back, Mason. I have to.”
“We will.”
“I’ll do anything.”
A determined look settled over his face and he whispered low enough that only I could hear him. “Anything to bring the f**kers down, right?”
I slammed my fist against his and swore, “Always.”
I WALKED INTO MASON’S APARTMENT that evening with a bag slung over one shoulder and Trip in my arms. Our bedroom was still being considered a crime scene, and I was asked to stay out of it for the night as they processed more and continued to take fingerprints. Not that I thought I would be able to stay there even after they were done anyway, without Rachel . . . I didn’t know how I would handle being there.
After dropping the bag in the room I’d occupied for years when Mason and I’d shared an apartment, I fell heavily onto the bed and kept Trip secured tightly to my chest as I stared at nothing.
A fear unlike anything I’d ever known had coursed through my body the moment I’d realized Rachel was at a murderer’s home last fall, and that I’d let her walk away with him. When the call between us had been dropped after I’d heard her scream, I hadn’t even let myself believe I wouldn’t find her and bring her back alive.
But the fear I’d experienced that early morning could never be compared to the fear that had been crippling me all day. At least when she was with Blake, I’d had an underlying knowledge of what Blake was capable of. Now, though, I didn’t know who had her, what they were doing to her, and what they could do. I just knew what they’d threatened to do.
For close to ten hours, a handful of detectives had questioned every member of Juarez’s gang, the two men hired to kill Mason and me last year, and family members as well. No one was talking, and the only living extended family of Juarez and his boys that we could track down had either turned their backs on the members of the gang, or were afraid of them. I hadn’t been allowed in for any of the interviews, since I was too close to the case—again—so I’d spent hours seeing if anyone on the street had heard anything, and looking for Rachel’s cell phone, which we’d later found ten miles away from the house in a trash can at a gas station. A gas station whose indoor and outdoor cameras just happened to be down.
There’d been nothing to go off of from the anonymous call placed regarding their demands and threats for Rachel’s safety, and although they said they’d call back every two days, I’d hoped like hell they would’ve called back again. But there was nothing. We had leads that weren’t talking, and didn’t have a reason to talk, and nothing else.
And my girl was gone.
Pain seared my chest and I prayed to God that he would keep her safe. He could do whatever he wanted with me . . . as long as she came back alive.