Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
The name is familiar. “The magazine?” I’ve perused the glossy weekly a few times since I’ve been shadowing Cami.
“Yes. Do it.” She sounds urgent, and I’m not about to argue.
I reach across the desk and pull Logan’s iMac across, hitting Google and holding my phone to my ear while I type in what’s been ordered of me. “Done,” I tell her, seeing nothing but adverts and a few irrelevant shots of various celebs.
“The search bar at the top. Type in Camille’s name.”
I follow through on her order and hit search, immediately being presented with endless shots of Cami, the latest being me and her outside that café after her shoot. I’m holding her hand across the table.
“The first shot. Of you and Cami,” Lucinda says.
“What about it?”
“Look behind you. Top left-hand corner.”
My eyes dart up and locate exactly what Lucinda’s talking about. “Motherfucker,” I breathe. There’s a shop window behind me in the picture, and clear as day in the reflection is the image of a white van tucked away in the alley opposite. There’s an outline of a face through the windscreen. It’s blurred, but nothing the right technology can’t fix. “Run a face check.”
“Already done. I’ve sent the picture to your phone. His name’s Michael Scott, thirty-six. Been inside for drug running, armed robbery, and…” She pauses, and I swear I hear her swallow.
“And what, Luce?” My phone dings and I open the message, seeing a clear image of the man I’m going to hunt down and slice into pieces. I breathe in and take my phone back to my ear.
“Jake, it’s…” Lucinda’s voice drops to nothing, and I tense from head to toe.
“What?”
“Rape.”
My blood freezes in my veins, and I look across the desk at Logan, his face a sea of questions. It’s a high possibility that my heart is going to jump from my chest and land on Logan’s desk. It’s hammering that hard.
“Jake?”
I can’t speak. Can’t think.
“Jake, the van was stolen last week. The plates have been changed.” She reels off the fake plate numbers. “I’ve run a check on Scott’s address. He’s supposedly in a halfway house in Bethnal Green being taken through rehabilitation.” Lucinda gives me the address and it imprints to my brain, along with the fake plate numbers of the white van. “Someone must be paying him to hold her but I can’t trace any phones to his name. Probably using a disposable. I have no more than that. I’m sorry.”
I stand and drink in air, placing my hand on the desk to hold me up. “Bank details. Swiss.” I fumble for the file Logan handed to me and push the papers about haphazardly until I find what I’m looking for.
Then I reel off the bank account number and fill her in on everything I’ve just learned from Logan—the girl, the photo of his hairy arse, everything; hearing Lucinda inhaling shocked breaths, seeing Logan squirm on the other side of the desk. “Look into that account.”
“I’m on it,” she says, her voice drenched with compassion that I just can’t handle.
I go to hang up, but she calls my name and I bring the phone back to my ear, lost in a haze of desolation. I give no indication that she has my attention. “Be careful,” she says softly, showing rare concern. “Please.”
I hang up and slide my gun from the table slowly, slipping it into the back of my trousers.
“What is it?” Logan asks. “Who was that?”
I look up at him, immune to the terror and anxiety on his face. “Do you know this man?” I ask, holding up my phone to Logan.
He looks, frowning. “No, I’ve never seen him before. Who is he?”
“He’s the man someone hired to take your daughter. Pray she’s unharmed, Logan. Pray real hard.”
I turn and stride out of his office, sweating murder.
Chapter 32
CAMI
I play dead. It’s easy when you pretty much feel it. I’ve been moved, carried by two men, from the van to somewhere else. I know it’s two men. They were sure to keep quiet, but I felt two pairs of hands holding me. All I can think about is what Jake will do to them if he finds them. Will he find them? Can I be found?
I don’t know where they’ve put me. It smells damp and dirty, and it’s chilly. The floor is hard and cold, and I’m being kept in my darkness¸ the blindfold pulled too tightly. The gag is dry. My mouth is dry. I couldn’t scream if I wanted to.
They left silently after binding my hands behind my back and sitting me up against a brick wall. It’s funny. If I was ever to imagine myself in a situation like this, I’m sure I would have imagined myself crying and freaked.
The initial ten minutes were exactly like that. The following…however long it’s been…I’ve been limp and unresponsive.