I slipped out of the playroom and padded down the hallway toward the back of the house, listening carefully for Dion's voice. He was still on the phone, his tone urgent as he discussed extraction plans. Good—he was distracted, but both dogs silently followed me.
The back door opened silently, and I stepped onto the patio, careful to close it just as quietly behind me, and sent a mental apology to Hades, who was trying to nudge it back open. The lateafternoon air was cool against my face as I hurried around the side of the house toward the garage.
To my surprise, a side door stood slightly ajar. I slipped inside to find three vehicles: Dion's SUV, a sleek black motorcycle under a cover, and my own modest sedan. The garage door opener was mounted on the wall, but I hesitated—
He would know. They’d known the second we’d left the apartment above Salvation. There was no way the garage door opening wouldn’t trigger an alarm.
I had my phone. I could walk to the road, then I could get a ride.
Prove I was capable.
And then maybe Dion would stop treating me like a child.
And I squashed the little voice that told me I was acting like one.
Dion
I was in mid conversation with the team when Hades whined outside the door, and every internal alarm I had rang. There was no way he would have left her…
I knelt beside Hades, "What is it, boy?"
He barked once, sharp and urgent, then turned in a circle, clearly distressed. Anubis appeared beside him, equally agitated.
"Hold on," I said into the phone, a sinking feeling settling in my gut. "Something's wrong."
I strode quickly to the playroom, the dogs at my heels. The door stood open, the room empty. No Emily. Just Barnaby sitting abandoned on the chair.
"Emily?" I called, moving rapidly through the house, checking each room. Nothing.
"Shit," I muttered, into my phone. "Emily's gone."
"What do you mean, gone?" Gideon’s voice sharpened instantly.
"I mean she's not in the house." I fought to keep my voice level despite the panic clawing at my chest as I checked the security app on my phone. "The garage door didn't open," I said half to myself.
I heard rapid typing. "Negative, and your alarm would have sounded,” Eric answered. “No exterior doors or windows have been breached except... wait. Your back patio door opened fourteen minutes ago." I swore knowing because I'd been on the call to the team I'd missed the alert.
"She walked out," I realized, already moving toward the back of the house. "Track her phone. Now."
More typing. "Got her. She's moving east in a car, about half a mile from your place. Looks like she's heading toward the commercial district."
I grabbed my keys, whistling for the dogs to stay.
"Keep tracking her," I ordered, already moving toward the garage. "And check her recent calls. Someone contacted her." She was pissed at me, but she wouldn’t just leave on foot.
I jumped into the SUV, backing out with enough force to leave rubber on the concrete. The tires squealed as I took the corner at speed, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"She received a call from Vivienne Carter approximately seventeen minutes ago," Eric reported in my earpiece. "Duration one minute, seven seconds."
"Her mother," I growled, accelerating toward the main road. "What the hell does she want?"
"I can't access the content of the call without—"
"Just do it," I snapped. "Whatever it takes."
The silence that followed told me Eric was working his magic, likely bending several laws in the process. I didn't care. Emily was out there alone, vulnerable, after we'd just confronted the people trafficking children.
"Got it," Eric said moments later. "Vivienne asked Emily to meet her at Riverside Café on Fifth Street. She sounded distressed, said 'they' were watching, told Emily not to tell anyone where she was going."
