It’s a conversation back and forth, delivered through me, that indicates their relationship is on the mend.
“He called about forty-five minutes ago. Said he’ll call later once he gets some food and settles into his hotel room.”
James straightens. “Would you like some wine with dinner?”
I incline my head. “Why, yes, sir. A glass of wine would be lovely.”
James turns to the refrigerator. “I’ve got a really nice chardonnay that will go perfect with this meal.”
The doorbell rings, though it’s not your classic doorbell. A mansion this size requires something strong and fitting. When it goes off, it sounds like Asian gongs reverberating through the house.
Neither I nor James move for the front door—one of his men has been stationed there since Bebe and I arrived. Because of the threat level, they’ve been openly wearing guns in either hip or chest holsters, and I’m grateful for it.
James works on uncorking the bottle, and I move to the butler’s nook where cocktail and wineglasses are kept. I pull three down on the off chance we can entice Bebe to join us.
When I turn around, I’m shocked to see Kynan walking into the kitchen. The look on his face … The most intense fear I’ve ever had floods through me, and one of the glasses slips out of my hand, shattering on the tile floor.
James whirls toward me. “Are you okay?”
My gaze is frozen on Kynan, and James looks that way.
“Am I going to be okay?” I ask in the barest of whispers, the question directed to Kynan. I can tell he’s here with bad news.
He doesn’t hesitate. Rips the Band-Aid off. “They took Dozer.”
“Oh God,” I moan and feel myself start to sag.
James is there in a heartbeat, arm around my waist and plucking the other wineglasses from my hands to set them on the counter. He leads me backward, away from the shards on the floor, into the living room. Kynan follows. James settles me into a chair, and I feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
But before I let them fall, I swallow hard and brace not for the worst news, but for whatever bit of hope I can glean from what Kynan’s about to share.
Bebe comes flying down the stairs, sliding into the room, panic on her face. She looks wildly at Kynan and says, “I just got your text. What’s going on?”
He nods toward the couch where I’m sitting. “Better take a seat.”
Bebe snarls in anger. “Don’t try to fucking handle me. Just tell me what’s going on.”
Kynan doesn’t blink in offense over her harsh words. He looks back to me, then James who stands beside me, his big hand on my shoulder for comfort. “They were waiting for him in the hotel parking lot. Jackson and Cage were there and watched it go down. There was a scuffle, but Dozer was unharmed when they put him in the trunk.”
“Oh God,” I moan, my hand fluttering near my throat. “We were just on the phone when he pulled into the parking lot.”
“You say unharmed, but there was a scuffle,” James says, needing more details.
“Fists were thrown. Dozer got some licks in, but it was four against one.”
“Tell me you were able to follow the signal,” Bebe demands, her mind already propelled toward sending in the cavalry for a rescue.
Kynan’s eyes swing her way, but his expression is grim. “Yes. For a bit, but we’ve lost it.”
“What?” Bebe exclaims.
“They took his watch and phone from him before they left the parking lot. The tracking chip in his clothing worked fine. We followed it all the way to Coral Gables where the vehicle pulled into a gated community about fifteen minutes from here. Jackson and Cage couldn’t follow beyond the gate, but the signal was strong. Unfortunately, it went dark while the vehicle was still moving, so we don’t know where it stopped.”
My head flits back and forth between Bebe and Kynan. “What does that mean? Dark?”
“It means the signal is either not transmitting or the receiver is not receiving. Where is the receiver?” Bebe demands.
“They’re still waiting outside the neighborhood. I came here to pick you up so you can look at the equipment.”
“Let me grab my computer.” She dashes from the room.
“Why aren’t the police or FBI going in right now to get him?” I ask, desperate for some type of proactive movement.
“You know that’s not the plan, Jess,” Kynan reminds me gently. “We need time to make sure Borovsky is there.”
“We can’t know that.” My voice is almost hysterical. “And he could be there already, torturing Dozer.”
“Who is tough and determined and can handle this.” Kynan’s gaze is unwavering, his tone firm. “I’m not ready to pull the plug because Dozer wouldn’t want me to.”
I stand from the couch. “I’m going with you.”
“You’re really not,” Kynan replies briskly.