Maybe it wasn’t a kidnapping at all. Maybe she left me for… him.
I curl my hands into fists, ready to punch something.
Winston is my first target, but he’ll punch back, so I don’t even try.
“I can’t calm down,” I tell him, my voice tight, my jaw aching. “I don’t know where she is.”
“I thought you didn’t give a shit about her,” Keaton says from where he’s perched on the edge of the couch.
“Keaton,” Mother snaps. “Don’t say that to your brother. This is hiswifehe’s worried about.”
All three of us swivel our heads in her direction. She’s just entered the sitting room, looking regal with her head held high and her expression completely unreadable. Typical. The woman rarely shows emotion. I could learn a thing or two from her.
“Sorry,” Keaton mutters again, barely looking at me.
“It’s fine.” I guess I can’t blame him for thinking that way. This was a marriage in name only, and everyone in my family knew it. Of course, he’d think I didn’t really care about Charlotte. It’s only been a few months since we even met.
But she crawled under my skin at a rapid pace. Burrowed herself deep inside me, somewhere in the vicinity of my heart, and the damn thing feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest every time I think about where she could be right now. And if she’s okay. I hate the idea of her suffering.
I hate the idea of her being happy to get away from me even worse.
“Let’s stop with the bullshit conversation and focus on what’s actually happening,” Winston says, his stern voice bringing everything into focus. “Myron is on the case.”
The elderly investigator who does everything old school. How is that geezer going to help us? “Oh come on, Winny. You really think he’s going to track my wife down? We need to be out there looking for her instead of being holed up in here and waiting for that dick to send me another ominous text message with those fucking photos again. Or maybe he’ll send new ones.”
Those photos of Charlotte tore at my heart and filled me with fear. What if that asshole does something to her? Hurts her?
I can barely stand the thought.
“Photos that could’ve been staged.” Winston holds up his hand when I part my lips, ready to argue. “Hear me out. It’s a possibility.”
“No way,” I say vehemently.
“It’s possible. She didn’t take her phone with her when she went to meet with McTiernan. She told Jasper not to say anything to you about it—you said that yourself. You don’t really know her, Perry. And you don’t know much about her relationship with this guy either. Maybe she’s still in love with him.” Winston’s brows shoot up, the look on his face practically daring me to argue with him.
I hate the sudden doubt that creeps in. What if he’s right? Those photos could be fake. The two of them could be laughing about me at this very moment…
No. Fuck that. She couldn’t be so cruel.
“She would never do that to me,” I say with conviction I don’t exactly feel. “And why the hell aren’t we busting down the Morellis’ doors and demanding to know where she’s at?”
“None of his family is involved,” Winston says, sounding completely, frustratingly logical. “McTiernan is a lone wolf. The distant family relative from another country.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Mom retorts, coming to stand next to Winston, her gaze leveled on me. “They could do anything to harm our family. Letting the crazy cousin kidnap your wife makes complete sense.”
“I don’t know.” Winston’s voice is full of doubt. “This doesn’t have the Morelli signature to it.”
“What the hell do you mean?” I ask, needing an explanation. Needing someone to make sense of this entire situation, because right now, it boggles my mind.
I just want my wife back. Safe and protected in my arms, in our home. With Jasper watching over her when I’m not around and Doja cuddled up on her lap.
Jasper. The poor old man was beside himself when I called. He knew something was up and was about to reach out to me when I spoke to him. He told me the entire story of a male visitor coming to see her in the lobby. How she went down there to speak with him and asked Jasper not to mention it to me.
Winston’s right. That point was like a dagger to my heart. One I can’t let go of.
Would she have kept it a secret if she hadn’t left with him? Is he really holding her hostage or is it all staged, like Winston said? I hate these thoughts. That I doubt her.
I open up my text messages yet again and look at the photos I was sent. The terror in Charlotte’s eyes. The agony. She looks so damn scared. Her mouth is taped up. Hell, the fucker held a gun to her head and she’s crying.