Chapter Three
Savannah
I stand in front of the heavy wooden door to Logan’s office and admire the doorknob. It looks like a handle from an old sword. Three iron pieces curl around your hand when you grasp it. I know I can’t stall any longer and knock gently.
“Come in,” I hear him say in a harsh tone, and my hand retreats from the handle. I hate how scared those bastards made me. My mother would be heartbroken to see her once full-of-fire daughter acting like a burned-out wick.
The door bursts open. “York!” he barks, stopping abruptly when he sees me. “Oh, Savannah, I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting for someone.” He steps to the side and glances at his watch. “Is it four already? Please come in, have a seat.”
I move inside, taking in his office. His desk stands in front of a floor to ceiling window overlooking the stables and part of the lake. The decor is like most of the rest of the house with its fireplace and couch. Two rifles hang on the wall. I note these almost subconsciously while my attention is drawn at once to the flat screen TV on one wall tuned to a Los Angeles news channel. I feel Logan’s gaze on me, but he remains silent. I catch the date from the news anchor—October 26th. I gasp and try to rationalize this date with the day I was taken.
“Yes, they had you a little over seven months, Savannah,” he says softly, answering my unspoken question.
I feel the tears welling up. Oh, my God, I’ve been gone for over half a year! As much as it felt like a lifetime, for some reason, knowing the actual amount of time is soul-shattering. It solves the nagging question that’s been eating away at me, and now that I know, I am reeling in shock. My hand flies to my chest.
“Please, take a seat.” He reaches for my arm and gently guides me over to the couch. He sits across from me, watching me closely. Once I get hold of myself, he begins to speak.
“A lot has gone on since you’ve been missing, Savannah. I’m sure you have a ton of questions, mainly the one about why you’re here and why you were taken.”
I nod.
“The men who took you are not just regular kidnappers. They’re part of a highly dangerous group calledLos Sirvientes Del Diablos,which means Servants of the Devil. They are a part of the Cartels and had you hidden well in Tijuana.”
Holy shit!
“Your father—”
I sit up straighter when I hear his name.Is he here? When will I be able to see him?Again, nothing comes out.
He raises a hand. “Your father has been making a media storm out of your kidnapping.”
Great…more unwanted publicity.
“Problem is, Savannah, the two main guys.” He holds up a picture. “Rodrigo Heredia.” A lump grows in my throat—the Montecristo smoker. He holds up another picture. “and Jose Jorge—”
My stomach lurches violently. I desperately grab the closest trash can and heave bile into it. I sense Logan behind me as he hands me a napkin and sets a glass of water next to me. I wash out my mouth and sit back on the couch, unable to look him in the eye. I feel embarrassed about my reaction, and his poor office being used like a bathroom.
“I’ll take it you recognize Jose?”
I nod again, fighting the urge to scream.Yes, the bastard made me beg for my meals, whipped my back until it was raw, and took every shred of human dignity away from me!
Logan hands me a clean napkin—I didn’t even notice I had started crying. “What I was going to tell you is both of them managed to elude capture.”
My gaze shoots up in horror.
He leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “I know, and I’m sorry, but until we know where they are and take them into custody, you need to stay here. Your family, friends, nobody knows you’re safe yet. That’s the way we have to keep it for now, for their sake as much as yours. It will only be a matter of time beforeLos Sirvientes Del Diablosand the rest of the Cartels find out who rescued you, and when they do, the hunt will resume in earnest. You’re worth a lot to them, and I’m sure they’re pretty pissed that you’re gone.”
I stand, shaking my head, not sure what to do with myself. A knock sounds at the door, and York, the ass from last night, comes in, holding up his hands.
“Sorry, sorry, been a busy day—” He catches sight of me. “Hello again, pretty girl.” His voice is like velvet.
Screw you, asshole.
“York,” Logan spits out, “take this and deal with it.”
York grabs the file from Logan’s hand and leaves, but not before giving me a wink.
Logan stands in front of me. He is much taller; I only come up to his chin. “You don’t have to stay. It’s your right to leave, but if you do, we cannot protect you. I give it one week before you’re snatched up again and disappear into thin air. It took us five months to locate you the last time, and we’re the best there is.” He glances at his watch again, and his jaw tenses. “I have a video conference shortly, but tomorrow you have a meeting at oh-eight-hundred with Dr. Roberts. He’s our resident therapist, and it’s mandatory that you attend.”