We screech to a halt outside of a bungalow at the bottom of the hill, less than five minutes after Mac got the call. A beat-up, old yellow Volkswagen Beetle is sitting in the narrow driveway and we parkbehind it. Mac doesn’t look over his shoulder as he shouts, "Follow me.”
Launching myself from the car, I race up the red painted steps, the air fragrant from the wisteria framing the front porch…with a wide open door that has been kicked in, splinters all over the welcome mat.
Mac pulls a knife from a hidden ankle sheath before making his way inside. “Di?”
Eerie silence reaches us as I follow him further, passing a living room with nothing amiss. We make our way past a small, butter yellow kitchen to the hall, where there’s finally signs of a struggle. Pictures are knocked askew, a few smashed into the hardwood floors.
One door is open, revealing a bedroom and a bloodstain on the otherwise clean white rug. There’s no one in sight, but the contents of the nightstand are strewn about, with a broken lamp and the thick rainbow glasses I remembered Di wearing smashed under an open window. The flowery curtains are blowing in the breeze, the distant sound of birds and traffic interrupting the stillness.
“Fuck,” Mac whispers, then raises his voice. “Fuck!”
Chapter twelve
Mac
Afteramomentventingmy frustration that my assistant has been kidnapped, again, I put the knife away and call the cops.
While it’s ringing, I grab E’s wrist and drag him down the hall and downstairs to the converted garage that is Di’s secure computer room. The second bedroom was mine when I first bought the place, and Di keeps it as a guest room, but her command center, as she calls it, has been bricked in so it has no doors or windows directly outside.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” A tiny voice asks over the line.
“Hello, I’m at 808 Burch Street in Glendale, and I just saw someone kick in the door,” I fib, though I will be able to see it on the recording. I pull out my expanding key ring and unlock the deadbolt before typing in the six-digit code to open the fire-safe door. “I think they’re dragging the lady who lives there out and they are wearing masks,” I add, pitching my voice up like I’m scared.
E gives me a look of confusion that clears when he realizes what I’m doing.
“Do you know who lives there, sir?” the woman asks, and I can hear her clicking away, likely already dispatching a unit to the property. I have maybe three minutes to get what I need and get us out.
“Yes, she lives alone. Diana Peña. I think I’m going to hide!”
Hanging up, I tuck my phone away. I have no intention of waiting for the police or turning over the security footage. As soon as I give them my name, someone will leak it to TMZ, and I’ll have paparazzi following me everywhere.
“Grab the laptop,” I point as E follows me into the dark room lit by led strips. One wall is camera feeds, many of them are for my house, but a few show Di’s property. The rest are a mix that looks like a city or even tropical locations. Half the room is filled with servers and air conditioners.
Unplugging everything takes a minute, even though I know she has the room stop-gapped, but I don’t want to take any chances. There is also a go bag by the door I scoop up without bothering to check the contents.
“Anything else?” E asks, clutching the laptop under one arm.
“No, let’s go before the cops get here.” I close the door, locking it and wiping the control panel of any fingerprints. Hopefully they leave this room alone.
E follows me up the stairs and out of the house. We get in the car right as the sound of sirens reach us, and I hope no neighbors are watching to report my vehicle. I won’t be going far, only up the hill to my house. And then we’ll figure it out from there.
Parking in the garage, I realize E hasn’t spoken since Di’s house. Turning to find him staring blankly ahead at the garage wall, I see he’s still holding the laptop close. “I can take that for you?”
“What? Oh,” E blinks and hands it over. I set it on my lap before unbuckling his seatbelt, but I put a hand on his chest to hold him still when he turns to get out. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, pet. You did well,” I confirm, rubbing at his chest and feeling how rapid his heart rate is. “You stuck with me and followed my instructions perfectly.”
“Thank you, Sir.” E gives me a small smile that falls quickly. “But what are we going to do about Di?”
“We?” I ask with a raised brow. “There is no we. I’ll find who did this and take care of them.”
“Oh yeah?” E bristles, frowning at me and pushing my hand off slowly. “You’re going to leave me alone in your house for how long?”
Shit. Di being taken throws a wrench in my plans, mainly the routine I’ve built with E. It’s getting late on Thursday, and I did two shows this morning back-to-back so I have the next three days off. But I can’t leave him alone for days.
He’s shown that he won’t run for a short period, and I’ve never forced myself on him, but E might get bored or lonely enough after days to flip the script on me.
“You’re mine,” I reply, realizing that means I’m responsible for him. I also hate the idea of not seeing him for days. Interesting. “You go where I go.”