by Jo Raven
When we come out of the kitchen, the kids aren’t in the living room, or on the stairs. Looks like there was no reason for panic after all. Except I’ll be late for work if I don’t get my ass into the shower and into my clothes in the next five minutes.
If only I can let go of Octavia… I have my arm around her waist and she’s leaning her head on my shoulder, her dress in disarray, her hair a cute mess. We smell of sex, and my dick’s still hanging out. Shit, I need to get rid of the condom.
“Okay?” I kiss the top of her head, drawing in the flowery scent of her shampoo and something else, sweeter, that’s all Octavia.
She nods against my bare skin, presses her lips to my shoulder, and I swallow a moan because yeah, I am getting hard again, and there’s no time to do anything about it.
A cold shower, I decide. Very cold.
“The kids are really quiet,” she whispers, lifting her head, tilting it to the side in that adorable way of hers when she’s in thought.
Or maybe she’s listening for sounds? In any case, it’s cute as hell.
Hot, too.
Before my mind goes down that path again, she straightens. “I’d better go check on them.”
“Wait.”
“It’s what you pay me for.” She winks at me, but I frown.
“Fuck that. You’re my girl first.”
She smiles, a bright, open smile that has me grinning, too. “Then let’s go check on them together.”
So we do that, my arm around her, her arm around my hips—after I get rid of the condom and stuff my hard dick back into my sweats—and go up the stairs to see what the brats are up to.
Cold shower, Matt. Cold shower. The only way to get through the rest of the day with the sounds Octavia made and the memory of her pussy around my dick playing on a loop in my brain. Walking around with a boner like this will be a challenge.
But oh so fucking worth it.
The door to the kids’ bedroom is open. It’s so quiet.
So damn quiet my hackles rise, and my muscles tense. “Mary! Cole!” Letting go of Octavia, I stride right into their room and turn in a circle. Empty. “Where are they?”
Octavia peeks inside. “Maybe they’re hiding.”
Awesome. Now is not a good time for hide and seek, and the bad feeling makes me feel sick. “Cole! Mary! Come out now, Octavia is here.”
No sound.
No reply.
“I’ll check around,” she says, moving away from the door, the tension in her voice telling me I’m not the only one worried. “Can’t see them in your room. Or the bathroom.”
Fuck. I follow her, opening my closet, checking under the bed, behind the door. Jog into the bathroom, look around, in case she missed two kids hiding behind the shower curtain.
“Is there an attic?” she asks.
I shake my head. “This is it.”
“Okay. Why don’t you check downstairs while I look some more? I bet they’re playing some new game.”
But neither of us believes that. I fly down the stairs without another word and run through the rooms, calling out their names, checking any hiding place I can think of.
Fucking hell. My kids. They’re not in the house.
Since when?
Where are they?
I can’t breathe. My lungs do that no-breathing thing, and I brace a hand on the wall of the kitchen where moments ago I was fucking Octavia while my kids were taken.
Blackness seeps into my vision, and I slam my other hand on the wall, too, struggling to draw oxygen.
Not now, dammit. My kids need me. Fuck this shit.
I slam my fist into the wall again, and again, until the pain radiating up my arm clears some of the black haze and lets my lungs expand again.
Staggering out of the house, I check the garden, just in case, but as expected, nobody is there.
I go back in, get my phone and call the police.
What I feared most has just happened, and I’m numb, not feeling much of anything. My kids were kidnapped by a psycho who wants to get back at me for something I hadn’t known about until now, and I feel nothing.
Too much pain, fear, anger, sadness, tugging at me from every direction, and the ice spilling in my veins is the only defense I have, the only way to keep going.
I keep looking. Keep calling out their names. I knock on the neighbors’ doors, ask if they’ve seen them. Ask to look into their backyards. Ask to help me look.
At some point, as I lurch down the street, yelling, my voice already hoarse, I find Octavia walking beside me.
And we look together.
Later, I find John and a bunch of other cops, both from the police station and the sheriff’s department, milling outside my house. John is asking me questions, but it’s all an annoying insect buzz in my ears, and I ignore them.
My nightmares are coming true.
Four police cars are parked outside my house, lights flashing. It’s surreal. It’s déjà vu, from when Cole followed that kitten, and we couldn’t find him.
Had it been a kitten? Is someone playing with my mind? My thoughts are made of dark glass right now, and there are fissures, fucking cracks going right through.
If this doesn’t break me, I don’t know what will.
“You didn’t take me seriously,” I tell John when I find him in front of me again. “What will it take for you to do something? Fuck you all.”
If he replies something, I don’t sit around to hear, instead walking away to keep searching.
Going crazy. Out of my mind.
I’d probably be already down the rabbit hole if not for Octavia. She takes my hand, and she’s talking to me. I don’t know what she’s saying, but the sound of her voice keeps me from tumbling headfirst into the dark pit.
She keeps me grounded, keeps me here, even when all I wanna do is sink and shut the world out. Hide, like I did when Emma died.
“We’ll find them,” she says, and that’s all I hear.
We will. No other option.
Blood of my heart. Part of my soul.
If I lose them, too, I don’t think there’s a way back for me.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Octavia
I’m walking around in a daze, my heart heavy as a rock in my chest. Matt looks like he’s sleepwalking, caught in a nightmare, his gaze bleak and empty, his lips white.
He looks like a man about to drop off the face of a cliff, and I can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now. I’m so scared, and I’ve only known his kids for a couple of weeks.
They are his kids, for God’s sake. He’s already lost his wife, and now this.
I’m scared for them, and I’m scared for him. I hold his hand and fight the urge to trace the scar inside his wrist, the scar that says he already almost lost the battle against his demons once.
Behind the beard and the tousled, overlong hair, despite the broad shoulders and powerful body, there’s a guy who has been through a lot, who has found love and lost it, who is at the end of his tether and teetering.
I hope he’ll let me catch him if he starts to slip, before he falls all the way.
I hope we’ll find the kids, that they’re okay, before I lose both them and him forever.
Shivering despite the warm morning, I tug Matt back toward the house where the cops seem to be having an impromptu meeting, heads bent together.
“What’s going on?” I call out. “John?”
He gestures for us to approach and we start to run.
“What happened?” Matt calls, his voice a rasp, and I think he’ll wrench his hand away from mine, but he only tightens his grip, hauling me along. “Found anything? Talk to me.”
“One of your neighbors says he saw a guy with two children pass by earlier. A Mrs. Garcia. She says she knows you. She always greets you when she walks her dog past your house in the mornings.”
Matt’s mouth curls into a snarl. He reaches out and grabs the front of John’s shirt, twisting his hand in the fabric. “Where are
they, dammit? Where are my kids?”
“It’s okay.” John nods at the other cops whose expressions have darkened and who seem about to grab Matt and throw him behind bars until he cools down.
“Hey.” I tug on the hand I’m still holding. “Matt. Breathe.”
He gives a slow blink, his gaze sliding to me. I stroke my thumb over his hand, waiting until his gaze clears.
John removes Matt’s hand from his shirt and takes a step back. He’s composed but his face is a bit pale. “Great. Now let’s see what we know so far.” He pats the front of his shirt. “Mrs. Garcia saw this person with the children walk that way.” He points to a side street. “The children seemed to be going with him willingly, so there is the possibility it was someone they know. However, the time frame fits.”
“And it’s the only lead we have,” another cop says, some anger lingering in the gaze she directs at Matt.
The anger is lost on him.
“So let’s go.” Matt pulls on my hand and starts the way John indicated.
“We’ve sent Jamie that way to ask more neighbors. Meanwhile, we continue searching the area around the house, in case they—”
Matt drags me back to John and gets in his face. Since he’s a head taller and double the width of John, this is kinda funny.
Would have been, under any other circumstances.
“My kids were taken,” Matt growls, his face tight with fury, his eyes blazing. “I bet your ass Cole was taken that first time, too, but you didn’t put two and two together. Get your men moving, Johnny boy, or I’ll fuck up that pretty face of yours.”
John’s face goes red. “Watch yourself, Hansen.”
I tug again on Matt’s hand, hoping to get through, but he turns around again and starts in the direction of our first lead, dragging me along.
I’m glad he is. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, even if he does end up in jail for insulting and manhandling an officer of the law.
Behind us John is shouting orders and radios crackle. I don’t know where we’re heading or what we’re looking for. I’m glad when John catches up with us, despite his dark scowl.
“Jamie says he found something.” He stares straight ahead as he says, “It’s a stuffed animal. A rabbit.”
“Hook,” I say. “Cole’s rabbit.”
Matt suddenly stops in his tracks, and I stumble to a halt beside him. “What aren’t you saying? Spit it out.”
John grimaces. “It has blood on it.”
Holy crap. My stomach drops to my feet. “Oh no…”
“Where?” Matt grinds out, his jaw clenched so tight it’s a miracle the words come out.
“Come with me.”
The bloodied stuffed rabbit is lying on the sidewalk outside what looks like an abandoned house. The yard is overgrown with weeds. The paint is peeling off the walls.
Matt stares at the rabbit, then at the house. I can almost see the thoughts whirring inside his head.
Really? Could it be so easy?
John motions for the two cops that have materialized by his side to lead the way to the house. They have their guns drawn, pointing forward, and dear God, this is really happening.
Matt and I, we walk after them. His grip on my hand is crushing, but I don’t care. He seems to have trouble breathing again. Looks like an anxiety attack. A kid in my school had that. I want to ask him about it, if he’s seen a doctor, if he has any medicine for it.
But not now.
John motions for us to stay back, but of course we don’t, and he doesn’t try to stop us. The two cops are looking into the house through the windows, moving toward the back.
We follow, our steps crunching on leaves and weeds, John glancing back at us from time to time, frowning but not saying a thing.
The back door is open, and we go in. Matt’s hand is burning mine, sweat is slicking our palms, but we hold on to each other as we step into the dark, quiet house.
Sounds come from the dimness inside, and John is standing at an open door, talking to someone. “Are they okay?” he’s saying.
And suddenly Matt lets go of my hand, pushes John to the side and runs through that door, vanishing in the dark.
“Hey!” John goes after him, and I’m right on his heels.
A staircase leading down.
A basement.
A bare bulb sways somewhere down, barely outlining the steps. I grip the bannister tightly as I go down, hearing Matt’s voice, and then a familiar wail.
Mary.
Oh my God. They’re here.
I hurtle down the rest of the staircase, and land in the middle of the strangest scene.
Three cops in a line, and Matt on his knees, bent over.
Then I realize he’s hugging his kids in his arms, Mary’s blond curls peeking over one shoulder, Cole’s dark hair barely visible over the other.
Without another thought, I rush to them, drop to my knees and hug them, too. Oh God. The kids are okay. They weren’t harmed.
Even as I hug them, relieved beyond words to feel their small bodies in the circle of my arms, somewhere in the back of my mind, the doubt returns.
This was easy.
Too easy.
So what does it mean?
The cops search the house top to bottom looking for clues, for fingerprints, for any indication as to who the kidnapper was.
The kids are scared and not much help.
Cole is glued to his dad’s side, sucking on his thumb.
Mary sniffles, wedged between Matt and myself. At first, she refuses to speak, then she reconsiders.
“He said grandma was here,” she whispers, and the sadness in her small voice breaks my heart. “That she wanted to see us.”
Matt closes his eyes, pain etched in his features, and I know he’s blaming himself for not calling his mom again, for not giving the kids what they clearly need in their lives.
He’s so hard on himself. I put a hand on his shoulder, then lean in and kiss his cheekbone, over the beard.
John crouches down in front of us, his gaze on Mary. “Was his hair blond or brown, Mary?”
But she shakes her head. “He was wearing a hood.”
Matt curses under his breath.
“He didn’t tell you his name?” John presses. “Or anything else?”
“He took Cole’s rabbit.” Her lower lip trembles. “Said to kiss it goodbye.”
Matt is shaking. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glittering. He’s furious, and he looks like he’s about to explode.
“You’d better catch the cunt who did this,” he finally manages. “If I get to him first, I don’t know what will happen.”
“Calm down, Hansen.” John stands up, nods at his men. “We’ll catch him. Until then, you’ll have a guard outside your house and police patrolling, so you and your kids will be safe.”
“That bastard has been inside my house. He’s written in one of my kids’ drawing books. He has managed to disable the security cameras and sneak my kids out while I was right there. You’d better post your goddamn best men, Johnny.”
“I will,” John replies, not rising to the bait.
Matt gives a tight nod, clearly not trusting the police to do anything right, obviously shaken. We’re all shaken, and it’s a relief to grab the kids and make our slow way out. More cops are waiting outside, and they flank us as we make our way back to Matt’s house.
Matt is carrying both his kids, and I walk beside them, stroking Cole’s hair from time to time.
I pull out my phone, hoping for a message from Merc, or at least from Gigi or Mom, telling me he came home okay. I shoot off a text to Gigi, asking her for news, and return my attention to the kids.
My heart is still pounding, adrenaline still humming in my veins. I know I’ll feel shaky later. But it’s quiet now, calm.
Until Mary says, “Daddy, what’s a cunt?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Matt
My first concern is to get my kids home. I keep a lid on my fury
because that’s the last thing they need as I march home. Octavia fishes for my keys in my pockets as I refuse to put the kids down even for a moment.
Not yet. Too soon. I just got them back, and I still can’t fucking believe they’re okay. I half-think I’ll step inside and be back in the nightmare, searching for them, running in the dark.
Digging graves.
Fuck, no, I don’t wanna think. So Octavia lets us in, and I head straight to the sofa and sit down, cradling my babies to my sides, trying to catch my breath.
Everything’s okay. I should be able to breathe.
Her phone rings, and she answers immediately. Her face falls. Then her brows lift.
What the hell is going on?
And I still can’t breathe.
It’s not until Octavia settles beside me, lifting Cole in her lap and leaning against me, that the pressure on my chest eases. It feels so good that I don’t even ask what the phone call was about.
“They’re so tired,” she whispers, and I put my arm around her, drawing some deep breaths into my starved lungs. “We should put them to bed.”
It’s still morning. Or midday? Not sure how long we spent looking, but I don’t argue. She’s right, they’re exhausted, lying limp in our laps. “I’m not letting them out of my sight.”
“I know.” She looks up at me, and I kiss her forehead. “Let’s just put them here on the sofa, and we sit down beside them.”
We get up, arranging the sleepy kids on the sofa, and she brings blankets from upstairs to cover them.
Then I sit in the armchair and pull her in my lap until she’s curled in my arms.
“You know John and his cops will show up at any moment to talk to us, right?” she murmurs against my neck, and I shiver. She threads her fingers in my short beard, tugging a little, and I let my head drop back.
“I’ll kick his ass.”
She snickers softly. “You’re so hard on him. He’s doing his best.”
“Not good enough.” Okay, maybe I did go kinda hard on him. “They had my goddamn kids.”
