Page 35

The words echo in my head, over and over. It’s like a mantra, an unwanted one. Something evil and intrusive in my brain, stuck on repeat.

It’s clear exactly how she could. It was all for Chloe. Like everything in my life has been since I met her. My mind gets it. But my heart breaks every time I go over it in my imagination.

I’ve practically walked to Brooklyn and back, and while I don’t feel any better about the fact that Arie lied to me, I know why she did. People do crazy things when they are scared, and she had plenty of reasons to be beyond terrified. I don’t know how she has managed to stay disconnected from Chloe for so long; it must have been tearing her apart. I can’t imagine a day without Chloe. I’ll be angry for a while, but at the very least, I think I can begin to forgive her.

I’m angry at myself, too. For not knowing. For not being there. For fucking her over and leaving her in the first place. Pregnant, alone. And then sick.

Why wasn’t I there?

That’s the other thing I focus on, even though it doesn’t do me a damn bit of good. I can’t go back in time and make it all right. Undo everything that’s been done. I wish to God I’d never left.

But one thing is for sure… I refuse to let her go. Not again.

I walk back into the building, and am surprised not to see Thomas hurrying to the door to greet me. It’s his week of working nights, so he should be at the desk at the very least. But I don’t see anyone. In fact, there is something unsettlingly quiet about the entire lobby.

“Thomas? Buddy?” I call out. But I don’t get an answer. I walk slowly around the corner of the lobby desk, wishing I had my gun on me, even though I don’t technically have a reason to be concerned yet. I step up to the desk and lean over, and realize that yes… I should have my gun.

Thomas is in a heap on the floor, blood pooling underneath him from a head wound. I can see his eye twitching, and his chest rising and falling, so I know he’s alive. But he may not be that way for long. I leap over the desk and come crashing

down on my useless leg, trying to ignore the searing pain that shoots from my foot up to my hip. I crouch down next to Thomas and try not to move him; afraid I might worsen whatever condition he’s currently in.

“Thomas! Thomas man, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

His eyes flutter, and he opens one eye lazily. He looks dazed, definitely concussed, and he groans.

“Mr.… Cochran. A man. He… asked… about Arie. Then he… with the butt of a gun. My head really hurts, Mr. Cochran.”

My blood turns to ice in my veins. I want to bolt upstairs and straight to Arie, but I can’t. Not yet.

“Don’t move, Thomas. Just breathe. I’m going to call you an ambulance, okay?”

I grab the phone off the desk, call 911, then take off my shirt and put it under Thomas’ head, so at least he’s not lying directly on the cold tile floor. Once he’s secured, and I can hear the sirens of the ambulance in the distance, I run up the stairs for at a time, pain be damned. I use my keycard to unlock the private door, and when I get inside, my stomach drops again at the sight before me.

The apartment has been trashed. It looks both like there has been a struggle, as well as that someone has just intentionally destroyed the place. I carefully into the living room, trying not to disturb anything in case I need to bring in the FBI. I know there is zero chance she’s still here, but I have to try.

“Arie? Baby? Are you here?”

When I see the kitchen, I know for sure she’s gone. There is blood on the floor and the counter, and strands of her hair are everywhere, as if someone grabbed her by her hair and pulled her backwards. I back out of the kitchen, and bolt for the bedroom.

Please don’t have taken the computer.

Please don’t have taken the computer.

I throw the bedroom door open and can just see the corner of my laptop sticking out from under my pillow. I slide it out and flip straight to the security cameras, then rewind until I see it. I see everything. A man walking in from the elevator, Arie slowly trying to back away, then darting for the kitchen and grabbing for the knife. But the man beat her into the kitchen, and hit her with his gun, sending her crumbling to the floor. But not before she slammed her head on the corner of countertop.

My stomach drops. The man never shows his face, and without a direct ID, it’s going to take me forever to find some trace of him in the apartment. I don’t know what I’m going to do, when suddenly I notice, the man reaches into his pocket to take out his cell phone. I turn up the volume as high as it will go, and can just make out his gruff and miserable voice.

“…in the lobby… Nah, she’s out like a light. Should I bring her to the house?... No, you’re right. Stupid idea. The warehouse by the dock?... You got it… No problem, Mr. Cannizzo.”

I slam my fist down on the bed. “That fucking son of a bitch!” I scream out loud just for the satisfaction. But I know I don’t have time to be pissed right now. I need to figure out where they took Arie. I use my access to the public records research database I have through work, and find that Sonny Cannizzo owns a warehouse, but the address has been deleted as a matter of public record. Cannizzo probably paid off a politician to get the information removed. I know that I should call the police, the FBI… get hostage negotiators involved, people who aren’t personally invested in the outcome of whatever happens next.

But all I want to do is put my hands around that man’s throat and squeeze. So, if I want to have the satisfaction of making the man pay for hurting Arie, I’m going to have to take care of this myself. And there is only one man who can help me.

I fish Roger Bailey’s card out of my pocket and make the call.

I can hear Bailey swipe everything off his desk in anger, and something glass shatter on the floor.

“Are you kidding me? She had twenty-four hours! That son-of-a-bitch. Wait… How do you know about her and me? Did she tell you?”