Page 11

11

Jack

Malibu was nothing like the postcards.

Yeah, there were palm trees and beaches—but under the surface, it was a different world at night. The kind of place where predators wore designer sneakers and kids like Pamela disappeared in plain sight.

Fraiser had contacts in the area—people who kept their ears low to the ground. I’d barely touched down before a burner phone rang in my jacket pocket.

“Jack?” a woman’s voice said. “Name’s Jenna. I run a shelter off Sunset. We had a girl come in last night. Said her name was Emma, but she matched Pamela’s photo. She stayed a few hours, left before sunrise. Looked scared. Real scared.”

“Where’d she go?”

“Last I saw, she was heading toward the beachside motels. Ones that rent by the hour, if you catch my drift.”

I caught it.

“Thanks,” I said. “Text me the address.”

I didn’t wait for backup. I didn’t have time.

I moved through the streets fast, boots hitting the pavement like they still remembered Afghanistan. The air smelled like salt and smoke, and every shadow looked like a threat. I passed two guys loitering near a corner liquor store—watching, waiting. One of them looked at me for too long. I stared back until he flinched and turned away.

I drove to the motels along that route. At the first motel, the clerk didn’t want to talk until I dropped two crisp hundred-dollar bills on the counter.

“She was here,” he said. “Checked in with some guy. Mid-thirties. Shaved head. Drove a black SUV. He didn’t like her talking.”

My jaw tightened. “What room?”

“Two-thirteen. But they left twenty minutes ago. Headed south.”

I didn’t hesitate. I ran and jumped into my rental and scanned the streets.

Three blocks down, a black SUV rolled through a red light like it had somewhere to be and didn’t care who it had to hurt to get there.

I followed.

Careful. Distant. Watching for signs.

And then I saw it—blonde hair in the back seat. A girl turned, face pale, mouth moving like she was praying.

Pamela.

There she is.

I pulled out my phone and called Fraiser.

“Got eyes on her. Black Escalade, heading south on Pacific. She’s in the back.”

“Hold position,” he said. “Team’s en-route.”

“Negative,” I said. “He’s turning into the cliffs. If he disappears up there, we lose her.”

“Jack—”

But I was already cutting the wheel, heart pounding like a war drum.

Some fights you don’t wait for.

Some lives you don’t risk.

And Pamela?

She was someone’s little girl.

The SUV cut hard off the highway, tires spitting gravel as it climbed a narrow service road winding into the cliffs. I followed at a distance, headlights off, engine growling low. The road curved tight against steep drop-offs. There were no guardrails—just jagged rocks below and too much sky above.

I didn’t like this.

Too isolated. Too easy to make someone disappear.

My eyes locked on the taillights in the dark, my hands steady on the wheel. The vehicle ahead bounced over the uneven terrain, then slowed near an old maintenance shed surrounded by scrub and crumbling pavement. This place was forgotten by tourists, perfect for someone trying to hide—or do something worse.

The SUV stopped.

My breath caught.

The driver’s door opened. A man stepped out, broad frame, hoodie pulled tight. He moved fast to the back door and yanked it open. I couldn’t hear what he said, but his body language was aggressive, as he shouted at the girl in the back seat.

Pamela tried to run.

He caught her by the arm and shoved her back into the seat.

I floored it.

My car skidded to a stop a few yards away, and I jumped out, weapon drawn.

“Let her go!” I shouted.

The man froze.

Pamela screamed.

He looked at me—eyes wild, calculating—then reached behind him, fumbling for something under his hoodie.

“Don’t!” I shouted. “I’m armed and trained. You move, I drop you where you stand.”

The wind howled up from the cliffs, and for a second, all I could hear was her crying and my pulse hammering in my ears.

Then the guy bolted away from the SUV, toward the edge of the cliffs.

“Stay in the car!” I yelled to her as I took off after him.

He ran like a man with everything to lose, feet kicking up dust and loose rock. I kept pace, boots gripping the uneven ground, adrenaline turning my limbs to fire.

He reached the edge of a narrow overlook—a dead end—and spun to face me.

“You don’t know who I work for,” he hissed. “You think this ends with me?”

“No,” I said. “It ends with her going home.”

He lunged.

I blocked the swing, grabbed his arm, and twisted. We crashed to the ground, rolling dangerously close to the cliff’s edge. Rocks slipped beneath us. One more inch, and we’d both go over.

I slammed my forearm into his chest and pinned him. “It’s over.”

Blue and red lights flashed in the distance. Fraiser’s team.

The man tried to squirm free, but I didn’t let him move.

“Jack!” Fraiser’s voice called from behind. “You got him?”

“Yeah,” I said, breathing hard. “And she’s alive.”

That was all that mattered.

Pamela was still in the back seat when I made it back to the SUV, her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. Dirt streaked her jeans, and one side of her face was red where he'd grabbed her. She flinched when I opened the door.

“Hey,” I said softly, keeping my voice low and calm. “You’re safe now. It’s over.”

She didn’t move right away. Her eyes flicked to my face, still wide with fear. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke.

“Are you a cop?”

“No,” I said, crouching beside the open door. “I’m Jack. Your mom sent us. She’s worried sick about you, kiddo.”

Her eyes filled. She looked away fast, scrubbing at her face like that could erase the tears.

“I didn’t mean for any of this,” she whispered. “I just wanted to get away. I thought… I thought it would be fun.”

“I know.” I nodded. “You thought you would go to Malibu and see famous people. You thought that maybe you would become famous yourself. You didn’t think it would turn dangerous this fast.”

She didn’t answer, but I saw how her chin trembled.

“Pamela,” I said gently, “you were brave to survive the last few days. But you don’t have to do this alone anymore. We’re going to take you home. Safe and whole. That guy’s not getting near you again.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “Is my mom gonna hate me?”

“Your mom’s going to cry like a waterfall when she sees you.” I offered her my hand. “Let’s go home.”

She hesitated for a second, then took it.

Her fingers were cold.

When she stepped out, I wrapped a blanket someone handed me around her shoulders and kept her close as we walked to the waiting vehicle. “You okay?” Frasier asked quietly once Pamela was tucked safely inside.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said.

We drove through the night.

Pamela fell asleep halfway to the airfield, head resting against my shoulder like she’d finally let herself believe she was safe.

And when I finally had a moment to myself, I pulled out my phone and called the one person I wanted to talk to.

Eloise answered on the first ring.

“Did you find her?” she breathed.

“She’s okay. We got her out.”