Page 87 of Protecting Peyton

The motorof the Cayenne purred as I drove through afternoon traffic on the way back from today’s surveillance mission on one of Victor Russo’s couriers.

“Good work, people,” Lucas said in my tactical earpiece.

Lucas had been concerned that Victor might have gotten involved with the North Koreans, but this delivery had been everyday criminal shit. The guy picked up a case, probably filled with money, at a seedy corner check-cashing business and brought it to Victor’s top lieutenant.

I’d wanted to spend the day at SpaceMasters, where I could keep an eye on the delectable Peyton. But Lucas had picked me for this mission, saying I was fresh in town and Terry’s face was too well known by people in the Russo gang.

At my insistence, Jordy had taken another look at the possibility that Peyton was, or had been, in witness protection. But that was a bust. When our tech geek said he’d hacked into the US Marshals Service database and she wasn’t and never had been under their protection, I had to believe him.

That left only the direct approach. Today was the day I planned to push Peyton again on her secretive background and get serious about who or what she was running from. I’d backed off that topic as she’d asked, but that had to end.

I muted the earpiece when a phone call came in. I didn’t recognize the number, but I hadn’t loaded Pete’s new number in my phone. “Hi, what’s up?”

“Mr. March?” a tentative female voice asked. The connection wasn’t good.

“Yes.”

“Peyton gave me a note and asked me to call you.”

I slammed on the brakes, pulled to the curb, and cranked up the volume. “Go ahead.”

“She wants you to come right now. I think something has scared her.”

“Where?” I demanded.

“B-B Pawn, the three hundred block of Oak Leaf Avenue.”

“I’m on the way.” Flooring the Porsche, I screeched away from the curb, narrowly missing an Amazon delivery van. “I won’t be long. Tell her to hold on and not go anywhere.”

“Please hurry.”

I ended the call, let off the gas, and laid on the brakes for the next intersection.

The tires squealed as I cut left and then let the twin-turbo V8 roar on the short straight section. Unmuting my earpiece, I announced, “Peyton’s in trouble.”

“Where?” Lucas demanded as I braked for the next corner.

I repeated the shop name and street the woman had given me as I sped up again.

“On the way,” Constance said before Lucas could tell her to join me.

“Me too,” Duke said.

“Jordy, get a drone in the air.”

“On it,” Jordy said. The pride and joy of his fleet was a drone he’d just gotten that could do a hundred and fifty through the air and didn’t have to slow for corners.

Lucas had made us all take performance driving lessons on the local race track, and I planned on pushing this Porsche right to the damned limit to reach Peyton in time.

“What’s the situation?” Lucas asked, cool as could be.

“No idea. She asked the store owner to call me is all I know.” I was anything but cool as I swatted away the terrible scenarios where I didn’t reach her in time. I would not fail her. I could not.

“Nothing on the police scanner,” Jordy informed us.

As the blocks ticked down and I got closer, the idea of her at a pawn shop ate at me. Why would she be there if not to sell something to get the money to run?

I didn’t want her to run from whatever her fear was, but I especially didn’t want her to run without telling me. That stung. We hadn’t known each other for long, but I thought she knew she could trust me.