Page 17 of Sigma
Bryn and Killian seem to finally be coming to grips with the reality of this side of their mother, and recognizing that this situation is deadly serious—of course it is, but there’s a difference between knowing Rin is missing and understanding that getting her back may not be a simple scenario.
I glance at Duke. “Who’s meeting us in Miami?”
“Thresh and Harris.” He adjusts his rifle. “Lear is wherever Lear is, doing what Lear does best, which is technological wizardry, trying to figure out if there’s any chatter about who’s behind this grab. Anselm? Well, I honestly don’t know. Once Story left home for university in Geneva, Anselm and Selah went pretty well off-grid. I think Harris has a means of contacting him, and I’m guessing he will be if he hasn’t already, seeing as one of our own has been snatched.”
I nod. “And Puck?”
“He’s heading to the island to see if he can find any evidence or leads.”
“What about the cameras?” I ask. “I know we have video surveillance.”
“I looked it over myself, if briefly. Either a real pro altered it, or the operative managed to avoid being seen. The cameras, for privacy reasons, don’t cover actual bedrooms themselves, only the approaches.” He rubs his forehead with a knuckle. “Again, whoever did this knew exactly what the fuck they were doing. It was, in all honesty, probably the most surgical grab I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“And the note?”
“It’s en route to a forensic specialist,” he says, “but my guess is they won’t find shit. The check is generic, possibly even just printed at a Kinkos or something, same with the ink, and handwriting doesn’t mean shit. The knife is a paramilitary piece you can get for twenty, thirty bucks at any surplus store, and again there won’t be prints. No-go, there.”
“So we have zero leads.” I lick my lips, force myself to breathe slowly and deeply. Keep the emotions on lockdown.
“So far,” Duke says with a wince. “But you know the guys.” He fiddles with the butt of his rifle, tracing the outline with a fingertip. “And I guess I would say it’s good news that there’s no sign of a struggle—it means she’s likely unhurt. The weird note complicates it, but I’m guessing this is about money.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so, Duke.” I frown. “Something is off. The check, the one word. It…it smacks of something personal. Someone copycatting off of how Valentine and I met, somehow. Why, I don’t know. But that’s my personal intuition.”
Duke nods. “Well, I know better than to doubt a woman’s intuition, especially a mother’s.”
The rest of the flight to Miami is silent. I’m lost in thought, praying to God or the universe or whomever for my Rin to be safe.
I barely notice when we touch down on the roof of the building we own in Miami. Duke herds me out of the jet and into the elevator just off the landing pad which leads directly into the living quarters. I’m in a daze, now, adrenaline and jet-fuel emotions giving way to shock. I allow it to roll over me, for now. I’ll need my wits about me, and soon, but for a moment or two, I have to simply allow myself to wallow in shock. Duke and Temple and Layla get everyone situated, and I hear Duke on the phone with Harris, but nothing really enters my brain.
At some point, I find myself in bed, lights out, staring at the ceiling, one sentence echoing in my head over and over again:please be safe, Rin—please be safe, Rin—please be safe, Rin.
* * *
“Key?”It’s Layla, shaking me awake. “Sorry, babe, but the building manager needs to speak with you.”
I frown at her. “Okay?”
She pats me on the thigh. “Come on, babe. He needs to see you. Now.”
I roll out of bed—I’m still fully dressed, shoes included. “What time is it?”
“Just past nine.”
“A-M or P-M?”
“The next day. You slept all night.” She rubs my back. “You needed it.”
“My husband?”
She shrugs. “Not here.”
I follow her out of the bedroom and into the main living area—Harris and Thresh are at the large, rectangular, eight-person table between the kitchen and the den, clutching mugs of steaming coffee, poring over a mess of printouts and folders of documents.
Harris sees me and comes over to me. “Key, hi.”
“Layla says the building manager is asking for me?” I ask.
This is highly unusual. When we’re here, the standing orders are that we are left alone except in cases of extreme emergency, and all staff is to hold to a basic statement along the lines ofI cannot give out any information, thank you.