Page 213 of Wicked Proposal

Impatience mixes with terror in my veins. I scan the room. Everything looks haphazard in a panicked sort of way, like there’s been a search and seizure. It’s unlike the warm chaos of Mia’s home—unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

Then, on the floor, I spot it.

Eli’s Garfield plushie.

I pick it up without thinking. It’s cold, I realize. It must have been on that floor for hours.

Eli never would have left it like that. Not if he had any choice. In fact, he wouldn’t have left it at all.

My fingers dig into the fabric. “Reese, I need you to answer me now. What happened here?”

And finally, he tells me. About the woman named Tamara, Eli’s kidnapping, the note on Mia’s counter.

When he’s finished, my knuckles are marble white.

Brad.

I should have killed thatmudakwhen I had the chance. I never, ever should have let him walk out of StarTech, or even his own wedding. That stunt at the hospital—it should have cost him both his legs.

Instead, for Mia’s sake, I let it go unpunished.

A mistake I won’t repeat.

“Where did she go, Reese?”

“She didn’t say. Just that she was going to get Eli back.”

She’s going to him. To bargain—to plead.

Fear grips me as hard as fury.

“Wait!” Reese calls after me as I turn to leave. “Where are you going?”

“To get my family back.”

65

MIA

I park Rhonda the Honda into the snazzy driveway of the Baldwin family’s Hamptons villa.

It’s not where Brad lives now. According to every Forbes article I’ve read, the young heir to the Baldwin construction empire favors his Manhattan penthouse, right in the heart of Soho. Closer to businessandpleasure—that’s how he answered in that interview.

But I know he’s not waiting for me there. Because I’ve never been in it.

Come to our love nest.Those were the instructions. That can only mean one place.

As I walk up to the gate, I can hear the crashing waves around me. It’s been ages since I could. It gives me strength—the roll of the tide, the scent of the sea—for what I’m about to do.

Face my past.

“Let me in, you sack of shit.”

The buzzer goes off. The iron gate slides open, like many times before, its metallic noise digging up memories. My heart starts hammering in response, remembering how unsafe this place was for us, how hard we’ve worked to put it behind us.

But I won’t run anymore.

Not if my son needs me.