Page 37 of Wicked Mistletoe

“Oh! What’s that?” Maximo suddenly exclaims. He’s pointing at one of the hallway cameras, leaning so close his nose almost touches the screen.

At first, I see nothing. Then a curtain rustles and a man-shaped shadow emerges, blending with the walls almost instantly.

My pulse kicks up.This is it.

“Gotcha,” Michael whispers, fingers poised over his keyboard.

We watch in tense silence as the creep slinks down the hallway and cracks open the first door. A quick peek, then it closes. Boy’s room. Of course, no interest there.Prick.

He moves on, door after door, until he reaches one of the girls’ rooms. My gut twists, knowing exactly what’s coming. The creep tiptoes to a bunk bed, pulls out a handkerchief from his jacket, and clamps it over the nose of the girl on the lower bunk.

Fuck.My fists tighten, and it takes everything in me not to punch the screen.

The girl immediately bucks underneath him, struggling, but it’s futile. In seconds, she’s limp in his arms. Then, as if nothing happened, he pockets the cloth, hoists the unconscious body over his shoulder, and makes his exit.

Maximo’s out of the van in a flash, ready for his part.

Honestly, I didn’t expect us to catch the man on our first stakeout, but we were prepared. Maximo will wait for the kidnapper at the side of the orphanage and tail him to his vehicle, where he’ll plant a tracker. It’s all on him now.

The kidnapper climbs out of the window and disappears from view. And so we wait with bated breaths for Maximo. My gaze goes to the little blinking dot that shows his position.

The dot creeps along, each second dragging. Then, finally, Maximo’s voice crackles through the earpiece, “This cocky son of a bitch didn’t even try to cover his tracks.” The disgust in his voice is palpable, mirroring what we’re all feeling. “I put the tracker on his car—some busted-ass sedan with Michigan state plates.”

He rattles off the plate numbers for Michael to run through his database. “He dropped the girl in the trunk and is pulling out now. I’m coming back to the van.”

Sure enough, the red dot starts moving, slow at first, then picking up speed as the guy drives away. Moments later,Maximo appears, running towards our van like the hounds of hell are on his heels.

“Let’s stop this fucker,” he grunts as he gets in and starts the van.

12

EMILIA

My phone’s shrill ring jolts me from my sleep, and for a moment, I’m lost in a sea of unfamiliarity—the room around me exudes a masculine energy that’s both alluring and disorienting. Then, like a warm caress, Rafael’s intoxicating cologne wafts over me, and the events of last night come flooding back.Right, I’m in his penthouse.

I push myself up, frowning at the empty space beside me. My hand drifts to where he lay next to me, finding only cool sheets. He’s been gone a while.

The phone keeps shrieking—God, why did I pick such an annoying ringtone? As the fog in my brain finally clears, I recognize it.Stacey.I drag myself out of bed and stumble to my purse on the dresser. “Hello?” My voice comes out as a croak, and I clear my throat, lifting the phone from my ear to check the time. 4:15 AM.Geez.

“Emily. Another child has gone missing.” Stacey’s words hit me with a bucket of ice water, chasing away any remaining drowsiness. “Kidnapped from an orphanage in lower Manhattan. Is Rafael with you?”

My eyes snap back to the empty bed, and that’s when I notice it—a note on the nightstand. My stomach clenches as I walk over to read it.

Something came up at work, amorina. Make yourself at home. If you’re hungry, there’s some leftovers in the fridge or you can order in. Will be back soon.

–Rafael.

Something came up at work? At this hour? My heart jumps to my throat, and I squeeze the note in my hands as worst-case scenarios whizz through my head.No, no, no. It’s just a coincidence.But my traitorous brain chooses that moment to dredge up Michael’s words from last night when Rafael asked what they were doing here.

“Well, I discovered more about the–”

More about ‘the’ what? What’s the thing he was talking about? The little girl they were trying to kidnap? No. God, no. I can’t let my mind go there. I shake my head violently, as if I could physically dislodge the thought. The sick feeling in my gut intensifies. No, there’s just no way. There has to be another explanation.

“Emily, are you there?”

Stacey’s voice in my ears is jarring. For a moment, I’d forgotten she was still on the phone. “Yes, yes, I’m here.”

“Well? Is Rafael with you or not?”

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