Page 27 of Abducted

Nate coughed. “Seriously, dude?”

“It was custom-made.” He shrugged. A couple more clicks, and he had his surveillance video for the last twenty-four hours pulled up. He fast-forwarded until he saw three thugs break in through the back entrance. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he watched his home—his stuff—being vandalized, contaminated. He exhaled a hot breath through his nose. Pausing the video on a good view of Stamos, he turned the screen to Nate.

“Who’s that look like to you?”

Nate gasped. “My goodness, Stamos, I think you have a doppelganger.” He took the phone from Cal’s fingers, hopped off the counter, and held it an inch from Stamos’s nose. “Tell me, douche. Who is that?”

Stamos gulped. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and over the outside of his eye. He whimpered. “They made me.”

“Oh.” Nate straightened. “Well, that changes everything.”

Cal’s rage threatened to bubble over. He was glad Nate was here to intervene. His hands itched to break every bone in Stamos’s body. Not because he’d trashed his house, but because he would have gladly killed Lana two nights ago. He pulled his Glock from the waistband of his pants and strode dutifully to Stamos.

“I’m sorry, man! I’ll replace it.”

He shoved the barrel of the gun under his chin. “I don’t give a shit about my house or the couch—”

“Super-sharp couch, though. Didn’t you say you used an interior designer?”

Cal unlocked the safety. Stamos whimpered.

“Yeah, Stephanie. Why do you think I paid ten grand for it?” Cal grinned at Nate. Stamos looked from Nate to Cal and back again. Nate was having fun screwing with Stamos. It was the only thing keeping him calm—and it beat killing him.

He dropped the gun to Stamos’s shoulder. The man’s eyes widened and his lips trembled.

“What was that game we used to play? You remember, when we caught that sex trafficker?” Cal asked Nate absently.

“Ah, yes. Eenie, meenie, miney, mo.”

Cal pointed his Glock from one shoulder to the other. “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo.”

“Please, man. I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry for what? For planning a young woman’s murder?” He spat the words out. Stamos shook in the chair.

Nate clapped a hand on Cal’s shoulder.

“I’m going to take your shoulder out, Ian.” Cal spoke calmly, using Stamos’s first name. “You tell me who hired you, and I won’t take out the other one.”

Nate moaned. “That’s a bitch injury. You’re going to need surgery and physio after that.”

“Fuck, man.” Stamos sobbed.

“One.” Cal’s voice echoed through the room. “Two.”

“Will. His name is Will Anderson. That’s all I know, I swear.” Cal looked at Nate. He shrugged in response.

“Where does he live?”

Sweat dripped over his eyebrow and into the corner of his eye. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” Cal ground out.

“I don’t know, honest.” He blinked the sweat away. “Please don’t do it.” Stamos’s voice broke.

Cal stood from his crouched position, keeping his Glock trained on Stamos’s right shoulder. Ice filled his veins, numbing him to Stamos’s pleas. This man would have killed Lana without blinking. For that, Cal couldn’t be forgiving. He moved his forefinger over the trigger.

“No!” Stamos lurched forward, but Cal’s finger was quicker. He turned his face away to avoid the blood splatter and pulled the trigger. A gush of blood landed at his feet, just missing his shoes.

Stamos screamed, his face contorted in pain. Sweat collected at the collar of his shirt as he heaved shuddering gasps through clenched teeth. “Man, that’s gross.” Nate tugged on Cal’s elbow. Cal shook off his hold and tucked his Glock back in his pants. He wasn’t done yet. He grabbed the arms of Stamos’s chair, his knuckles turning white on the smooth plastic.

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