Page 90 of Wicked and Claimed

Nash breathed a sigh of relief. Hunter’s decision didn’t bring Haisley back, but it was damn good news that his bosses didn’t intend to be a roadblock. Didn’t intend to put their paycheck above lives. “Thank you.”

“It’s the right thing to do. I’ll call in every favor I’ve got, starting with the police chief.” Hunter’s voice hardened. “I’ll get eyes on traffic cams. We’ll put pressure on Benedict’s mistress. But, Scott? If you don’t catch up to that van in five minutes, pull back. You’re not going to find these bastards on the open road. They’re professionals capable of disappearing without a trace. And if you do find them, call for backup. They aren’t fucking around. They can make people disappear—or worse. And you’re no good to Haisley dead. Can you do that without losing your shit?”

Nash gritted his teeth. He hated it…but he understood Edgington’s point. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Keep me in the loop. And no more going behind my back, Scott. By the book. You got me?”

“Ten-four.”

The call ended. As a red light stopped Nash, he slammed his palm against the steering wheel with a curse. He gave himself five seconds to acknowledge his unadulterated terror for Haisley. Five seconds to acknowledge all the horrible things that could be happening to her even now. Five seconds to hate himself for not being faster, smarter, better.

Then he tamped it all down.

When the light finally turned, he darted off the limit line and headed for the freeway, but the brown van—and the love of his life—were nowhere to be seen.

Jerking the wheel with a curse, he turned his truck around, tires squealing against asphalt. Sifting through the evidence Trees had found, deciphering who might have taken Haisley and where, then getting there was his only shot of saving her now. He had to think like an operative, not a man who might have his heart ripped out.

Even if every mile that separated him from Haisley felt like it was shredding his soul.

* * *

“Since my sources tracking the van tell me it left town heading east and fucking disappeared, tell me you found something useful,” Hunter barked through the phone hours later as dusk began to settle over Lafayette.

“Nothing.” When Nash’s voice cracked, he cleared his throat and tried again. “Well, nothing solid. Yet. Ethan and I pulled surveillance footage from every business within three blocks of the mall. The brown van went north, then disappeared into a camera dead zone. Mall security was useless. Their external cameras have been ‘malfunctioning’ off and on for weeks.”

“Convenient.”

“Too convenient. It’s not just an inside job, but a coordinated criminal enterprise.” Nash ran a hand over his face, fighting to focus through his mounting terror. “That janitor had to be involved. He knew we were investigating, that Haisley had been tireless. So he and his higher-ups took her out of the equation. If I had any doubt about his complicity, he quit his job mere minutes after her abduction.”

“You sure?”

“Ethan sweet-talked the former mall manager’s assistant, Julia, into letting him read the resignation note he scribbled onto the back of a napkin before he walked out.”

Hunter groaned. “‘Sweet-talked’? If Ethan seduced the information out of her, I don’t want details.”

Nash stayed conspicuously silent, his head too full of Haisley as he wended through the evening traffic.

“So that’s ayes.I don’t know whether to punch Garrison in the face or pat him on the back. His dick is going to get him into trouble someday, goddamn him. Anything more about the janitor?”

“Ethan interviewed the few mall employees he interacted with. No one remembers seeing the guy talk to anyone unusual. Apparently, he kept to himself. Did his job. Never caused trouble.”

“Perfect cover.”

“He blended into the background and never made noise. Then he suddenly quits and claims he’s moving out of state?” Suspicion laced Nash’s tone. “It smells like bullshit.”

“I’m surprised he’s not plotting to skip the country,” Hunter growled. “What’s this asshole’s name? I’ll contact my sources and call in some favors. We’ll find him.”

“Don’t bother. He used the name John Miller.”

“Generic as hell.”

“Because it’s fake.” Nash sped through a yellow light and turned into Haisley’s neighborhood. “And now he’s dead. Ethan and I found him in his apartment an hour ago. Garroted. Body was still warm. The place was a mess—half-packed suitcase on the bed, clothes scattered everywhere. We found multiple IDs and a wad of cash. He tried to run, but whoever’s running this operation got to him first. And before you ask, they swiped his phone and computer, so any potential tech trail is dead.”

“Son of a bitch…”

“It gets worse. We found a creepy hidden panel behind his bathroom mirror. Inside? Surveillance photos of all the previous victims. Time-stamped. Location-tagged. All women—young and attractive. With their whole lives ahead of them. But Haisley…” His voice roughened. “Her photo labeled her a ‘security risk’ with a handwritten note underneath: ‘Becoming problematic.’”

“She was getting too close to the truth, and she was enough like their typical victim profile to make her more valuable alive than dead.”

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