Page 58 of A Captive Situation

I waited in the alley behind their place, keeping hidden until I noticed a good opening to slip inside. I got it when a car arrived, and two older women spilled out of their car.

I was guessing that these were the aunts.

They weren’t New Yorkers.

She’d said her mom was a Stepford wife look-alike. These two women were not that. One looked like a giant pit bull with almost white hair and a meanness emanating from her. She was decked out looking like she was going on a safari in Africa, complete with a hat and net over her face and a red fanny pack around her waist. The other was dressed in a pink leopard-print sweat suit. A gold chain hung from her neck, and she had a neon-yellow visor, also with a matching neon-yellow fanny pack. She was taller and bigger, like a lineman. Dark and graying hair. They both looked tough, but the darker-haired one seemed like she’d given birth to an entire brood of guys who ate rocks for their meals. She had a look to her that she could handle anyone, and my mom had that same look on her face growing up. And she’d handled plenty.

I grinned, remembering that about her.

The hit was on my head, not Sawyer’s. She was only listed as a point of contact. Some of the killers would lie in wait, grab Sawyer, and use her as bait to draw me out. Those were the nice ones. There were others that wouldn’t give a fuck. They would wade into that brownstone andkill everyone before grabbing Sawyer and, again, use her as bait for me. Either way, her family would only be safe if I got Sawyer and took her away, which brought me back to my current movements.

I hadn’t planned ahead if Sawyer would be able to reach out to anyone. I should’ve.

I would’ve asked Ashton to get cameras and listening devices inside their house, but I just hadn’t. I’d been on the defensive this entire time except for this moment.

Right now was the shift.

When the aunts arrived, that’s when I got my opening into the brownstone.

The husband took a couple trips to bring all their luggage inside, and the door opened once more when the safari-aunt returned to the car for an item. It looked like a pink furry flamingo clutch. The thing was giant. It drew attention.

Everything about these aunts drew attention, but I slipped to the home when she went back inside.

They didn’t turn the security system back on. Not right away.

I was able to open a side door on the lower level.

Navigating through the house took time. It’d been easier than it should’ve been with five people and two dogs, one bigger and one smaller, and I hadn’t glimpsed the dogs. I only heard their barks. Everyone stayed on the main level.

They were drinking. Talking loud. Laughing. I heard crying.

The little dog growled, running after me when he caught my scent, but I stepped into a closet just as one of the guys grabbed their dog. “We’ve already been over this. You’re not getting whatever treats are in there. Come on. We need to make sure your auntie Sawyer is okay. Can you help me with that? Give her extra kisses and cuddles? Hmmm?” He whispered to the dog, “Let’s make sure everyone is of sound mind, too, while we’re at it. Can you help me with that?” He walked away, but that dog would be back, so I hurried out and slipped through the house until I was on the third level.

It was easy to figure out which room was Sawyer’s. Both of the aunts had tossed their visor and net-hat on the bed in the second-floor bedroom. Sawyer had left her purse on the dresser in the other room. Her phone was plugged in, charging next to it. The purse was half on top of it, as if she were hiding it.

Her door was open, but I closed it and grabbed her purse, setting it down in front of the door to try and cover some of my scent.

The dog ran up, sniffing outside.

I moved to her closet, and after a few minutes, after he was called back downstairs, he left.

I snuck out, returning her purse to the dresser. After using the attached bathroom, I opened her bedroom door an inch and moved to her closet, leaving that door open an inch as well. I was able to hear their voices, and heard the different trotting from the two dogs. One was slow, barely moving around. I was guessing that it was a bigger dog. Maybe an older dog, which was a slight blessing for me, but neither of these dogs were guard dogs. When the smaller dog didn’t return, I settled back and waited.

My phone buzzed silently against my hip. I pulled it out, reading the text.

Ashton: Info on Lane’s girl. You’re welcome. You owe me.

I rolled my eyes but clicked on the attached file.

An image of a young girl, early twenties, looked back at me. Brown skin. Dark almond eyes. Long black hair. Thin. Tall. It looked like a picture someone told her to stand by the wall for because they needed it for a file. She was holding on to a ragged backpack, the straps nearly torn off. The front pocket had long been pulled off. Some of the strings were still there.

She wasn’t smiling. Her eyes were dead. She looked a little malnourished, but she was stunning.

I could see why Lane was obsessed with her, but she was young. I didn’t like that part.

I kept scrolling, reading through the rest.

Her name was Blake Green.

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