Page 153 of Distress Signal
“Let’s take a ride.”
My twin’s brow curved upward. “Wheels or wings?”
I grinned. “Wings.”
“I’m coming.”
None of us had heard the door off the garage open, nor had we clocked the footsteps as they approached.
I wasshockedto find Crew and Aspen standing there.
“What thefuckare you two doing here?” Lane asked, emerging from Trey’s bat cave, tone echoing my own surprise.
“Aria called,” Aspen said. “The real question is, why thefuckdidn’t one of you tell us what was going on?”
“Because it’s your wedding night,” I said. “And finding Reagan is not your problem.”
Crew snorted, and Aspen rolled her eyes.
“Please, Finny,” she said, breaking out the nickname she knew I hated. The only ones who got away with using it were Mama and Aria. “She’s your girlfriend. And as your sister-in-law, that basically makes hermysister. Of course she’s our problem.”
There was no sense arguing with her. Aspen McKay—no,Lawless—put our own stubbornness to shame.
Sensing I wasn’t going to fight her further, she stepped up and rose onto her tip toes to give me a hug, though she was so short I had to bend to greet her. When she let go, she said, “We’ll find her.”
“How can you be sure?”
She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at her new husband. “We got him back, didn’t we?”
Fair point.
She strutted into the war room like she owned it. Trey didn’t look away from the screens, but Lane handed her a sheaf of papers, which Aspen greedily accepted, settling at the small, square table at the side of the room and instantly going to work.
“What are those?” I asked.
“Property records,” Lane supplied.
“We’ll find this fucker, Finny,” Aspen said, attention on the top sheet. “Promise.” Then she raised her hand to shoo us. “Now leave us alone.”
“You caught yourself a live one with her,” Owen said to Crew with a chuckle.
“Takes one to know one,” Crew grinned, looking like the happiest motherfucker on the planet.
Annoyed, I growled, “Are we going to do this or what?”
“Do you want to change first or something?” Crew asked, brow curved as he took in my and West’s clothes—the creamy linen pants and button up shirts we’d been wearing all day. I’dshed the bowtie and unbuttoned the top few hours ago, but changing would waste time we didn’t have.
“No.”
And that was that.
Crew and West followed me out of the house, and we took off for the airfield.
On the way, we called the air traffic controller from Boise, and to say he was pissed would’ve been an understatement. But when I explained the situation in the barest details possible, he agreed to get out of bed and head to the airport.
“Any idea how long you’ll be up?”
“As long as it takes.”
