Page 60 of Chasing Wildflowers
He mirrors my posture, the flickering red glow from the hotel sign cutting across his face. “Yes, fucking way. Call him, Jameson. He said to call if we ever got caught in a shitstorm. Look around, you think this isn’t a shitstorm? Call him.”
Fuck he’s right. We are running out of time and need his help.
“Damn it,” I groan, pulling up his contact info. My finger hovers over the screen, stomach tying itself in knots. Finally, I press call and put the phone to my ear.
“Hey, kid,” I can hear the smile in his voice. He’s happy to hear from me, and here I am, about to ruin his damn day.
“I need your help, Vic. Code red.”
His voice dims, losing some of its warmth, but remains steady. “I’ll call you in five minutes.” He hangs up, leaving the line quiet, and me with a knot of tension I can’t shake.
He’s a retired FBI agent with over thirty years of experience in the field. He’s my fucking hero and has taught me the skills that enable me to do my job as a PI.
He has also racked up favors through the years. Favors I could never dream of having, but desperately need.
My phone rings. I put it to my ear, staying silent, my heart beating rapidly in my chest.
His voice is all business. He’s not my loving step-dad right now, he’s a specially trained agent. “Tell me everything.”
I do, starting with the client’s first call, not leaving out a single detail.
“Have Miles send me everything he has. I’ll have a plane waiting for you.” The line goes dead.
I start to relay what Vic said, but Miles is already typing away, having clearly overheard. I’m just about to shove my phone back into my pocket when it buzzes, an incoming message lighting up the screen.
Wildflower
Thanks for the flowers.
I stop breathing, the buzz of the air conditioner suddenly too loud. I didn’t send her flowers.
Miles looks up, his eyes locking on the horror written all over my face. “What’s wrong?”
Panic like I’ve never felt before floods my body. “He found her.”
He types a few commands into his laptop and four scenes pop up, each showing a different angle. In the top right corner is my Wildflower.
Relief washes through me. She’s okay.
I stand and stomp across the floor, desperate to get to her, but Miles calls my name, halting me mid-stride.
I turn, glaring at him. “What?”
“If you barge in now; like this, in front of a bar full of people, you’ll make a scene,” he says, trying to reason with me. “We need to get her out quietly. There’s a plan. Stick to it.”
He turns his laptop around so it faces the spot I vacated, and pulls a second one from his bag.
I drop into the chair, my eyes locked on Lane as she works. It feels like I’m being split in two. My heart wants me to go to her. To drag her out of the bar right this second. My head knows we need to wait and do it quietly.
She’s wearing a bright smile, cheerfully chatting with Betsy. My heart clenches. She’s so happy and I’m about to upend her entire life. She’s going to hate me after this. Fuck, how do I get her to leave with me?
I pick up my phone, thumb hovering over the screen for just a moment before and make another call I don’t want to make. Involving another person I don’t want to involve.
Unable to wait any longer, I’m out of my truck and through the bar door the second the last customer of the night leaves. Music still flows from the jukebox, something low and haunting.
A smile spreads across Lane’s face when she sees me. “I thought we were meeting at my house?”
That smile. Something deep inside me cracks open and I clench my fists at my sides.
