Page 85 of Rum & Coke
I wanted themback.
“Yeah, I do,” I admitted. “I love them both.”
Her smile widened. “I can’t wait for you to tell her.”
I stared into her blue eyes. “Me, too.”
I wasn’t going to think about the fact that I might never get to tell her. I was going to think positively. I knew a fucking FBI agent for Christ’s sake, and if that didn’t count for something, I didn’t know what would. I needed to find them and tell them, maybe get their help and advice. Or I could walk into a drug dealer’s house and find Tessa myself.
That was going to be plan B.
I dropped my hands and moved to the door. “Call me if you hear from her.”
“You, too.”
“I will.”
As I walked down the stairs toward my SUV, I dialed Gabe. I didn’t know where Paul lived anymore. When he quit S&R, he moved out of the house he and Gabe had shared when they transferred to Vegas from L.A.
“Vin?” Gabe answered, groggy.
“I need your help.” I slid into my car.
“At this hour?”
“Tessa’s missing.”
“What do you mean Tessa’s missing?”
I cranked the engine, and after a few moments, the call transferred to my car speakers. “It’s a long story, but I need to find Joss or Seth.”
“Not possible.”
I put my car in reverse and pulled out of the space. “Why not? I know Paul and Joss are on their honey—”
“Yes, but …” He paused for a moment. “Shit. Look, tomorrow afternoon the mission starts.”
“Their undercover mission?” I asked, turning onto the street in the direction of Gabe’s because that was the only place I knew.
“Yeah.”
“So? That’s not tonight. I need their helptonight.”
“I don’t know where they are. Paul just told me that Monday the mission starts and he’d be off the grid until it was over. He couldn’t give me any details.”
“Fuck!” I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. “What do I do?”
“Tell me why you think she’s missing.” I told him what I knew as I continued to drive to his house and his first reply was, “Go to the cops.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “Seems that’s my only option.”
“Keep me posted. I’m here to help if you need me.”
“All right.” I hung up and pulled over. A Google searched confirmed no local police stations were open at this hour. How was that possible? Where did the calls go? I was about to find out. I texted Melony, got Sebastian’s address, and then dialed 9-1-1. Maybe I should have called the non-emergency line, but something wasn’t sitting right, and I needed them to act fast.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“I think my girlfriend’s been kidnapped by her boss.”
