Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
When I’m finished, he sits back. “So, let’s assume this guy—whatever his real name is—was the one leaving the gifts. We already ruled out Reyes. He wouldn’t bother with this kind of theatrics. Vega’s still a wild card, but his style’s different too. He’s about intimidation, not obsession.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Whoever left those gifts knew me. Not just my name, but me. My past. He wanted to remind me that he could still touch my life whenever he wanted.”
Raven folds her arms. “Which means he’s been watching you for a while.”
The thought makes me shiver. “Maybe he never stopped.”
Vinnie types faster. “You said you don’t think ‘Gordon Brown’ is his real name?”
I shake my head. “It isn’t. It’s an alias. When I was in Colombia, he told me once that Gordon Ramsay was his culinary idol and Alton Brown was his teacher in another life.”
“So you never learned his actual name?”
I look down, ashamed. “No. I only ever called him Chef. That’s what everyone called him. My father. The kitchen staff. Just…Chef.”
Vinnie leans forward. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve still got all the old intel from the Agudelo files—the servants, the staff, the extended network. I’ll go through it and see if any chefs, sous chefs, or culinary consultants match the description. There can’t be many.”
Raven nods. “If he’s the one behind this, we’ll find him. We’ll make him regret ever stepping foot on U.S. soil.”
Vinnie scrolls through the old database he keeps locked behind several layers of encryption. My heart clinches as I recognize some of the names—drivers, guards, business partners. Every name a ghost from another life.
“Maybe he’s back in Colombia,” I say quietly. “Chef C swears he drove him to the airport.”
Vinnie grunts. “Doesn’t mean he got on a plane. Men like that know how to slip through security. Fake boarding passes. Ditch bags after check-in. They disappear before you’ve finished your coffee.”
Raven nods. “Or maybe he never even left Texas.”
That idea chills me even more than the others.
The clock on the stove blinks 3:47 a.m. My body feels heavy with exhaustion, but my mind won’t shut down.
Vinnie finally closes his laptop. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow. Or…later today. Whatever you want to call it. If I stare at this screen any longer, I’ll start seeing names that aren’t there.”
Raven stifles a yawn. “He’s right. We all need sleep.”
Sleep. The word feels foreign.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “Not while she’s still out there.” My lip trembles, and I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “She’s just a kid, Raven. She’s probably terrified.”
Raven’s eyes soften. “I know. But you’ll help her more when your head’s clear. You’ve done enough for tonight.”
Enough. The word lodges in my chest. When is anything ever enough?
I nod anyway because I don’t have the strength to argue.
They both head upstairs, murmuring goodnights. I stay behind in the kitchen, staring out the window into the dark. The horizon is still black, no sign of dawn.
I press my hand against the cool glass. Somewhere out there, a man who once taught me how to temper chocolate is walking free. Somewhere, he has Belinda…or he knows who does.
And somewhere, the little girl who loves cheeseballs and plays piano like an angel is crying for help I can’t give her.
I close my eyes and make a promise to her, to myself, to the universe that seems intent on testing me again and again…
I will find her.
Even if it means going back to Colombia myself.
Even if it means facing Chef.
Even if it means facing Diego Vega.
Even if it means losing what’s left of my peace.
Because peace isn’t worth anything if I can’t protect the people I love.
The clock ticks softly behind me. Four a.m. The first hints of gray creep into the eastern sky.
A new day.
But not a new start. Not yet.
Not until Belinda is safe.
19
HAWK
Morning breaks. I haven’t slept. But I lay in my bed all last night and tried. Dawn breaks, and I shower.
Coffee.
Lots of coffee.
And then I get back into my truck—I swear I fucking live in the thing lately—and drive to the hospital.
Eagle.
He was trying to tell me something—Dad and D-D-D—before the nurse sedated him. I’ve replayed it a hundred times, that stutter catching on a letter that won’t cooperate. The only D I can think of—besides Dad, which it may very well be—is the same one that keeps crawling out of his grave.
Diego Vega.
I park in the parking lot because I don’t want to have to wait for the valet when I leave, and I take the stairs two at a time because the elevators seem too slow this morning.
I should look in on my father while I’m here. Of course, then I risk running into Grace, the nurse on his floor who I’ve ghosted.
Except she’s not the real reason I don’t look in on Austin Bellamy.