My stomach rolls, threatening to revolt at the images in my mind of where she could be. What they could be doing to her. If this sick fuck has her . . . I shudder at the thought. Though I’m slightly hurt from her deception, I understand why she didn’t tell me, and my primary concern now is alleviating the danger that looms over Blake . . . or Bryleigh . . . no, fuck that. She’s still Blake. My Blake. My sweet girl.

“Soon isn’t good enough,” I roar, not caring if people nearby look over at us.

The last forty-eight hours have been like something straight out of a Quentin Tarantino film. I’ve gone from having a missing girlfriend, to watching her abduction on the building video surveillance feed, to learning she was once married to, and eventually was involved in the death of, a member of the Italian mafia. I’ve faced one crazy fucking revelation after another, and now, here I sit with a US Marshal, waiting for a girl I’ve known since I was a kid—someone who I thought was a family friend—to dock, so we can question her about any involvement in my girlfriend’s kidnapping.

It’s all so fucking surreal. No one could make this shit up.

As I turn to my brother, I squeeze my hands into tight fists atop the polished wood table. “Easton, I swear to God, if I find out you knew anything about this—about who she was—I’m going to fucking kill you.”

My tone is low and clipped. It’s the second time I’ve threatened my brother’s life in as many days, but this time I’m afraid I might just mean it. He stole my first love from me, having no regards for my feelings or brotherly love while he was burying his cock inside my fiancée’s pussy over a decade ago, and I’ll be damned if he takes Blake away from me now.

“Dude, Mad, I had no fucking clue about any of this. And if I did, I would’ve told you immediately. I swear to God,” he contends, his eyes wide. He’s either really as taken aback about learning all of this as I am, or he’s a really fucking good actor. I’m praying for the former.

I glance impatiently down at my watch then return my focus to Marshal Doherty. “She should be here soon. What’s the plan when we see her?”

“I’ll allow you—and you alone—to accompany me when I approach her to explain I’m taking her in for a few questions. I need you to try to keep her from getting too defensive, but give her absolutely no information. If she refuses, I’ll be forced to cuff and detain her,” he explains, clearly preferring the first option. “I’d rather we not make a scene. Then, you’ll be allowed to follow me back into town and listen in on the interrogation from another room. Depending on her answers, she’ll either be kept and charged, or released. This questioning is based solely on circumstantial evidence, and if she pushes the issue, there’s not much we can legally do.”

“Got it.” I nod and take a drink of the ice water, locking my unwavering gaze at the end of the pier. The moment Emerson appears in my line of sight, about ten minutes later, I rush to my feet and announce, “It’s time to get some answers.”

“I’ve told you already. I’m not leaving anything out,” Emerson insists, pursing her red-stained lips as she slams the palms of her manicured hands on the stainless steel table in front of her. Even after spending a couple of days at sea, she somehow looks completely put together with designer clothes, coordinating accessories, and heels. The epitome of high maintenance.

“Tell me again,” Marshal Doherty orders firmly, his penetrating stare untiring. “Why were you in Madden Decker’s office on Friday afternoon, alone?”

“I went into Madden’s office Friday afternoon to drop off a report I was working on before I left for my vacation. I don’t know where he was or why his assistant wasn’t at her desk. Why? What is going on?” Her nervous gaze flits around the cold interrogation room, searching for something. “Where did Madden go? Is he listening in? I want him in here.”

The clock on the wall loudly ticks off the seconds as I watch the two of them face-off from behind a pane of surveillance glass. I desperately want to rush in there and demand she stop playing games, that she tell me what happened to Blake, but I don’t. I can’t. I know Doherty is doing me a favor by including me to this extent already. Though, truth be told, he probably knows I’d be doing my own form of questioning to her later.

“Emerson, this is serious,” he snaps, leaning closer to her to stress the importance of her next answer. “If you’re lying, you could face serious prison time. Not to mention, your answers could possibly keep Mr. Decker out of trouble. Do you remember anything out of the ordinary when you were in his office Friday? Did you touch anything on his desk?”

She swallows hard and drops her chin to her chest, and at first, I get hopeful, thinking she’s about to admit her guilt. To tell us something . . . anything. But then as tears swell in her eyes and she adamantly shakes her strawberry curls around her shoulders, I begin to question my initial assumption. Maybe she doesn’t know. Maybe I’m reaching. Maybe I’m just too desperate to place blame.

“I swear to you. I didn’t see anything,” she maintains her stance. “I don’t know what’s going on, or what you want me to say, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m always working in the best interest of Decker Enterprises. I’m the most loyal employee they have.”

Doherty does little to conceal his disappointment when he announces she’s free to go, running exasperated fingers through the thin hair covering his scalp. Since Emerson claims knowledge of nothing and we don’t have physical proof of her participation in the abduction, there’s not much we can do.

He warned me about this beforehand, but I felt confident Emerson would crater and tell us what happened. Confident she was involved somehow. We’ve now wasted a whole day waiting for her return, and have nothing to show for it. Crucial hours have been lost.

All we know for sure is that Blake received a text from my phone telling her I’d pick her up Friday evening. Marshal Doherty was able to get the video surveillance from the office building where she works, once we got Blake and Jae’s boss, Mr. Thompson, involved, and we saw her get in a black town car with no plates at approximately six o’clock in the evening. The driver who got out to usher her inside the car was careful to keep his hat down on his forehead and his face tilted away from the camera. There was no struggle when she climbed into the backseat.

And that’s it. All we have.

The door to the room I’m in bangs open and Doherty stalks in. The frustration I feel is mirrored in the deep creases of his forehead. “I’ll let you know if we learn anything new, and I expect the same from you,” he states tersely. “Don’t get in over your head with this, Decker. You have no idea the people you’re dealing with. Leave it to the professionals. We’re going to do everything in our power to get her back from wherever she is.”

He leaves with the same noisy entrance he came in with, and his warning follows him out. There’s no way in Hell I’m going to sit around and do nothing. I don’t care who the fuck I’m going up against. Somebody has what’s mine.

As I storm out of the federal building into the airless summer night, my thoughts are completely submerged in the planning of my next move and I fail to notice the woman waiting for me next to my car. It’s not until I retrieve the keys from my jeans’ pocket do I look up to unlock the door, and by then, we’re only a few feet away.

“Emerson?” I lift my brow, silently asking what she wants.

Pushing off the hood, she closes the gap between us nearly instantly, her expression guarded. Almost as if she’s waiting to decide on her mood based on mine. Not the reaction I’d expect from someone who was just detained for questioning by federal authorities if they had no idea why.