He’d never known that Fallbrook knew the Delaune girl, but once he learned that they were hiding out together, he dug into their past and was delighted with what he found. Now that he knew they were connected, he could use the girl to hurt Tristan. It was almost too easy. He grinned and bowed his head in amusement. The thought was so satisfying he almost screamed with joy. Of course he didn’t. He was a man of restraint.

A knock at the door broke the silence of the room.

“Enter,” Dean said.

“We just received word that Mort will be arriving in three hours with the girl. I’ve instructed him to take her to the South warehouse for holding.”

Dean nodded.

“Thank you, Barry.”

He waved his hand, dismissing the man, and sat back in his chair

The brightness of a celestial body.

After making the call to Tristan, Alex told Monica that he was heading to New Orleans. They had no idea if Josie left on her own or if she’d been taken. Either way, he had a gut feeling that Josie was still alive. Monica couldn’t stand by and do nothing. She decided to accompany him.

They flew out the next morning. They spent an entire day with Tristan working out plans from downright stupid to borderline suicidal. Alex watched Tristan, who bounced haphazardly between grieving for Josie and insisting on her survival. He resembled a tiny boat being thrown about in the middle of a raging sea. They did their best to comfort him. Bitsy and Daniel gave their son and the two strangers space in their home, offering anything they could to help.

It wasn’t until Tristan received a call from one of Moloney’s men that he was able to regain control of himself. Barry had called to let him know that Josie was still alive and being held at Moloney’s Tchoupitoulas warehouse. The trio were in the car and on their way before the phone call ended.

“How far is it?” Monica asked.

She sat on the edge of the backseat, her fingers gripping the seat in front of her. Tristan took a sharp turn quickly and she flew against the door.

“Twenty minutes,” he answered. “Put your seat belt on.”

Monica nodded and buckled up. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath when they flew through a red light. After they cleared the intersection, she exhaled and said a prayer.

“What’s the plan?” Alex asked. “I don’t have my piece, man. Couldn’t get through airport security, you know?”

Tristan’s fingers curled around the steering wheel as he eyed the upcoming intersection. He pressed harder on the gas and ignored the horns and screeching tires left behind.

“There’s a pistol under your seat.”

“¡Simón!”

Alex reached under the seat and pulled out the gun. He checked the clip and slid it back in.

“What about me?” Monica asked as they reached the Crescent City Connection.

The wide Mississippi River stretched beneath them as Tristan and Alex gave each other knowing glances.

“You’re staying in the car, mami. We can’t be worried about you and Jo,” Alex answered.

“What? That’s crap! I could help. I’m great at distractions.”

“No,” the two men answered in unison.

Monica crossed her arms and looked out the window as they entered New Orleans. It was a beautiful city and she wished that she’d come here under better circumstances.

“I’ve been to this warehouse before,” Tristan said. “There are two doors. One at each end of the building and a large loading dock on the street side. Our best bet will be to enter the farthest door since that one is blocked from street view.”

“Okay. Then what? How many men you think they got?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know. At least three. They’ll all be armed. I hope they’re still there.”

“What if they’re not?” Monica asked.

Tristan blew through another intersection, barely avoiding a moving van.

“Then we’ll be too late.”

The silence enveloped them and the interior of the car felt like it was shrinking. The outside world flew by in a blur of cars and buildings. Tristan’s muscles ached from the intensity. He needed to be there now.

They parked a block away on a residential street. Tristan placed his own gun in the waistband of his jeans and turned to Monica.

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything you did for her.”

Monica shook her head, freeing the tears she’d been holding back.

“And thank you,” Tristan said, turning to Alex. “You took care of her. No matter what happens, know that Josie cares about you both.”

“Stop that,” Monica cried. “This isn’t good-bye.”

“‘Don’t be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again,’” Tristan quoted. “Richard Bach.”

“‘Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not,’” Monica said, giving him a half smile. “Dr. Seuss.”

Tristan crawled out of the car. Alex followed. Before shutting the door, Tristan stuck his head back in.

“Stay here. If we’re not back in an hour, take my car and find the police.”

Tristan dangled his keys in front of her and she took them without meeting his eyes.

“Be careful,” she said.

Both doors slammed closed and Monica jumped at the sound. She felt entombed as she watched the two men jog off down the street. She followed their progress through the dark, each becoming more like a transparent shadow, until they turned the corner and were out of sight.

The smell was grease and metal and stale air. She could hear the tugboats as they passed, so she knew they were close to the river. In a dark warehouse, Josie sat tightly bound to a metal chair. Her arms and shoulders cramped from the pull of the ropes even though she had given up her struggle long ago. Just in case she survived, she took in everything about her surroundings. She counted the number of skylights high above her head. She tried to make out the printed words on the hundreds of boxes and cartons stacked around her. Her mind raced with so many questions and not enough answers.

The stacked pallets obscured her view, but she could hear murmured conversation and approaching footsteps. Josie fought to keep her breathing under control while her racing heart created a countdown tempo against her chest. She couldn’t help but feel robbed by this. After finding Tristan and the first inkling of happiness, she was going to lose it all.

Jarred from her reflection, she felt a hand grip her shoulder. Four men stood before her, including her kidnapper. She looked them over carefully, trying to assess which one of them would do the job. Her mind was shutting down and laughter almost bubbled out of her as she took in the sight before her. It was a scene straight out of a mobster movie, complete with damsel in distress.

“McKenzi Delaune, it’s so good to see you again. Welcome home,” the man dressed all in black taunted as he began to circle her. “Please excuse our lack of fanfare.”

Josie followed him with her eyes for as long as possible, memorizing the scowl on his face and the venomous words that dripped from his thin lips. He was short, with a wide chest and a shirt that didn’t fit his muscled arms. His skin was pale, sickly almost, and stood out beneath his black hair and beard. Icy blue eyes glared at her. His voice carried so much hate and contempt she felt as though his words alone could cause damage.

He had that dominant, soul-crushing air about him. This had to be Dean Moloney. When he was standing directly in front of her again, he grabbed her chin and roughly turned her face toward the overhead light.

“So beautiful,” Moloney sneered. “You do look just like Earl, though.”

Josie bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. She wanted to tell him to keep her father’s name out of his evil mouth.

“Why am I still alive?” she asked.