Page 42 of Altered By Lead (Undercover Sinners 2)
I spin around, searching for whatever’s doused his mood. It takes me a moment, but when I spot it …
"What the fuck?" I exclaim, but Mace is already reacting.
He strides over to the noticeboard and brutally rips the poster from its sticky tape, balling it up in his huge fist.
"Come on," he says to me, but this time when he grabs my hand, it’s not the same. It's not cutesy and exciting, like he just needs to touch my skin in whatever small way possible in public. This time when he grabs me, it’s with urgency.
I don't think twice before dropping the remains of my ice cream on the grass and hurrying back to the Hummer with him.
Once inside the armored vehicle, Mace passes the scrunched up paper to me, then aggressively pulls the Hummer out into the street.
So much for our date.
I smooth the paper out and take a closer look at the damn near unbelievable poster. Sure enough, there's a picture of me from some snooty charity dinner I'd been to with my mom about six years ago. My hair is perfect, my makeup flawless, and the demure chiffon dress with the high neckline custom fitted. I look like the perfect Russian princess. And according to this poster … a missing person.
"Who would do this?" I ask Mace, my eyes glued to the old picture of me. Of the fake smile pasted to my lips, the diamond necklace around my neck like a fucking noose, of the pain in my eyes. No one else would see it, but now that I've experienced life, it's all too achingly clear to me.
Mace's hands tighten on the steering wheel and he says nothing. He doesn't need to. There's only one person arrogant enough to put out a ‘missing person’ on me.
My father.The drive back to the Rogue Elk is tense and quiet, but long enough that by the time we pass the Welcome to Trail, Oregon sign, Mace's knuckles are no longer white, and the anxiety in my stomach has faded.
"We'll handle this, Talia," he tells me, his promise rumbling through the vehicle like an earthquake. "He won't get his hands on you. Never again."
I turn my eyes back to him, a little startled.
He can’t know that for sure. Konstantin has reach. He has his elves. He has a never-ending drive for vengeance. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m scared. No, I’m terrified. Because the last thing in the world I want is to end up at my father’s mercy.
"This is the lead we need. Isn't it? He's resurfaced." I try to make my voice steady, but I’m not sure Mace is buying the act.
His dark brows lift just a fraction as he glances over at me. "Maybe," he says finally. "Maybe not. Your father is very good at this game."
I shrug. "Okay, so we're no worse off."
His jaw tightens and a small frown line creases between his eyes. "Unless someone recognized you in Ashland today and called the number. Then our position is compromised."
I purse my lips, thinking on that. "It is surprising that he’s managed to track us out here, but he doesn’t know exactly where we are or he would’ve come for us already, right? And there's no way he has the resources to search every inch of Oregon hunting for me." Instinctively, I close my hand over Mace’s where it rests on the gear shift. As crappy as my bed is, I've kind of started thinking of the Rogue Elk as home. For now. I’m not quite ready to leave, not when my emotions are still such a tangled mess.
“Likely not,” Mace agrees, but he’s tense. He knows as well as I do that the poster we saw is a ticking clock, counting down the seconds until an inevitable confrontation. At some point, I will have to face my father, even if it’s from behind the barrel of a gun. “But this is still an unfortunate discovery.”
I say nothing for a while, dropping my hand back to my lap. Mace glances over at me a few times, like he’s trying to get up the nerve to tell me something. Shocking, considering a big dude like him is afraid of very little—especially not of me.
“Talia, I asked to speak with you today because I had something to tell you.” My heart thunders so hard and so fast that I swear, it gets lodged in my throat. But instead of giving away my emotions, I take a page from Mace’s book and force myself to stay calm. I can’t let these guys know how much they’re getting to me. “But I think you already know.”
“Do I?” I echo, my fear at seeing the poster mixing with my sudden desperation to hear what Mace has to say, so that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. I’m just a sweating, shaking mess of a girl.
