Page 25 of Rogue Survivor
“Unrelated. Some dude on his way home from work with a busted headlight. Didn’t see her in time to stop. She was conscious for a few minutes and saw Boswell on the side of the highway. He was about to cross when another car stopped and the driver yelled that she was calling 9-1-1.”
“Thank God for small miracles. So, what do you need from me? The Bureau has a hell of a lot more resources than we do.”
I rub the back of my neck, trying to ease a fraction of the tension gathered there.Just say it. Telling AJ won’t make you feel any worse than you already do.
“I’m on leave. Hell, it might be permanent. Too fucked up to pass medical. Plus, this isn’t exactly within our jurisdiction. I need the Ranger Division to find Mitzi and arrange for protection for her mother, Veronica, and Isabel. Put away the dirty cop and whoever else is involved. And while you’re at it, hunt down Reggie Boswell and lock him up for good.”
“Is that all?” AJ huffs and Belle—who’s most definitely a dog—yips in the background. “Let me make some calls. But you’re gonna need help. The kind that don’t mind breakin’ a few rules.”
Isabel
The scent of antiseptic confuses me until I open my eyes. In the bed next to mine, Veronica sips a plastic cup of orange juice and stares off into space. Across the room, Connor sprawls in a recliner that’s clearly not made for a man of his size while tapping away on his phone.
He stayed. All night. Every time I woke up, he was there. Talking in hushed tones to God knows how many people.
I pad over to my daughter’s bed and haul my tired body up next to her. “How are you feeling, baby girl?” Her hair’s a mess, and the bruise on her cheek is four shades of purple.
“Mom, I hate it when you call me that,” she whines, but rests her head on my shoulder. “Breakfast will be here soon. I ordered egg sandwiches.”
“Yum.” I can’t muster the energy to care about food, but my stomach obviously didn’t get the message, because it growls so loudly, Connor jerks up with a groan. “You doing okay over there, stud?”
“Stud?” He runs a hand through his hair, winces, and checks his phone. “Thank fuck,” he whispers, and I’d chide him for his language, but honestly? After what Veronica’s been through, making a fuss about profanity? Completely useless.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Two Texas Rangers will be here in an hour. They’ll take y’all to a safehouse. The guy I know there—AJ—agreed to investigate. He’s already got a team at the abandoned mall looking for any sign of where they took Mitzi.”
“Oh. That’s right. You said something about a safehouse last night.” I don’t know why I thought we could go home. Of course we can’t. Someone tried tokillmy daughter. “How long do we have to stay there?”
Connor meets my gaze, his bloodshot eyes braced with exhaustion. “Until we know—without a doubt—everyone involved is…somewhere they can’t get to Veronica ever again.”
“And that would be?”
“You really want me to answer that?” he asks with a pointed look at Veronica who is suddenly very interested in our conversation.
There is no “somewhere.” He means dead. Shit. Stop asking questions when you don’t want to know the answers.
The lock beeps, and Connor’s out of his chair and across the room before the door opens. “I’ll take that. No need to come in, ma’am.”
“Connor? She’s just delivering breakfast…”
He limps back to Veronica’s bed carrying a tray. “No one comes in unless I vet them first.”
“Are you going to taste test all of her food too?” I snag one of the wrapped sandwiches, expecting him to laugh, but his lips don’t even twitch.
“That wouldn’t be effective for any slow-acting poisons,” he mutters, but does take the plate markedPatientfor himself. “You mind, lil’ bit?”
She’s already working on the wrapper for the last remaining sandwich, folding it the way Connor showed her last night. “Nope,” she says, popping the p like always. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear her act…normal.
My eyes burn, and I face the window rather than let my daughter see me break. The wannabe McMuffin tastes a lot like greasy cardboard, and I choke down the first bite, then set it back on the plate. I’d kill for a cup of coffee. Or tea. Really strong tea. With bourbon.
“What about school?” Veronica asks. “If we miss more than a week, Mrs. Chandler won’t let us take the AP exam.” Her voice breaks, and I turn back to find a single tear balanced on her lower lashes. “If Mitzi can’t take the test, I won’t either.”
“I’ll talk to Mrs. Chandler.” I rest my hand over her wrist, only just noticing the slight reddish mark. A rope burn.
“They tied us up, but Mitzi got my hands free. That’s when we heard Reggie and the police officer talking about ‘getting rid of’ us. I wanted to untie her, but Mitzi told me to run.”
“Isabel?” Connor’s deep voice helps ground me, and I shake my head.
