Page 53 of Rogue Survivor
“Is this Isabel Lopez?” Zephyr’s voice takes on a bored tone after I confirm my identity. “We received an alert from your security system, ma’am. Can you confirm you’re safe and there’s no emergency?”
“I can. This happens all the time. I swear, some days it goes off when I’m twenty minutes from home.”
“I need your code word, ma’am.”
I went through a hundred different options on the way here. Ninety-nine of them were so ridiculous, Milton would call Reggie instantly. The only chance I have is to get Zephyr to focus on Connor. Tracing a cell phone’s location is a thing, I think. “Quinton.”
At my side, Milton frowns, but Zephyr clears her throat. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s confirmed. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”
She wants me to give her more. Oh, God. There isn’t anything else I can say.
My hesitation tries Milton’s patience, and he presses the barrel of his gun to my temple and mouths, “Hang up. Now.”
“N-no. But tell your boss I need this problem fixed as soon as possible. All these calls are going to be the death of me.”
Milton snatches the phone out of my hand with a muttered curse and drops it on the floor where it shatters into a dozen pieces. “We’re leaving. Archer? You got the tablet?”
“Right here,” he says, holding it up as he saunters down the hall. “What’s the password?”
“I don’t know. It’s my daughter’s. I don’t spy on her. Only she can unlock it. We have to go back.” If they check the tablet now, they’ll figure out there’s no video, and start in on Mitzi. Probably Connor too. Zephyr needs time to find us. But…I couldn’t give her what she needed. She knows Quinton is Connor’s brother, but what good is that going to do?
Only Milton’s arm around my shoulders keeps me from collapsing on the way back to the sedan. My tears won’t stop, and once Archer pulls out of my driveway, I let myself fall apart. My sobs fill the car, and no matter how many times Milton tells me to stop, I can’t. It doesn’t matter if he hits me. Threatens me. Even shoots me.
When we get back to the bank, we’re all going to die. Because I failed. It’s all my fault. I won’t fire the gun, but Veronica? Connor? Mitzi? I’ll be the one who kills them.
Chapter Twenty-One
Connor
I failed.I couldn’t protect Isabel or Veronica. They usedmyphone to find the kid. To kill Billings and McGrath. And soon? We’ll join them.
Quinton will never know what happened to me. Our mama…she’ll be all alone. No. My brother will move her out to Seattle. Once he figures out I’m gone. He’ll take care of her. But I won’t get to tell him how proud I am of him. How much I love him. How sorry I am that I pushed him away for years.
Luke—the smug motherfucker—wasn’t gentle when he shoved my head back so my phone would unlock. I didn’t fight him. No point. I’ve barely moved since they took Isabel. He knows I’m not a threat. Even if I weren’t handcuffed to these damn bars, I doubt I could take him. Not now. The migraine rages, making the world too loud, too bright, too…everything. So I close my eyes and conserve my strength.
After a few minutes, Reggie’s footsteps recede, and not long after, Luke kicks my calf—hard. When I don’t react, he chuckles and mutters something about me being a vegetable before he leaves the vault.
“Connor!” Veronica whispers. “Wake up! You have to get us out of here!”
I don’t want to open my eyes, but I have to. I might not be able to save the girls, but I won’t let them think they’re alone.
Meeting her gaze, I hold up my cuffed hands. They took my gun, my multi-tool, and my keys when they brought us here. Even my belt. I’m shocked they left my boots on. “Awake. Can’t fight…like this,” I say. At least my words are coming easier now, but talking is still an effort. “Head messed up. No…weapons.”
Veronica shoves her fingers into her cast, and after a full minute of wriggling, her face contorted in pain, she pulls out a stainless steel kitchen fork at least ten inches long. “Will this help?”
Holy shit. The kid had that up her arm this whole time? Angling a glance out the door, I wince. Reggie and Luke are too close. Their voices carry, though I can’t make out what they’re saying. They’d hear a metal fork sliding across the floor. “Too loud.”
“Not if you catch it.”
“V. Look…at me. Talking…is hard enough.”
She tucks the fork up her other sleeve andsigns, “No talk.”
Shit.
The aphasia doesn’t stop me from communicating. I can write, type, or sign without issue. This could work. It’s not easy with my hands cuffed so close together, but I fumble through finger-spelling the words I don’t know.“Bags. Behind you. Wrap it up.”
Veronica motions for Mitzi to slide a couple of the bags over to her, and despite her good hand being zip-tied to one of the bars, she manages to get multiple layers of paper around the fork, then slides it across the marble tiles until it hits my leg.
