“Where?” I ask. “Are they still following the children?”
I rush toward him and snatch the phone.
Found Cole. We’re out of town. Will keep you posted.
“Out of town where?” My hands ache from trembling. “I want to go. We should follow.”
“I know as much as you do.” Decker grabs the cell from me and slumps back into the sofa. “We’re not going anywhere. Just try to relax and let them handle this.”
Relax?
I fuse my molars. Clench my fists. Swallow.
I want to scream. To wail and sob and scratch the torturous emotions right out from beneath my ribs with my fingernails. They have no idea what this is like. They don’t understand how torturous your own imagination can be when your nine-year-old daughter is in the hands of monsters.
I return to my pacing, walking back and forth while my legs grow heavy and my mind paints blood-filled images narrated by little girls’ screams.
What if they’ve touched her? Raped her?
I shove a fist to my lips, demanding the howl clogging my throat to remain inside.
Emmanuel Costa has my daughter. A man who had ties to my now-deceased father.
Most people would grow comforted by the family history. But most people aren’t spawned from the devil himself.
Luther Torian was a despicable man and the worst part was his ability to hide it for most of my life.
Minutes pass. Hours, too. Silence blankets the luxurious penthouse even though my ears continue to ring with haunted screams.
I can’t handle this. I can’t.
I need to do something. Anything.
I shake my hands at my sides and breathe deep, the oxygen only stirring the bile pooling at the back of my throat.
It’s been too long. My little girl has been taken for almost forty-eight hours. More than enough time to emotionally scar her forever.
“Can you quit the pacing?” Decker mutters. “You’re giving me a headache.”
I pause, about to let out the torture congealing in my chest when the hotel door swings open and Penny rushes in, relief written all over her pretty face.
“What is it?” I run to her, gripping her upper arms before she can get a word out. “What happened?”
“Luca called. They’re coming back.” She smiles, the perfection reaching her dazzling eyes. “There was some sort of confrontation with the Costas, but we’ve got the kids.”
Time stops.
My breathing, too.
My hands drop to my sides as I retreat a step, and for a moment, there’s silence. Pure, euphoria-filled peace as I stare at her, anticipating the weight of my daughter returning to the security of my arms.
“And Cole?” Decker pushes from the sofa and limps forward.
“Him, too.” Penny’s expression infuses with more brilliance when she meets my gaze. Her cheeks are high. Her eyes are beaming. “It’s over. Stella and Tobias are both okay. The Costas have fled. Our guys are making their way to the cars to drive here right now.”
All the air leaves my lungs on a heave of relief but the shaking increases. My arms and legs tremble beyond my control as my pulse grows fractured and rampant.
She’s coming back.
My little girl is coming home.
“Oh, God.” Tears burn my eyes. Emotion sears my throat. “They got them back.”
I don’t care how it happened.
I’m sure I’ll relive it with Stella as many times as she needs to put the tragic events behind her. I’ll do whatever it takes to give her back a childhood that I’ve always endeavored to make normal even though she was born into a family of crime.
Keira walks to my side. Her arm wraps around my waist, a kiss presses to my cheek. “Everything is going to be okay.” She leads me to the sofa and helps me to sit. “I’m going to get you a drink. Something to take the edge off. The more grounded you are when the kids return, the safer they’ll feel.”
I nod, placing my hands between my knees, rocking back and forth while she walks to the liquor trolley on the far side of the room.
My daughter is coming back to me.
All those who were taken are coming back—Stella, Tobias, Cole.
I never thought my loved ones would return. The relief doesn’t seem real through the layers of certainty I’d piled upon their death. I’d been convinced karma had arrived, seeking payment for my mistakes. My many, many misdeeds.
“Here.” Keira kneels before me, placing a scotch glass in my hands with what I assume is a finger of vodka. “Sip slowly and tell me if you want more.”
“I just want to get out of here as soon as possible.” There’s a tremble in my voice. “I need to get Stella home.”
“We will.” Decker gives me a fleeting look, one that speaks of judgment despite his deep-seated relief at the good news. “If they’re coming here it means we’ve got time to spare. Otherwise, they’d want to meet us at the airport to make a quick exit.”
I ignore the silent guilty verdict he places on my shoulders and down the vodka, then push to my feet in search of more. I drink and pace, drink and pace until the penthouse door opens again, the tiny squeak of hinges and whoosh of displaced air assailing me with temperamental anticipation.
Anissa walks in first, the Fed’s face a picture of exhaustion, followed closely by Hunter. I stand rooted to the floor as those placed in charge of my child’s rescue pile into the room, Tobias shoving past Sarah’s hip to make a mad dash for Penny.
My heart squeezes painfully at the sight of him. His red-rimmed eyes. His dirt-stained clothes.
They embrace in a mass of clinging hands and relieved gasps while I remain still, my relief fracturing as my brother enters the room with my daughter limp in his arms.
“Oh, my God.” I rush for them, my arms outstretched.
She’s covered in blood. Her clothes. Hands. Arms. There are even marks on the normally smooth skin of her cheeks.
“She hasn’t been hurt.” Cole’s tone lacks inflection, his face devoid of emotion. “It’s not her blood.”
“Then what hap—”
“She was upset. I needed to sedate her.”
I hold his gaze, trying to siphon the information he’s keeping from me as sorrow plants its seed in my belly, the roots burrowing deep.
He hands Stella to me, her slim body pliant in my arms, her face so incredibly pure despite the blood stains. Everything else ceases to exist except her. The friends and family fade from my consciousness. The whispered words and mumbled conversation don’t breach my ears.
I sink to the plush carpet, unable to stop myself from squeezing Stella tight. I nuzzle my nose against her neck. Breathe the faint scent of her kiddie shampoo. She’s at home in my arms, her face peaceful with sleep, her head seeming to instinctively nestle into me as the slightest whimper leaves her lips.
The aftermath of tears is evident on her face, her skin red and puffy around her eyes. She survived a war. She was thrown into one of the deepest, darkest pits of this world and made it out.
God, I’m grateful.
I rock her in my arms, just like I did when she was a newborn—forward, back, forward, back—while the room grows quiet.
I don’t want to face our audience. Not yet. I need this moment with her. I need a lifetime of me and my daughter and nothing else. If only I didn’t have so many gnawing, clawing questions that demand answers.