His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(8)
Author: Shayla Black

“Club?”

“BDSM.” Logan set his jaw. “You got something to say about that?”

Why would he? “Not a word.”

“Excellent.”

“I highly recommend you keep it that way.” But clearly, Hunter wasn’t suggesting.

Whatever. Impatience burned a hole in his gut. He just wanted to get this show on the road.

“Check in as soon as you’ve reached your target and either eliminated or identified her,” Joaquin said.

“What do we do with the women we know aren’t Tatiana? We can’t just leave them to this sadistic fucker and the prick giving the orders.”

A heavy pall fell over the group. No one wanted to upend lives . . . but they all refused to leave another innocent woman to suffer so brutally at these killers’ hands.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Logan suggested.

“All right.” Joaquin didn’t like it, but he agreed. “Now we need to get going. The more time we waste here, the more time someone else has to die.”

Chapter Two

AFTER five hours of sleep and another four on the road, Joaquin drove through the historic Houston Heights neighborhood, cruising slowly past Bailey Benson’s address. As sunset dipped closer, the golden glow backlit the cozy bungalow painted a pretty blue-gray with fresh white trim. Original stained glass graced a transom window over the front door. The little porch and dark wood front door gave the place charm.

It didn’t look like a house where a murder could take place, but looks could be deceiving.

He didn’t see a vehicle parked in the carport to the left of the house, but a bicycle was tethered to its back post. Vaguely, Joaquin wondered where this girl was now. He read the sketchy bio information Stone had given him again—more about dance than anything else. Nothing that told him precisely who she was.

As he scoped the house to find the best entrance to sneak in without being spotted, his phone buzzed. Logan.

“What did you find?” Joaquin didn’t waste time with chitchat or preambles.

“I just got to Norman. Bad news. Emily Boyle was reported missing shortly after noon today.”

His stomach balled and dropped. “Shit.”

“I’m going to keep looking around, help if I can. But from what I can tell, she left her job as an assistant in a real estate office to grab some coffee this morning and didn’t return. Of course, the police won’t consider her an official missing person for another fifteen hours, but . . .”

“We know what happened, most likely.” Joaquin sighed into the phone. “We’re too late.”

“As much as I hate saying it, the situation doesn’t look good. But I’m not giving up yet. I’m trying to retrace Emily’s steps and talk to anyone who saw her just before she disappeared.”

“Thanks. Keep me posted.”

He couldn’t stand the thought that a young woman was probably, even now, being strapped down and scalpeled, punctured, then dismembered until she either admitted to being Tatiana Aslanov or she bled to death. Either way, she’d die eventually. If she wasn’t the scientist’s daughter, they’d snuff her out with no compunction. The best he could do was focus on Bailey Benson, hope she was the missing girl, and save her in case these brutal bastards came her way.

Then take them down for what they’d done to Nate and the other women.

Jack and Hunter had both climbed on planes to their respective destinations. Something between anticipation and dread bit into Joaquin’s stomach. He hoped they’d have better news than Logan, but everything looked bleak.

As soon as the sun slid below the horizon, he drove a few streets over, slipped on a ball cap, and shrugged into a long raincoat. He climbed from the car and locked it, then strolled down the street, pretending to be a resident out for an evening stroll.

It didn’t take him long to reach Bailey’s little house. He ducked behind a row of hedges and crouched, following it to the side of the house, testing every door and window. He gave her credit for keeping the doors locked, but he found a loose knob on the door into the kitchen. A quick turn of the multi-tool he kept in his pocket, and he stripped away the hardware. From there, it wasn’t hard to reach through and unlock the door. Predictably, no one had retrofitted the house with a security system.

Once inside, he reattached the doorknob and tightened it before making his way through the shadowed space, looking for a good hiding spot. He hoped like hell that she actually made it home, instead of disappearing like Emily Boyle. But since she wasn’t due to work at the dive where she waitressed until Tuesday, he wasn’t sure where else to find her but home.