59. Weston

I have the urge to break something.

Preferably Deacon’s face.

But his face is not in reach—or anywhere I can find, actually. And every second that that continues amps my fury up one more notch. I pace up and down the hall like a caged lion.

”Hey, man. You”re leaving fire in your footsteps.” It”s Decker. ”Hunter told me what was going down,” he explains as my best friend rounds the corner himself. They both come to a stop, though a little distance away, like they’re not so sure I won’t reach out and smash them since I can’t get my hands on Deacon. ”Any news?”

I shake my head. ”Nothing. Not a fucking thing.” I scowl and resume my pacing. ”Cops aren’t gonna be much help. Deacon may be a worm, but he”s a worm with money and clout. Soon as I mentioned the fucker”s name, suddenly, it was all hands off deck.”

”That”s some bullshit.”

Hunter tilts his head, thinking. ”What about her family?”

”What about her family?” I spit.

”Well,” Hunter says carefully, ”they”re loaded, aren”t they? Top shelf tax bracket. Maybe they have some connections or, like, I dunno… a Batmobile?”

He”s not wrong—I just hate the idea of reaching out to Alistair DuBois for anything. But this isn”t about me and my wayward pride. I’ve got no leads and I need insight.

So as much as it hurts, Renee and our baby matter a hell of a lot more than my ego.

Snarling, I get out my phone and dial. It rings and rings. Maybe he”s too good for unknown numbers. Then…

”Weston Scott. What a surprise. Calling to weasel out of your marriage to my daughter?”

”No, asshole,” I retort. “I”m calling because the dude you were trying to set her up with just kidnapped her.”

There”s a blip of stunned silence. ”Excuse me?”

”You heard what I said. He kidnapped her from her gallery showing—great parenting, by the way, supporting her by coming over to see all she”s done,” I bite out sarcastically.

”She wouldn”t want me there anyway.” He clears his throat. ”Authorities must be taking this particularly unseriously if you”re contacting me.”

”Wow, you”re the smartest man in the world.” I roll my eyes. ”Can you help or not?”

”Deacon is not some violent brute. He”s likely throwing a tantrum?—”

”He pulled a knife on her, Alistair.”

”Excuse me?”

”Are you a fucking parrot? You heard what I said. You gonna help or you gonna keep being a negligent piece of shit?”

”Your attitude is unnecessary. Was he driving his usual vehicle?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. I hear a rapid flurry of keys tapping. And then… ”Seems like he”s made some headway since leaving the gallery. He”s made his way out of the metro area and is driving off a main road. Looks like it”s toward an old industrial district.”

”You”re sure?”

”He drives a DuBois Corporation car. All are fitted with GPS that I have means to access.”

A notification comes through my phone. When I click it, an app called DBI downloads in a second and opens itself. The screen is a map of L.A. streets with a moving green dot.

”That”s Deacon”s car,” Alistair explains. “You can?—”

I hang up. I don’t need that piece of shit anymore. I turn to Decker and Hunter. “We’ve got him.”