Chapter 14

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Brock kissed Finley in the kitchen at The Sweet Tooth. He’d come in with her, as usual, to spend time together as she was getting ready for the day. Things between them had never been better. She was carrying his child—a fact Bristol discovered yesterday, so he couldn’t wait to tell the rest of their friends—had officially moved in with him already, and no matter how much time they spent together, he still couldn’t get enough.

His Finley was funny, sweet, and even still bashful at times. He loved corrupting her. Turning what she thought was embarrassing into something carnal. Making her beg for him to play with her ass, fuck her harder, or eat her out after he’d come inside her. But he wasn’t with her because of all the sex, as hot as it was. He genuinely liked her. She was such a good person. Even to those who didn’t deserve it.

She always made excuses for people who were assholes to her or Liam when they came into her shop. When he raged about someone being rude, she simply shrugged and said they were probably going through something in their lives that others knew nothing about, and she was willing to cut them a break.

That wasn’t Brock’s philosophy in life…if someone was an asshole, if they didn’t have the decency not to take their own personal problems out on someone else, they deserved to be taken down a peg. But her kind heart was only one of the many reasons why he loved his Finley so much.

She was his reward. He didn’t deserve her, and he knew it. She could do so much better than him. But now that she was carrying his child and had said she loved him, he wasn’t letting her go. Ever. He’d do whatever it took to keep her.

This morning, she was stressed because she had to get three catering orders together, as well as fill the cases in the store for walk-ins. Brock was proud as he could be that her catering business had taken off like it had, but he also worried about the stress it put on her.

“You know, you don’t have to accept every single job that comes in,” he told her as he held her close. Davis had left thirty minutes earlier, but he said he’d be back around lunch to help finish up anything she hadn’t been able to complete. The man had been invaluable, and even though he was still reserved and didn’t come by every day, he was an important reason why The Sweet Tooth was doing so well.

“I know,” she said. But his Finley was too nice to turn anyone down.

“What if you made it clear that you only accept two custom jobs a day? Period. First come, first served. That would give you some breathing room…especially once you’re further along in your pregnancy. And it would create scarcity.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean, if people know that they can’t just wander in and get a custom cake whenever they want, that they actually have to plan, it would make your time and work more valuable. Not to mention, you could probably charge more than you are.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of anyone,” she protested.

“And you wouldn’t be. But your time is valuable. And your skill is out of this world. You think Bristol accepts every request for her to make a window?” He didn’t give her time to answer. “No. She charges out the nose because her pieces are rare and she knows people will pay to own one. And she gets to choose which projects she wants to do. It’s simple economics, Fin.”

She sighed. “But I’d feel awful if someone needed something and I said no.”

“It’s a cake, hon. Not a gold-plated engagement ring.”

She still looked unsure.

“What if you stocked some of the most popular cakes and cupcakes in a special case in the front? If someone needs something last-minute, they can choose from the selection, and you can teach Liam how to write shit like ‘Happy Birthday’ or ‘Congrats on Being an Asshole’ on the top.”

She giggled.

He loved that sound. “All I’m saying is, running around like a chicken with your head cut off isn’t going to work once you’re in your last trimester. Or when our Little Bean is here. You want to spend every day from four-thirty in the morning until six at night here in the store once he or she is born?”

Finley frowned. “No.”

“Right. You need to make changes now, so when that time comes, it’s not a shock to your customers.”

“You’re right.” Then she lifted a hand and put it over his mouth. “And don’t say ‘I know.’”

She knew him too well. Brock licked her palm, tasting flour from where she’d rolled out some dough for more cinnamon rolls right before he said he needed to get going.

He loved the shiver that went through her at the feel of his tongue on her skin. Of course, that made him think about putting his lips and tongue on other places on her body.

“No,” she said with a shake of her head and a smile. “Don’t even think about it. I have stuff to do.”

Brock smiled back as she lowered her hand. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

“Don’t work too hard today.”

“I won’t.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I could say the same about you,” she countered.

She wasn’t wrong. Brock did work hard, but now he did it so he could support his soon-to-be family, not because he was bored out of his skull and didn’t want to go home to an empty house.

“Call me when you’re done here,” he said. “I’m gonna pick up dinner from On the Rocks, and I want to time it so it’s still warm by the time you get home.”

“Okay.”

Brock smiled again and couldn’t help but run his gaze down her body. She was so damn lush. Her curves made him half mad with lust. And she was all his. Anyone who turned up their nose at plus-size women didn’t know what they were missing.

“I have cinnamon rolls to finish,” she said firmly.

Brock sighed. “I know.”

“Is this normal?” she asked. “I mean, how we can’t keep our hands off each other?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” he said immediately. “Our relationship is exactly how it should be.”

“I think so too,” she said—then licked her lips sensually.

“Hold that thought,” Brock said with a chuckle, then he kissed her hard. He didn’t linger, because it was difficult enough to tear himself away. Kissing her the way he wanted to would lead to both of them being unsatisfied.

He brushed his thumb over her cheek, then grinned as he backed away. “See you later.”

“Later.”

He forced himself to turn and walk out of the kitchen. He gave Liam a chin lift as he went and said hello to a few people in line that he knew.

As he walked toward his truck parked in front of the building, Brock had the thought that his life was absolutely perfect.

On its heels, an insidious voice whispered that nothing perfect lasted forever.

He climbed behind the wheel of the truck and shivered. No, nothing was going to happen. He and Finley were great. They were going to have a child. Get married. Live happily ever after. Nothing and no one would fuck with his life. He wouldn’t allow it.

Taking a deep breath, he started the engine and headed for Old Town Auto. He had an engine to rebuild.

* * *

Around four o’clock, Brock’s phone rang. He’d been expecting Finley’s call.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?”

“Busy,” she said with a laugh. “Yours?”

“Same. You on your way home?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?” he asked. “How can you kind of be on your way home?”

“Well, I was all set to start wrapping things up when I got a call.”

Brock groaned. “Please tell me you said no.”

Finley sighed. “I couldn’t! She needs a cake for her daughter’s thirteenth birthday party tonight!”

“Finley,” Brock said in exasperation.

“I know, I know. And I thought about what you said this morning, and I think it’s a good idea. But I couldn’t say no. She planned on making the cake herself but her oven quit working. The woman said it literally blew up or something. So now she’s dealing with trying to air out the house before ten teenagers show up. She said it didn’t need to be fancy or anything, and she’s paying me double. And she’s going to give me a hundred bucks to deliver it. Aren’t you at least proud of me for charging her more for the late notice?”

Brock sighed in frustration. “I am. But…you need a better method for taking orders. Like, a form online, or a special phone number that you aren’t allowed to answer. Let Liam take the requests. You can’t say no to a single hard-luck story, Fin.”

“I know,” she said. “Are you mad?”

“Of course not. I can be there in about fifteen minutes. I need to finish what I’m doing and clean up a bit, then I’ll be there to pick you up.”

“Oh no, I need to get going right now. I’ll call Elsie and put in our order so the food’s ready for when you get here. The lady’s house is only like eight minutes from town. We can probably get home around the same time.”

Brock didn’t like it, but he remembered her begging him not to smother her. “All right. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for people to get used to you making deliveries after hours.”

“This is a one-time thing. And I know the woman. I mean, I’ve seen her. She’s been in the shop before. She’s involved in the PTA and has a high school boy on the football team and her daughter is a cheerleader or something. It’s fine.”

“Just because someone looks safe on the outside doesn’t mean they are,” Brock felt compelled to say.

“I know, but Hillary’s harmless. I’m just going to drive the cake out there, then head home. Now, what do you want me to order you for dinner?”

When Brock hung up a few minutes later, he wanted to call Finley right back and tell her that he’d changed his mind. That he’d leave right now and pick her up to deliver the cake. But he sighed and shook his head. No. He’d promised not to go overboard with his protective tendencies.

He halfheartedly cleaned up his work area and was ready to leave in half the time it should’ve taken him. The food wasn’t ready when he got to On the Rocks, and he chatted with Zeke as he waited for his and Finley’s dinner.

He was disappointed when he beat Finley home, but grabbed a quick shower after he put their dinner in the oven to stay warm. When he got out of the shower, she still wasn’t home.

Looking at his watch, Brock saw that thirty minutes had passed since he’d last talked to her. It was possible she’d lost track of time talking to the woman she was delivering the cake to…

But uneasiness swam through Brock’s veins, and he pulled out his phone. He clicked on Finley’s name and listened to the ringing in his ear. She didn’t pick up and the call went to voicemail.

“Hey, Fin. It’s me. Just wanted to call and check on you. Call me as soon as you can. Love you.”

He hung up and tapped the phone on his chin. Brock paced the house as another five minutes crawled by. He tried calling Finley again, and once more it went to voicemail.

Something was wrong. He knew it deep in his bones.

He also knew he was a paranoid son-of-a-bitch…but he had the same feeling now that he used to get when shit was about to hit the fan while searching for someone who’d crossed the border illegally.

Mentally kicking himself for not asking Finley for the address of the home she was going to, Brock dialed Simon.

“Fallport PD. Chief Hill speaking,” he answered.

“Hey, Simon. This is Brock Mabrey.”

“What’s up?” the chief asked.

“I’m hoping nothing. Finley was supposed to deliver a cake and be home twenty minutes ago. But she’s not here.”

“Hmmm. There haven’t been any accidents reported in the last half hour or so,” the chief said.

Brock swallowed hard. Not that he wanted Finley to have been in an accident, but that would be preferrable to the nightmare scenarios going through his head at the moment. “Something’s wrong,” he said. “I want to go to the house where she was supposed to deliver the cake, but I didn’t think to get the address when I talked to Finley.”

“Do you know anything about where she was going?”

“The woman who ordered the cake has two kids, the girl is thirteen and it’s her birthday. The boy plays football on the high school team. The customer’s name is Hillary. I don’t know her last name.”

“Kendall,” Simon said without hesitation. “Hillary Kendall. Her daughter’s name is Nevaeh, which is Heaven spelled backward,” he said with a chuckle. “Her son’s a good ball player for sure. He should be able to play in college, if that’s what he wants to do.”

“You know their address?”

“Of course. But you aren’t going out there on your own. I’ll be at your place in two minutes. Can you wait that long?”

Brock wasn’t sure he could, but having an officer with him would make things much easier. He couldn’t exactly barge his way inside the woman’s house without any proof that Finley was there. “I’ll wait,” he clipped.

“On my way,” Simon said, then hung up.

Nausea churned in Brock’s belly. Why was he even thinking about having to push his way into someone’s house, anyway? That shouldn’t even be a thought in his head.

But it was. Because he knew Finley would never worry him like this if she could avoid it. She’d been very good about letting him know where she was and what she was doing. He wasn’t being controlling; he didn’t care who she hung out with or where she went, he just needed to know she was safe.

And his instincts were screaming that she was anything but safe right now. Not answering her phone, not texting him to let him know where she was, being—he looked at his watch—thirty-five minutes later than expected.

As he waited for Simon to arrive, Brock called Talon.

“Hey, Brock.”

“Finley’s missing.”

“What?”

“She’s missing. She was going to deliver a cake then come home. She’s not here.”

“Where?”

Brock gave his friend the name of the woman who’d ordered the cake. “Simon’s coming to get me to go to her house.”

“I’m calling Raid, we’ll be right behind you.”

“Thanks,” he said, seeing a car pull up outside the house. “Simon’s here.”

“Stay strong. We’re coming.”

Brock hung up, and even though he was relieved his friends were coming to have his back, unease still churned in his gut. Finley needed him. He knew it as well as Rocky had known when Bristol was in trouble, and as his other friends knew their women were in danger.

He jumped into Simon’s cruiser and they were moving before Brock had a chance to buckle his seat belt. Once the chief told him where they were heading, he texted the address to Talon.

“Has the crime lab gotten back to you with the trace on the number called from my sat phone?” Brock asked. He’d been lax in talking with Simon for the last couple days about what was going on with the men who’d kidnapped him and Finley in the woods. “Any word on Pete and Cory?”

“The lab’s backed way the fuck up. Budget cuts and all that shit,” Simon said tersely. “Cory’s still in the wind, but Pete was found.”

“He was?” Brock asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just did,” Simon said calmly.

“What’d he say? Who were they working with?”

“He was dead,” Simon told him. “Overdose.”

“Fuck,” Brock muttered.

“Yeah, but when I called a few days ago to chew someone’s ass out at the lab, I was promised I’d have the information by the end of the week.”

Brock silently fumed.

“You think this has something to do with that?” the chief asked.

“What else am I supposed to think?” he retorted. “Finley’s the nicest person ever. She smells like fucking vanilla and cinnamon. She has a permanent smile on her face and she’s never had a harsh word for anyone, even the assholes who deserve it.”

“Maybe she had a flat tire,” Simon suggested. “Or she stayed to help Hillary with the party.”

Both of those things were possible, but Brock shook his head. “She would’ve called.”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed.

It only took five minutes to reach the house Hillary Kendall lived in with her family. It was a middle-class neighborhood, the kind that would be full of kids playing in all the yards during the summer. It was too cold for that now, but the homes were well-maintained and it looked perfectly harmless.

Simon pulled into the Kendalls’ driveway, and Brock frowned. “There’s supposed to be a party going on here.”

“Maybe everyone has already dropped off their kids,” Simon suggested as he got out of the car. “Stay calm, Brock,” he ordered. “And stay behind me.”

Brock nodded as the police chief walked up to the front door. He rang the doorbell and both men waited impatiently for someone to answer.

After what seemed like hours but was probably only twenty seconds or so, a teenage boy opened the door. “Can I help you?”

“Robert, right?” Simon asked.

The boy nodded.

“Is your mom home?”

He shrugged. “No.”

“No?” Simon asked in surprise.

“She’s always gone these days,” the boy said.

“What about your sister?”

“She’s got a thing at school. Don’t know what. Why?”

Brock turned and kicked a dead plant sitting on the walkway to the porch as hard as he could. It went flying across the lawn just as Tal and Raid arrived.

He heard Simon asking the boy if today was his sister’s birthday, and the kid’s confused response was that, no, her birthday was in April.

“She here?” Tal asked as he approached.

“No. It’s not the kid’s birthday and the woman who ordered the cake isn’t here.”

Simon returned to his side. “Call Liam,” he ordered Brock.

He looked back at the house. The boy was still standing at the front door, looking confused and a little worried.

“You going to search the house?” Raid asked the police chief.

“No need. She’s not here. The boy’s not lying. He’s the only one home.”

Brock already had his phone to his ear. As soon as Liam answered, he said, “I need the address of where Finley was going to deliver that cake this afternoon.”

To his credit, Liam didn’t ask questions. Didn’t demand to know why Brock sounded so curt. “Hang on…I looked it up on Google Maps for her to find out how far it was.”

Brock held his breath as he waited for Liam to find the address. He rattled it off, and Brock repeated it for the men around him.

“Is she okay?” Liam asked.

“She will be,” Brock vowed. But of course he didn’t know that. Just this morning, he’d had the thought that his life was perfect—and now he could literally lose everything. The woman he loved, their child…

Determination rose within him. No. He wasn’t going to fucking lose Finley. Not when he’d just found her.

As if Tal could read his mind, he put his hand on Brock’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

Brock nodded and jogged toward Simon’s car. Damn straight they were going to find Finley, and when they did, anyone who’d lain a finger on her was going to pay. He had no qualms about hurting a woman. He knew as well as the rest of the men on his team that women could be just as evil as men. And if Hillary Kendall was the person behind Finley’s kidnapping, she obviously had no problem hurting others to get what she wanted.

As they sped toward the address Liam had given them, Brock realized that he didn’t give a shit what Hillary might want. He had no idea why she’d lured Finley out of her shop. The bottom line was, none of that mattered. He’d keep Finley and their Little Bean safe, or die trying.