Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

B ack at Mayfair, the world was still as chaotic as it felt the moment Xavier broke the news of Sofia’s abduction. Maybe even more as the facts sank in.

I had been precariously balanced on one of the kitchen stools for nearly an hour while Xavier, Jagger, and Elsie were a storm of action along with the rotation of law enforcement officials who had come and gone at Xavier’s bidding.

The world was spinning. I was having trouble breathing. I couldn’t think straight, could barely comprehend what had happened.

Sofia was gone.

Sofia was taken .

My sweet, spunky, amazing little girl was not, in fact, on her way to us from the airport but had been kidnapped almost immediately after exiting customs.

It’s every parent’s worst nightmare, losing a child. It’s completely unnatural. You’re supposed to outlive them. You’re supposed to help them grow, send them off into the world, meet a few grandbabies if you’re lucky, and then die knowing you left them capable of caring for themselves and the people with them. Just like you did.

You are not supposed to lose them at almost five years old to God knows who.

Every time I thought of the fact, my breath left me all over again.

And I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since we’d received the messages from Elsie and Jagger nearly two hours earlier.

Since then, Mayfair had transformed into ground zero for the entire city to locate Sofia Zola Parker, the name on her months-old passport. With Jagger’s help, Xavier had called in every favor he could, making connections at every crime fighting organization in the UK and Europe, including the National Crime Agency, Interpol, even MI6.

Matthew, who was freaking out in Boston, had called his friends at the CIA and the FBI for assistance, though no one had much to offer. Even Derek had been looped in on the process in case he knew anything that could help.

Elsie, in her abject state of guilt, was manning the sort of communications center that had been set up in the living room, which consisted of two laptop computers, four cell phones (two of which were on hold with some agency or another), and a headset allowing her to organize the search effort. It was the least she felt she could do, considering it had been on her watch that Sofia had been abducted from the private airport just outside of the city. Elsie had been locked in a bathroom by an unknown assailant. Meanwhile, the kidnapper had swooped in and taken Sofia, somehow without a fight and without raising the suspicions of the small number of airport employees who hadn’t heard Elsie’s shouts until it was far too late.

Now, while we anxiously waited, Xavier was pacing the apartment like a rabid tiger, clearly wishing he could take to the streets himself in search of his daughter. In lieu of that, he was back to throwing arrows where he could.

“Where the fuck is she, Georgie?” Xavier’s voice boomed across the entire Mayfair flat, echoing off the walls like thunder threatening to split the marbled floors in half. “Where is my daughter? If you know anything, you had better speak the fuck up.”

“Well, how in the world should I know?” Georgina’s shrill voice rang through on speaker. “Did I look like I’d gone and kidnapped the girl whilst hosting a dinner? I’ve been here the whole time, and well you know it.”

Over the speaker of Xavier’s phone, her voice sounded tinny and even more disingenuous than usual. It made me want to scream from the kitchen, feeling a bit feline myself.

“Do you think we’re stupid?” I snarled as Xavier came closer. “You literally threatened us less than an hour ago, and not five minutes later, we get a call that our daughter is missing. You are the obvious prime suspect.”

“Oh, love,” Elsie murmured.

Maybe it was the audible crack in my voice that caused such obvious pity. I’d already broken down exactly four times since hearing the news. Number five was coming.

Xavier, on the other hand, had only one emotion running through him in perpetuity: murder.

“I swear to God, Georgina, if you’re lying, I’ll fucking finish you for good,” he hissed. “I’ll have the queen open the Tower of London just for you. Maybe retrofit the old chamber in Kendal, since you’re so keen to get your hands on the place. I’ll have them bring back the rack, or maybe the Scavenger’s Daughter. You think the public likes pictures of me and mine? They’ll devour a duchess on display.”

“You’re a monster,” Georgina said flatly, though even I could hear the fear in her voice. “You always have been. I hope you understand these threats will not go unheard.”

“It’s what any sane man would do upon losing his daughter,” Xavier snapped right back. “I challenge you to find one who wouldn’t do the same.”

“Be that as it may, it makes no sense to accuse me. I shan’t stand for such insults!”

“You’ll stand for whatever the fuck I say until I have my daughter back safely!” Xavier roared.

“Boy—Xavier—Your Grace?—”

“Elsie, what the hell?” Xavier whirled around. “Since when have you ever addressed me as a duke?”

I plucked the phone from his hand and ended the call to Georgina promptly—she didn’t need to hear whatever this was.

Elsie simply crumpled on the couch.

“Xavi, be nice,” I said weakly. “She’s feeling bad enough as it is.” I turned to her for what had to be the tenth time. “It wasn’t your fault she was t-taken, Elsie.”

Shit. I really couldn’t even say it without wanting to scream and cry myself.

But Elsie just shook her head and refused to engage with that line of thinking, though her lower lip was also trembling something fierce. “Detective Kingston has just returned our calls, sir. He’s on the third line.” She held up one of the cell phones.

Without another thought, I flew across the room and snatched the phone. “Derek, hey. Do you have any news? Anything that might help us find her?”

It was a long shot, of course, asking a New York detective to help with a London kidnapping. But he wouldn’t be calling us back without something other than condolences, would he?

“Actually, maybe,” Derek’s friendly voice was a balm to my very soul. “And maybe not. Honestly, it doesn’t make any sense to me.”

And also a dart.

I sank onto the couch opposite Elsie while Xavier raced to my side, took the phone, and put it on speaker.

“Derek, it’s Xavier,” he said. “What is it? What did you find?”

“The prints your police found on the third letter sent over actually did match someone in the system. Frankie…shit…the fingerprints belong to Guadalupe Ortiz. It’s your mom.”

Xavier and I just stared at each other over the phone.

“I— what ?” I asked, even as Xavier was turning toward the airport security footage now replaying on one of Elsie’s monitors.

It was another bit of bad luck that no matter the angle, absolutely none of the cameras at the private airport had managed to capture the kidnapper’s face. It certainly didn’t have the same type of security as a place like Heathrow.

But now, as I watched the kidnapper for what was probably the fiftieth time usher Sofia out the front doors, I recognized the short, squat shape of my mother, wisps of her ashy blond hair sticking out from the thick cap that shielded her face.

“ That’s why she didn’t fight it,” I murmured, even as my heart turned to ice. “That’s why the airport security didn’t think anything of her leaving without Elsie.” I turned to Xavier. “I don’t think Sofia even knows her name. Just would have called her abuela , like my mom has always said, and everyone would have thought she was the perfect grandmother.”

“No one would have seen it. Christ, it’s the perfect crime.” Xavier shook his head. “Is she really that obsessed with getting to know you?”

“It’s for money,” I said tightly. “It’s always been for money. You know that. My mother would sell her soul for a bit of publicity and some extra cash. I’m sure there will be a heavy ransom request coming if there hasn’t been already.”

“As it happens…” Jagger said, holding up his phone. “One’s just arrived. An email to the Parker Group addressed to the ‘so-called Duke of Kendal’—the kidnapper’s words, not mine, mate—requesting that you admit to falsifying marital records between the former duke and your mother in front of Parliament, thereby relinquishing your title and all parts of inheritance related to the dukedom that go with it.”

Xavier blinked. “You’re kidding. This is about my title ?” His gaze raced back to me. “Georgina.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.” She had seemed awfully distressed on the phone.

“Plus fifty million pounds,” Jagger added wryly. “Messenger fee, I reckon.”

“And that’s why my mother’s involved,” I said dryly.

“Derek?” Xavier demanded. “Did you hear all that?”

There was a sigh. “Send me the email. Maybe we can trace the IP address. Honestly, I don’t know. This isn’t my jurisdiction, so I’ll have to be working with law enforcement over there. I don’t know the legalities of everything.”

“Els, send it to the other agencies too,” Xavier said. “This has to be from Georgina. Has to.”

“Already done, boy.”

“I’m not agreeing to shit,” Xavier told Jagger flatly. Until he caught my expression.

“You’ll agree to whatever it takes to get Sofia back safely,” I told him point-blank. “I don’t care if we become paupers in the process. I don’t care if you have to lie on your back and call yourself a puppy dog in front of Parliament and the queen, Xavi. You will do whatever it fucking takes to get our baby girl back!”

I wasn’t going to say it out loud, but he knew it was true. None of this would have happened if he wasn’t who he was. If he didn’t have things my mother wanted. That Georgina or whoever else was behind this wanted.

Xavier swallowed roughly as he sank to his haunches beside me. “We’ll find her before it comes to that.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Derek interrupted.

We both jumped, having forgotten he was on the other end of the line.

“When anyone enters the UK, you know they have to leave a forwarding address. And, well…I don’t know if this was her being dumb or brilliant. But Xavier, she left yours, apparently.”

Xavier frowned. “ Mine ? As in Mayfair?”

“No, I mean, your old one. In some place called Croydon. On South End road. Does that ring any bells?”

Xavier stilled as I turned to him. His blue eyes sparked with danger. And recognition.

“That’s…that’s my old flat,” he said. “The one above my mum’s restaurant. Ch-Christ. They’re in Croydon ?”

“It’s probably just a practical joke,” Derek said. “I really don’t think she could be that dumb to provide the actual address where she was going.”

“Then you don’t know my mother,” I said dryly. “She doesn’t exactly think.”

Then I noticed that Xavier was on the move again, prowling around the apartment. Looking for keys, apparently, which he immediately shoved into his pocket. Like he was going somewhere.

“Xavi,” I called. “Stop. She’s not there. How would she have even gotten the keys? Think, this isn’t reasonable.”

“Since they want you to give up your title, makes sense they’d remind you where you’re from,” Jagger put in. “It’s a joke, Xav. Nothing more.”

But Xavier was already grabbing his jacket, unwilling to listen to any of us now that he had been presented with something to do . “Well, there’s only one way to find out. I can’t just stay here anymore like a sitting fucking duck. I’m going to check for myself.”