3. Chapter 3

I'm driving through downtown Savannah when the phone call comes.

Glancing down at the screen of my cell, I see Merrick's name.

Lifting the phone to my ear, I say, "Whatever it is you're selling, I'm not buying."

It's a funny joke, at least in my eyes, considering Merrick is a thief, and I frequently buy and sell things for him.

"Deacon…"

he says, tone grave.

Merrick's tone is always serious.

He's the yin to my yang.

The stoic to my sarcastic humor.

And he frequently uses my name in a tone that says if you don't cut the shit, I'm gonna lose it on you .

But this … this is something different.

All my senses go on high alert.

I feel the smile slip from my face.

The worry in his voice is crystal clear, and that doesn't happen often.

Immediately pulling my car onto a side street, I park along a random curb before saying, "What's wrong?"

"I need you to come to Charleston.

Something's happened to Siren. "

Immediately feeling my heart jump to somewhere in the vicinity of my throat, I say, "Tell me everything."

As I listen to him talk, I absently rub at a spot in the center of my chest.

There's a twinge that only worsens as Merrick details the situation.

"Amelia hasn't been able to get a hold of her for three days.

Finally, we went over there together because no way in hell was I letting my pregnant wife go alone.

It was clear someone had broken into her place.

A window connected to the fire escape was smashed in.

They must've reached through and unlocked it because it was still wide open.

Thankfully, Amelia had a key, so I didn't have to climb through that same window.

After we finished fighting about who was going in—a battle I won by the way—I found her place in perfect order, except the bedroom."

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears as I ask, "Is she hurt? Where is she?"

"That's the thing … we don't know.

She wasn't there.

Her bed was unmade, and all her clothes had been pulled out.

Amelia says her suitcase and a bunch of her toiletries from the bathroom are missing.

Her phone was still on the nightstand, but her violin was gone."

There's a heavy pause before he continues.

"I think someone took her while she was asleep, then packed her shit to make it look like she just left."

The thudding in my ears is so loud now that I barely hear the end of his sentence but the phrase someone took her plays on a loop in my head over and over.

Calm tone belying my emotions, I simply say, "I'll be there within the hour."

I don't wait for a reply before disconnecting the call.

When my eyes finally focus again, it's to find my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

The urge to beat them against the front dash is nearly overwhelming.

I wanna say my visceral reaction is a surprise but if I'm honest with myself, Siren's been like an itch between my shoulder blades for months, one that I just can't seem to reach.

We slept together once and only once, but not because of anything I did.

In fact, even now, I can still feel the strands of her long black hair in my hands.

I can still see her brown eyes turn to melted chocolate seconds before she came beneath me.

Unfortunately, I only got the privilege of one night with her.

You see, Siren has a chip on her shoulder the size of the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

I would've gladly gone more than one round, but she wouldn't give me the time of day after, and as much as that stung, when I sat back and thought about all the shit going on in my life, I knew I wasn't boyfriend material.

It just isn't in my genetic makeup.

But the fact that we aren't in a relationship doesn't mean I want anything bad to happen to her.

And from the sound of it, something bad has definitely happened.

Putting the car back into drive, I punch the accelerator and make my way to the interstate that bridges the gap between Savannah and Charleston.

Doing nearly 100 mph, I pray that there aren't any state troopers lying in wait to catch me in a speed trap.

To be honest, I don't really give a shit.

I've done high-speed chase before; I'll gladly do it again.

I just know that I've gotta get there so I can assess how bad the situation really is, and as soon as I've done that, I'll be online, following every single digital footprint made by Siren or anyone who's had any contact with her.

It baffles me how this could've happened without me being alerted.

Unbeknownst to her, I've been keeping tabs on Siren since before Merrick and Amelia even got married.

Over the months, we've formed something of a ragtag group of friends.

Even the Fed has managed to wedge his way into our lives and pop up whenever it suits him.

So for something like this to happen and neither myself nor Alexi get any type of notification is …

not right.

I can't help but think that someone out there is making moves against us, and not even I saw them coming. I don't like the idea one bit.

The drive to Charleston is tense but it's late and the streets are blessedly quiet at this time on a weeknight.

Thankfully, I'm meeting Merrick at Siren's place instead of having to go all the way out to the house Merrick and Amelia now share.

That would've tacked on another half hour to my drive.

As I make my way through Downtown Charleston, I seem to get stuck at every fucking red light in the city, and I can feel my frustration mounting with each press of my foot on the brake pedal.

At this rate, by the time I get to her place, my blood pressure will be so high I will have given myself a stroke.

Finally, I make it into the French Quarter.

Parking my car along the side of the street, I get out and hurriedly lock up.

I don't even give a second thought to the idea of someone sideswiping me, nor do I care if I get a ticket for not feeding the meter.

At this point, my car doesn't matter.

Funny, I would never have thought anything could make me think those words.

My feet eat up the sidewalk pavement as I make long strides toward the front door of Siren's apartment building.

Even from the outside, anyone walking by would be able to tell they cost a pretty penny.

From the bit of digging I've done into her background, I know that Siren grew up with money.

Her parents, Blake and Vanessa Sinclair, are members of Charleston's elite circle.

But like most parents of that social class, having kids is more about carrying on the family name and less about actually wanting to know them.

They spent most of their time abroad or on the family yacht, while Siren spent her early childhood being raised by nannies and then shipped off to boarding school.

That's where she and Amelia met, and that's about as far as I've allowed myself to dig.

Invading someone's privacy for their own protection was one thing.

Wanting to find out whether they ate white or brown gravy on their fried steak was another.

The need was there, but I fought it.

As I punch in the code that will allow me to enter the building, I don't even pause to take in the scenery.

I've been here before, and I know where I'm going.

From the outside, you'd never guess that the interior of the building has been hollowed out in the center, allowing the sun to shine down onto what I can only imagine is a replica of the Garden of Eden during the day.

Around the garden are numerous staircases, each leading up to an individual loft, allowing the tenants to come and go without being bothered while also providing a measure of security.

Or so we thought.

That security is obviously lacking if someone could break into an apartment and get a woman and a shit ton of her belongings out without anyone noticing.

Taking the staircase to my right, I'm banging on Siren's door three seconds later.

Three seconds after that, the door opens, and I come face-to-face with Merrick.

He immediately steps back to let me in, closing the door behind me.

Amelia is sitting cross-legged on the couch across the room, worry written all over her face.

I have no idea how she's able to sit in that position being six months pregnant.

The female body was a wonder.

Not wasting any time, I ask, "Have you called the police yet?"

Amelia shakes her head, twisting the large emerald ring on her finger nervously.

I'm just turning back to Merrick when he says, "No, I didn't think it was a good idea.

We don't know who took her or for what purpose, and if it turns out to somehow be connected to either of us, the cops will only fuck things up. "

He's right.

Merrick and I have made a lot of enemies over the years.

Most of the criminal underworld has no idea who the real faces are behind our metaphorical disguises, but I have no doubt that there are a few who could find out if they really wanted to.

While I've taken care to wipe every string tying that of our alter egos to our true identities from the web, I don't discount any possibility.

It wouldn't be that much of a leap for one of them to take something we care about and use it as leverage against us.

The idea that this could in some way be my fault causes a tightening in my chest.

"What about the Fed?"

I ask.

It was only fair that we could call on him for favors when he'd made it clear that he wanted something from us, even if we didn't really know what that something was yet.

What I do know is that he has a lot of connections we could utilize.

Just as Merrick opens his mouth to answer, a knock sounds at the door.

I'm now closest, with Merrick having moved to stand near his wife right after I came in.

I go over and look through the peephole.

Fucking Hell.

Swinging the door wide, I roll my eyes.

Ask, and you shall receive .

I guess that answered my question.

Looking grim instead of smug for once, Agent Alexi Kapranov enters the apartment.

I wanna be annoyed that he's here, but if dealing with him means locating Siren, I'll just have to grit my teeth and bare it.

Alexi gives Merrick and I each a nod before granting Amelia a small smile.

An incredibly hard feat for him, I'm sure.

Without even a hello, I say, "What do you know?"

He doesn't make a comment about the bluntness of my tone.

I think he recognizes how dire the situation is and that now isn't the time for levity.

Instead, he just replies, "Not much, I'm sorry to say.

There's no visual of her leaving on any of the surrounding cameras in the area.

One camera, located across the street outside of a restaurant, did catch a large SUV pulling up to the curb, but it only captured the front of the car.

It sat there for less than 10 minutes before backing out of camera view.

I can only assume to keep their plates from showing.

Whoever it was, they knew where the cameras were and how to avoid them.

They had to have done extensive recon on the area.

If she was taken, it wasn't by some low-level criminal.

This was a professional job.

Someone with experience or a lot of money to pay the right people."

I'm surprised my teeth haven't cracked from how hard my jaw is clenching.

I should've known nothing good would come out of befriending the Fed.

He knows next to nothing.

Even though I know I could've gotten that information with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back, if I think about it objectively, it's possible that I'm just being salty because I feel … helpless.

Granted, I haven't gotten behind my monitors yet, so I can't say if what he came across is all there is to find, but at least now I have a starting point.

"I need my computer,"

I say to the room in general.

I was in such a hurry to get inside that I didn't even think to bring up the laptop I usually carry with me.

Without another word, I walk to the door.

Merrick makes a move as if to stop me or say something, but the look I give him has him immediately turning stony-faced, and with a nod, he goes back to stand near his wife.

The normally funny Deacon is gone.

What's taken his place is a facet of myself that I rarely allow people to see.

Mainly because it's dangerous and full of rage.

But right now, that might be exactly the motivation I need.

Siren may very well turn out to be the one who got away , but she's not getting away like this.