Chapter 21 The search
Silence in a crime scene doesn’t sound like nothing; it sounds like a heart trying to beat out of its cage.
"Sir, the young Miss is missing."
I think the Wolfe’s have trained their guards to keep a straight expression in any situation. No matter dire it is, their faces remain the same.
So I give up trying to read Leo’s face while he’s on the call with Alistair. After informing Alistair that Lily was missing, the call went on for three full minutes and his face remained the same.
"Alright sir," he says finally and finishes the call.
I don’t bother to ask what Alistair says and I don’t even get the chance to.
Leo starts to barks orders to his team. They move with a terrifying, silent efficiency, clearing the café and fanning out into the street. The heavy oak door clicks shut behind the last man, leaving me alone in the surveillance room. The blue glow of the monitors is the only thing illuminating the dark.
My legs finally give out. I slump into a plastic swivel chair, my breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. I stare at the screen. The image of the man in the dark hoodie is frozen in a grainy, pixelated eternity. He has Lily. He took her while I was busy arguing with a ghost from my past.
"Julian."
The name makes me want to punch something. If he hadn’t grabbed me, if he hadn’t forced me into that pathetic confrontation, my hand would have stayed in Lily’s. This isn’t just a mishap; it’s a failure. Failure to keep Lily safe. Failure to keep my own life away from my new. Failure to meet the expectations Alistair had of me.
I want to scream, to break the monitors, to find Julian and show him exactly what his "misunderstanding" has cost.
But screaming doesn’t find missing children.
I look at my hands. They’re shaking so violently I have to clench them into fists. I think of Alistair. I think of the way he looked when he told me he trusted me. If anything happens to her, the man I saw yesterday—the one who almost choked the life out of me—will be the only version of him left.
I can’t be the girl who waits for the rescue. I’ve spent my whole life being the victim of other people’s greed and cruelty. My father, Lydia, Chloe, Julian. They all treated me like a piece on a board. Even Alistair treats me like a vessel.
I stand up. My knees pop, but they hold. I wipe the salt from my cheeks with the back of my hand, leaving a smear of grime behind. The panic is still there, a wild animal clawing at the inside of my throat, but I shove it into a dark corner of my mind.
I’m going to find her. I’m going to get into Etlan University. I’m going to become the kind of woman who doesn’t need a row of black SUVs to feel safe. I’m going to be as formidable as Alistair Wolfe, but I’m going to do it without losing my soul.
I pull my phone out and snap a photo of the monitor. The hooded man’s face is a blur behind the surgical mask, but the way he moves—the specific tilt of his shoulders—is burned into my retinas.
I walk out of the surveillance room. Leo is in the hallway, his phone pressed to his ear. He stops when he sees me. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline, his gaze traveling over my straightened back and the hard, dry set of my eyes.
"Miss Emily?" he asks. "Are you alright? I’ve arranged for a car to take you back to the villa. It isn’t safe for you here."
"I’m not going back to the villa, Leo," I say. My voice is steady, lacking the tremor from ten minutes ago. "I’m going to look for her. Do you have any leads?"
Leo looks astonished. He studies me for a long second, as if he’s trying to find the shaking girl who was shaking not too long ago. "The team is canvassing the area. We’re waiting for the facial recognition software to run the suspect’s gait. But it takes time."
"I don’t have time," I say. I pull a pen and a scrap of paper from the manager’s desk. I scrawl my cell number in bold, jagged strokes. "If you find anything, anything at all, call me. Immediately."
I don’t wait for his permission. I push through the café doors and step out onto Ring Road.
The afternoon sun is a mallet, beating down on the asphalt until the air smells of baked tar and exhaust. I head straight for the commercial district tucked behind the café. It’s a labyrinth of narrow alleys, boutique storefronts, and high-foot-traffic plazas.
I go from person to person. I show them the photo on my phone. "Have you seen this man? He’s wearing a dark hoodie. He was carrying a small girl in a yellow dress."
A woman with a stroller shakes her head. A man delivering crates of soda doesn’t even look up. The indifference of the crowd is a new kind of pain. I can’t even blame them.
I’m sweating through my shirt, the fabric sticking to my back, my throat parched and raw. I ignore the sting of the scrape on my arm.
After an hour, I realize I’m being inefficient. I find a local print shop near a transit hub. The air inside is cool and smells of toner and fresh paper. I pay the clerk double to skip the line. Ten minutes later, I walk out with a stack of flyers. Lily’s bright, smiling face stares back at me next to the grainy shot of the abductor.
I start posting them. I go into bakeries, flower shops, and busy convenience stores. I talk to the shopkeepers, the ones who notice the people who linger.
"Please," I say to a woman behind a counter at a toy store. "Keep an eye out. She’s only a little girl."
The woman looks at the photo of Lily, then at my face. She sees the desperation I’m trying to hide under my calm exterior. She nods, pinning the flyer to the glass door. "I’ll call the number if I see a hoodie, honey. I promise."
My phone vibrates in my pocket. My heart does a frantic roll. I pull it out, expecting a tip.
It’s Leo.
"Miss Emily," he says, his voice tight. "Mr. Wolfe here. At the café. You need to come back. Now."
The air in my lungs turns to lead. Alistair is at the café.
I turn and run. I don’t care about the heat or the crowds. I weave through the pedestrians, my lungs burning, the flyers clutched in my hand like a shield. I reach the café in record time. There are more black SUVs here and more bodyguards.
I push through the front door. The Savina Café is empty now, the patrons having been cleared out long ago. The only sound is the whirring of the cooling fans.
Alistair is seated at a small round table in the center of the room. He looks like a shadow that has taken human form. He isn’t wearing his overcoat. His tie is gone and the top buttons of his shirt are open. He looks calm. That is the most terrifying part. He looks like a predator that has already caught the scent of blood.
I swallow hard, the moisture in my mouth completely gone. I walk toward him as confidently as I can and stop a few feet away. I keep my hands clasped in front of me to hide the way they’ve started to shake again.
"Alistair," I say softly.
He doesn’t look up immediately. He is staring at a tablet on the table. His jaw is a hard, sharp line. When he finally raises his head, the gray in his eyes is the color of a winter sky before the first kill.
"Explain this," Alistair says.
His voice is perfectly level. It’s worse than if he had screamed. He slides the tablet across the marble tabletop toward me.
I look down. It’s a photograph. In the image, I’m standing face-to-face with Julian. I’m holding Lily’s hand, but I’m looking at Julian with an expression that, out of context, looks like intense, pained longing.
Julian is reaching out. His hand is inches from mine, his fingers poised to take my hand. Lily is between us, her little face turned up toward Julian.
The lighting, the angle, the way we’re positioned... we look like a family. A happy, intimate family of three, out for a Sunday stroll.
I feel the blood drain from my face. I look at Alistair, then back at the screen.