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“What the hell were those things anyway?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Are they legal?”
“In a couple countries.”
I’d fucking kill Zane when he got home. God knew what street hood he got them from. His damn illegal pills knocked my wife unconscious while her psychotic father took our baby. I almost took another step toward Faith when Everson blocked my path.
“Sir, with all due respect, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from Ms. Addison and calm down.”
I gestured to Faith. “Oh, absolutely. Sorry to frighten you, Mrs. Mottola. I’ll be sure to take this up with your boyfriend.”
Faith glanced at the floor.
Good. I wasn’t in the mood to dance around egos. Sinking down into the couch, I waved a hand at Everson. “You’ve got five minutes to tell me what happened.”
He described how a woman opened the front door with a key and just walked in. She looked like Faith, so security outside the perimeter never questioned her. I sat completely silent as he informed me of the disturbance near the front of the house. Two loud and obnoxious drunk fans, determined to see where “hot rocker Julian Bale” lived, distracted their attention. It took three security guards to force them off the property. I remained somewhat calm as he told me he’d taken a nap shortly after that, leaving McKellan on sole watch for Phoebe and Iris.
I jumped off the couch and punched him in the face when he got to the part where he awoke to find Phoebe screaming over Iris’s empty crib…with McKellan gone.
I’d hired a dirty guard to protect my family.
***
The next day, Everson sat solemnly with a swollen face. Zane glared at me from his cross-armed position in the corner—most likely for railing on Faith. Ty, Ryker, and Kristina all huddled around the kitchen table, while police and detectives milled around as if it were any other day. Paparazzi and news teams camped out on our front lawn like the bloodsucking vipers they were, waiting to get a news snippet that the Bale baby had been rescued or found in a dumpster. It didn’t matter to them provided it sold papers.
It didn’t matter to them my world had come crashing down around me.
Or maybe it did. Maybe they wanted to see me come apart.
I was going insane, and the police were no help. They’d determined there was no evidence and no leads to go on. They’d dusted the whole house for fingerprints. They’d even investigated Faith. The woman posing as her had been meticulous. She’d left nothing identifiable…not even a hair. Since the intruder had been identified by witnesses as female, the cops refused to look further into Daniel Dalton as the suspect.
It fucking blew my mind. The man almost murdered his daughter. He had one confirmed murder on record, and I’d bet my life on Elisabeth Cayden being the second. He’d evaded police for going on four years. Did they seriously think he didn’t have the brain power to orchestrate kidnapping his grandchild?
Our phones were bugged, the house was bugged, hell, everything was bugged, yet there had been no ransom demands. The police seemed baffled, but I knew his reasoning every time I glanced at Phoebe, who huddled in the recliner wrapped in Iris’s blanket.
He wasn’t interested in payment. He wanted revenge.
I’d almost given up on those idiots doing anything but drinking my coffee and eating the sandwiches that kept magically appearing in the kitchen. People kept bringing food over. Kristina told me it was the thing people did when they didn’t know what to say in tragic situations.
I had an idea.
Instead of cold cuts, they could get their asses out and look for my goddamn daughter.
As soon as the doorbell rang, my feet hit the floor. I’d had enough of the paparazzi and their damn cameras. Jerking open the piece of shit door, I wedged it against my boots. “You want a statement? I’ll give you a statement, cocksuckers…”
“I’d prefer a cup of coffee first. I mean, I did come all this way.” I stood like a moron staring at him. He lifted an eyebrow, glancing around me into the room. “Are you going to invite me in, or do we stand here and let the paparazzi keep taking shots of my fabulous ass?”
Jaxon Hough.
I’d never been so happy to see anyone in my life. I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him inside. Two men and a petite woman followed him, their expressions blank.
I nodded to them. “Your family?”
He smirked, his olive, Italian skin a stark contrast to the blond police brigade that filled my house. His close cut, dark hair had grown out since I’d last seen him, making him look much older than his thirty years. Apparently, life in New York hadn’t been kind to him since we’d left.
“You could say that.” He smiled. “Julian Bale, I’d like you to meet Special Agents Young, Gates, and Hyatt.”
