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“Fuck!” I yell, slamming my phone on the bar. Tossing whatever bills I have in my wallet next to it, I pick it back up and shove my way out the door.
* * *
There’s onlyone place she could’ve gone, and if I’m wrong, we’re both fucked.
After driving back to Okeechobee in less than thirty minutes, I make a right onto the dirt road. Killing the engine at least two hundred and fifty yards away, I walk the rest of the way to the white washed old farmhouse that sits about five miles east of my own.
Milton Jennings. The only neighbor within ten miles. A retired old asshole who, if he knows what’s good for him, slammed the door right in her face.
Pulling my gun, I climb the rickety steps to the front porch and press my ear against the door. Immediately, I hear her voice. It’s faint but unmistakable.
How dare she.
One more squeeze and she’d be dead. I almost killed her, but I stopped because of some fucked-up memory of a girl I used to know. I fooled myself into thinking maybe she still loved me. Maybe somehow I could get let go of the past. Maybe this time I could keep her safe, tucked away where no one could find her.
What a goddamn idiot.
My escalating rage breaks my control like an eroded dam. Pulling my leg back, I slam the heel of my boot into the door with such force, the rotted wood shatters beneath it. I hear Ava scream my name, but I’m not interested in her right now.
Old man Jennings is standing behind the counter in his kitchen, reaching beneath him when I aim the gun at his head. “I wouldn’t do it if I were you, Jennings. I promise I’m a faster and more accurate shot.”
The man’s weathered face hardens, and he stands. “What do you want, Franko? We’re just havin’ coffee.”
I glance at the two mugs sitting in front of him and grip the gun even tighter.
Coffee?
I turned Highway 70 into the fucking Autobahn, making myself crazy wondering if she was hurt or lost, or God forbid, found by her father, and they were sitting here having coffee?
“What did she say?”
“Nothin’ much.”
Lowering my gun, I pull the trigger, exploding the glass coffee pot into a thousand pieces. Jennings lets out a yelp and covers his face. “That was for lying to me. The next one will draw blood.”
“Okay, okay!” he says, holding his hands in the air. “She told me you kidnapped her from Miami and was holdin’ her prisoner in your house. Those cuts on her wrists and ankles were pretty convincin’.”
“Did she call anybody?”
“Niko…”
I swing the gun toward Ava. “You shut up.”
She lowers her eyes, and I level the gun back on Jennings.
“Yeah, I let her use the phone, and she called someone.”
I knew it.
“What did she say. I need exact words, Jennings.”
He squints as if he’s thinking hard. “She called someone named Ethan. Told him she needed more time to get what he wanted. I guess she was listenin’ for a few minutes, ’cause after that, all she did was repeat the words three days.”
I glance at Ava, who’s still staring at her feet. “Did she now?”
“That’s it, Franko. I don’t want no part of this. I moved out here to avoid all this shit.” He waves his hand toward Ava. “Take her with you, but leave me alone.”
Well, you’re half right.
