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“What’s up, Brandon?” Marshal stopped and waited for the man to catch up.
“Ryker left again.”
Marshal clenched his teeth to stop himself from punching Brandon, but the man must have sensed his ire because the bodyguard took a few steps back.
“Chad is following him,” Brandon said quickly.
That meant Ryker was not in the same car as Chad and the way Ryker handled his sports car, it wouldn’t be long before the man gave Chad the slip.
“Fuck!” he spat, stalking down the hallway toward the parking garage with his hands itching to get ahold of Ryker.
“Hey,” Alexander pulled him to a stop. “I have something for you, hold up.”
Marshal impatiently followed Alexander toward the FBI technical room and waited.
“Attach this to his wrist. Once it’s locked, he can’t take it off.” Alexander pointed to the mechanism that locked the silver chain-link bracelet and snapped it closed. The agent then took a small, round-looking key and unlocked it before handing both to Marshal. “We can track him from anywhere with this.”
Marshal tucked both the key and bracelet into his pocket before hauling ass out of the estate.
Punching in Ryker’s number, it went straight to voicemail.
Damn it!
The borrowed sports car was powerful beneath his hands and Marshal called Chad on his cell phone as he tore out of the newlyopened gates and raced down the long road that would take him off of Langston land.
“Marshal?” Chad answered on the first ring.
“Where are you? Do you still have him in sight?”
“I don’t, but I can tell you where I lost him at.”
Marshal squeezed the steering wheel. He was going to wring Ryker’s neck and this time, he wasn’t going to rein in his temper.
Thankfully, his phone rang and the name flashing on the dashboard screen made him smile and kept him from brooding too much.
“Hey, mom,” he answered with the hands free on the second ring.
“Hey, sweetie, are you coming home for Thanksgiving weekend?” Her hopeful voice filled up the vehicle’s speakers.
“I’ll be home for Thanksgiving, but I won’t be able to stay for the weekend until this job is over.”
She gave a heavy sigh that came in loud and clear over the speakers and he suspected she was having a hard time.
“Put Tristan on the phone,” Marshal growled.
“Don’t yell,” she cautioned him.
“Hey, Dad,” his sixteen-year-old son grumbled into the phone.
“Are you giving your grandmother a hard time?”
“No,” Tristan assured him. “It’s Colin and Owen, they’re out of control!”
Marshal eased his foot off the gas and took the exit that would take him to where Chad had last seen Ryker.
“Here!” Tristan said with a loud, annoyed sigh and handed the phone over before he could say anything further.
Marshal expected his mom, not his four-year-old son, Colin, to pop on the line.
