Page 96 of Stolen Rebel

I hold out my hand for the phone. “Let me read that conversation.” She passes the burner to me. I scan the exchange, blood boiling. “Tell him I already had you then. That I made you send those messages. That you’ve managed to get free and are hiding out at an abandoned house.”

“Okay.” She taps on the keyboard. Waits. I can see her holding her breath. I brush a thumb over her hip.

“Breathe, Rebel. You’re safe.”

Her shoulders drop, and she breathes out. “He wants to know the address.”

Bingo. I reel off the address of one of our safe houses. It’s scarcely furnished and will easily pass for abandoned.

“Right, it’s done. He said to hang tight. That he’s tied up with a work thing, but that he’ll come and get me tomorrow.” She tosses the phone on the bed like it’s diseased.

I don’t trust that fucker. Wouldn’t put it past him to head straight there now and test her theory. I clasp her hips and pull her to me, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“I’m going to head over there now in case he’s bluffing.”

Her fingers tangle with my shirt. “Please be careful. I can’t lose you. Not now. Not when I’ve just got you back.”

“You’re not going to lose me.” This time I kiss her on the mouth. “Would it make you feel better if I took security with me?” I won’t need backup, but if it calms her, makes her worry less, I’ll do it.

“Yes, please.”

“Done.”

I message Dan to meet me at the car. As I leave the house, I glance back. Rowan’s standing in the living room window nibbling her thumbnail.

She’s still there when Dan steers the car toward the gatehouse. Small and pale through the glass, one hand pressed against it now. I make myself turn away. I’ve got a job to do. And after that, for the first time in a long time, I’ve got something worth coming home to.

Chapter 42

ROWAN

The house feels wrong without him. It’s too quiet, like the walls are holding their breath. Or maybe that’s just me.

Liam left for the safe house an hour ago. I watched out the window as the car disappeared past the security lodge. I’m still standing at the same window, looking at the same view when Patrick finds me.

“You’ll wear a hole in the carpet if you stand there much longer.” It might be a joke, but it’s hard to tell with this one. He always sounds stern.

“I’m fine.”

He makes a noncommittal sound that probably means he doesn’t believe me. Do I even believe myself?

Brian will go to the safe house. Liam will be waiting for him, with security. Everything is set up, controlled, and not reactive. So why does my skin feel like it’s been turned inside out and dipped in vinegar?

The walls are closing in. I don’t care how big this place is, its presence is stifling, and yes, even intimidating. I need to do something other than stand here and wait for my man like a sad, old country song.

“I’m going out.”

There’s probably a two percent chance this behemoth man is going to let me (a) leave the house at all or (b) leave without protection, but hey, I woke up today and chose violence. It’s worth a shot.

“Out.” Patrick’s pause is subtle.

“Yes. Out.” I gesture at the window. “Maybe I’ll wear out the concrete instead of your fancy carpets.”

“That wasn’t phrased as a request.”

I sigh. The three of them are all the fucking same. “Because it wasn’t a request, Patrick.”

His eyes narrow slightly. He’s always calculating, assessing. I bet his brain hurts when he goes to bed at night. “You think this is wise?”