Page 89 of The Pilot

“Take a deep breath, Harp. We don’t know that anything’s wrong yet.”

“Yes, we do! You feel it just as much as I do. Don’t minimize this.”

She was right. Linc felt as if his skin was too tight, and all he wanted to do was jump in his SUV and go find Kash. Something was wrong. Really wrong. If someone had his phone, and was pretending to be him, this wasn’t good.

Hadn’t his family been through enough?

Was this Lucas Pearson, hiring someone from prison, retaliation for not succeeding in his plans for Marit? Or hell, had the Calverts paid off someone from prison, to continue harassing the Young family? They’d somehow made their share of enemies in the last year.

Of course, the first person who came to mind was the boy who’d been making Kash’s life miserable at school . . . but he was just a kid. He might steal Kash’s cell and pretend to be him, a relatively harmless prank. But if he had, Kash would have called his mom with someone else’s phone way before now.

No . . . to actually make Kash disappear? That was a whole different level of bullying.

A ball of fire in Linc’s gut was screaming that he needed to find out what was happening. Now.

“I’m not minimizing this. I won’t. Go get dressed. We’ll make some calls. To the school, to the hotel in Portland. See if we can’t figure out some reasonable explanation. And if not, I’ll call my brothers and the police.”

“I’m scared,” Harper whispered, looking up at Linc as if her world was crumbling.

“Me too,” Linc admitted softly.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Right, I’ll start with trying to call Kash. See if he’ll pick up. If not, I’ll call the hotel in Portland.”

“And I’ll find the number of the robotics club adviser. I think his contact info was on the permission slip we had to sign. There’s a copy of it around here somewhere.”

Feeling a little better now that they had a plan, and hoping against hope that Kash would answer his mom’s call, Linc did his best to stay calm, as he’d told Harper to do. It was easier said than done. His heart was beating a million miles an hour, and he felt just as panicked now as he had when he’d realized his plane was crashing in North Korea.

Without a word, Harper turned and rushed back toward the bedroom, where she’d left her phone. Linc stared at the text conversation that was still on his screen.

He had an urge to type out a message to whoever it was who had his son’s phone—that he was coming for them, and if they hurt one hair on Kash’s head, the person would spend the rest of their life regretting their fucking choices.

But he also didn’t want to give whoever it was a clue that the jig was up.

Phones could be tracked. And while he didn’t know anyone who could do that without going through proper channels, he had no doubt that his brothers might know someone. Between the four of them, they had a lot of military contacts. They had to know someone who could get them the intel they needed—yesterday.

Time was of the essence. If their suspicions were right, it had been two days since Kash had gone missing. Since Harper had gotten that first text that felt off. Which was way too long. The golden hour was ticking, and if they didn’t find him, and soon, it might be too late.

Which wasn’t acceptable.

Breakfast forgotten, Linc rushed over to the pile of papers on the edge of the counter. He’d gotten in the habit of stacking stuff there that he didn’t want to throw away immediately, just in case, or things that he’d deal with filing later. He vaguely remembered putting the copy of the permission slip for the robotics competition in the pile. He just prayed he hadn’t tossed it already.

He found it almost immediately, and relief filled him as he saw the contact info for the teacher who’d taken the kids to Portland, Mr. Simpson. Without caring that it was still early, Linc punched the number into his phone.

He wasn’t going to wait to hear whether or not Harper had been able to get a hold of Kash. He had a feeling he knew what the outcome of her trying to call would be. He wasn’t waiting another second for intel.

“Hello?”

The man who answered sounded as if he’d been awakened from a deep sleep. Linc didn’t feel an ounce of remorse.

“This is Lincoln Young. Harper Bates is my girlfriend, and Kash is her son. Is he there?”

“Here?” the adviser asked, obviously still mostly asleep.

“In Portland. At the robotics competition,” Linc clarified impatiently.

“Uh . . . no. He texted Brad, one of the other kids, and said he was sick and couldn’t make it. We’re really missing him. He’s a smart cookie and has great ideas. Wait . . . why?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “He’s not here. He’s not sick. We don’t know where he is.”