Page 69 of The Voicemail

I release him and turn toward the street. For half a second, there’s nothing inside me. No fear. No rage. No plan. Then everything hits at once.

“Elena,” I say, but her name comes out like the air punched out of me.

Luca is beside me. “We have the first camera.”

“Show me.”

He holds up the tablet.

The image is grainy, pulled from a lobby camera across the side street. Elena moves fast, hood up, arms tucked close to her body. She looks too small on the screen. Too exposed. She keeps walking when the SUV rolls up beside her, probably thinking it’s mine.

Then the rear door opens. Elena stops too late. She fights the instant they touch her, twisting, elbowing one man, biting the other. There are people out, but no one pays attention. No one tries to help.

I watch them shove her inside. The door slams. The SUV pulls away. And only then, when it’s too late, my building doors swing open behind it.

“Get every plate in a five-block radius,” I say. My voice sounds distant, even to me. “Every private camera. Every traffic feed. Every toll reader. I want the vehicle, the switch point, and the men inside identified.”

Luca is already moving. “Done.”

“It’s not done until I have her.”

“Understood.”

I turn to Marco. “Cars. Now.”

He nods and starts toward the curb.

I look at Luca. “Stay here.”

“Are you sure?” he asks carefully, not bold enough to outright defy me in front of anyone else.

“I need you here keeping an eye on things. You tell me the second one of those leads moves.”

I catch his arm before he can turn away. “No one leaves this building without my approval. No one calls out. No one texts. If any man touches his phone for something I did not order, break his hand.”

Luca’s face tightens. “Yes, sir.”

He nods, clearly understanding what I’m asking him to do. I turn toward the door and slide into the waiting SUV before it stops moving.

“Where to?” Marco asks.

“Elena’s apartment.”

He looks at me. “You think they took her there?”

“No. I think Elena was going there before they took her.”

Marco pulls into traffic hard enough to make the tires screech. I look down at my hands and see that they’re steady. That’s good. It means I’m past panic.

The drive to Elena’s takes too long. The cars ahead won’t budge. A delivery truck blocks half a lane. A man on a bike cuts in front of us and nearly gets himself killed, picking the worst possible morning to be careless.

My phone buzzes again and again with reports. No one’s found Elena. No sign of Maya at either of the possible holding sites, either. Nico’s reached Bellamy storage and reports nothing.

Clean here. No movement.

Stay there and keep an eye out.

He doesn’t respond.