Forsaken (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #3)(39)

My heart races as I cover yet another block, and I start to relive that moment almost two months ago now when Jared called me from overseas. He’d intercepted chatter from Sheridan’s camp that had made it clear that the job Amy had taken in a New York museum had attracted their attention and tied her to our past. I’d missed that communication myself, and I still don’t know how. But Jared had found it, and he was too far away to help. That one problem had forced me to tell Meg about Amy for the first time. I wonder now if the timing was all a setup, a way to get me to expose Amy’s location, but I refuse to believe Jared was involved.

My pace quickens, the certainty that I’m about to find out if Amy survived my captivity turning seconds into what feels like hours. I enter the apartment complex foyer and skip the elevator, opting for the service stairs. I’m on the second floor in a flash, bursting through the doors and charging to the door that should be Amy’s. I knock when I want to kick the door down. I knock some more until, with a shaking hand, I reach in my pocket and find the key I’d made years before. When I stick it inside the lock, it doesn’t move.

Cursing under my breath, I dig in my pocket again and pull out a picking tool I’d grabbed from my bag somewhere in New Mexico and make fast work of opening the door. Before entering, I arm myself with my gun, and step forward. Shutting the door behind me, I stand there and listen for any noise, any sound that might tell me someone is here. I hear nothing. Not a damn thing. Inching forward, I bring the completely empty apartment into view. I’d had it furnished in case Amy needed it, but those items aren’t here now, and neither is she. Where the hell is the furniture? Where the f*ck is my sister?

I scan for clues, anything to tell me where Amy is, and my gaze catches on a note pinned to the wall. Rushing toward it, I stare at the plain white sheet of paper that contains only a typed phone number—as good as a ransom note.

I growl, pounding the wall over and over until my knuckles bleed. Time ceases to exist until I somehow come back to myself, to the room, and to my senses, and search the rest of the barren apartment. When I’m sure I’m alone, I shove my gun in the waistband of my jeans under my shirt and snatch my new phone that I picked up on our way to Denver, dialing the number typed on the piece of paper, pacing as the line rings. Once. Twice. Four times, and then a voice mail beep, with no outgoing message.

“Call me back, motherf*cker,” I order roughly. “And if you hurt one hair on my sister’s head, I swear to you I’ll scalp you and bring popcorn to snack on as I watch you bleed to death.” Ending the call, I stand there, inhaling heavily, as if my sense of smell might tell me if my sister was ever here. Logic overcomes me and it hits me that smell can’t, but neighbors could.

Aware that I’m in danger, practically inviting Sheridan to grab me again, I can’t seem to give a damn. Even if Amy wasn’t here, Meg would have told Sheridan that this is where I’d planned to take her.

Still. Don’t. Give. A damn.

Exiting the apartment, I start knocking on doors, and two apartments down, a little old lady answers. The woman, who can barely remember what her own apartment number is, offers no help. I’m f*cked.

Giving up this strategy, I take the stairs, exit the apartment building through the foyer, and cut to my left, stopping at a cell phone store. Hesitating only a moment, I decide a few stops will give me a chance to find out if I’m being followed. Quickly, I cross the road, hitting up the retailer for several more disposable phones, which I buy with yet another fake credit card and ID. I’m out of the door and walking again, taking a different route to the hotel than I’d followed on the way to the apartment.

My nerves are jumping, my skin crawling as if eyes are on me, though I find no signs that I’m being tracked. Trying to find the source of my discomfort, I weave through the neighborhood, walking inside several stores in a mall, where I intend to let darkness fall before I depart. With a new hat on, I finally exit back onto the street, and that sensation of being watched has eased. Returning to the hotel, I enter through its restaurant and a side door into the lobby.

It’s nearly eight in the evening when I take the elevator to our secure, key-coded floor and enter the suite, where I immediately hear “Chad! Is that you?”

“Yes. Who do you think it is? The bogeyman?”

“If his name is Sheridan then yes.”

Damn. I pace a few more times. I seem to be good at pacing. I’m good at a lot of things that don’t mean shit right now. I need to fix that, and fix it now. I need to find my sister. I need to destroy Sheridan. Angry, I grab the chair in front of the door and shove it aside.

“Oh, thank God,” Gia gushes, flinging her arms around my neck. “You’re in one piece.”

Stunned by her greeting, by the way her sweet curves meld against me, I fight the heat that rushes through me, untangling her grip and pressing her hands against the wall. “Tell me what you know about my sister,” I demand.

“Nothing, Chad. I told you that. Is she—was she—”

“You know I didn’t find her.”

“I wanted you to find her. I was terrified for you.”

Anger expands in me, seeping into my veins, and on some level, I know it’s not about Gia at all, or maybe I just fear it will be about her. I don’t want to trust her and be wrong. “You barely know me.”

“I know you’re in pain. I know what being alone feels like, and I know that’s what you feel right now.”