Kissed Blind (Hot Pursuit #2)(47)

I was in and out quickly, but it had gotten late. The sun had begun to set, and a slight chill had settled into the air. Vance and I walked back to the car, side by side this time. When we got in, Cici was staring out the window, and Camille was absorbed in her phone.

“Any updates?” Vance asked slipping behind the wheel.

“No, nothing yet,” Camille offered. “How’s your head?”

I’d expected Camille to act as though my injury were an inconvenience and was surprised by her concern. “It’s totally fine. A mild concussion. I’m good to go.”

“That’s good news.” She tossed her phone on the seat and clasped her hands together. “Please, take me home.”

Vance pulled out of the lot and sailed up the road.





Seventeen





We arrived at the apartment. Vance and I walked into the kitchen while Cici sat at the table, stunned. Camille paced restlessly in the other room while staring at her phone.

“You need something for your head?” Vance asked. “I can dig through the freezer.”

I stroked my goose egg. “No, I’m fine.” It was sore, but a bitter taste in my mouth was what I focused on. I swirled my tongue against the roof of my mouth and dug through my pockets for a square of gum, but they were empty. “Do you have any gum? I think I bit my cheek when I fell and my mouth tastes terrible.” My head throbbed, syncing with the beat of my heart, each pulse fueling my anger. I couldn’t believe Oliver had been taken on my watch.

Vance popped a square of gum from its foil package and dumped it into his palm. “You did everything right.” He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, releasing some of the tension.

“You don’t know that.”

“The hell I don’t.”

“He was my responsibility.” I crunched the outer candied shell between my teeth, clenching them so hard it hurt.

“You’re going to break something if you keep doing that.” He placed his thumb and index finger on either side of my jaw and rubbed the protruding muscles in a circular motion.

I jerked my head away and wiggled my jaw. “I’m pissed.”

“I know you are, and I get it, but if you were taken down then it couldn’t have been prevented.”

I grunted and stared at a gray vein running through the marble counter. “Maybe.” I avoided his eyes knowing they’d only make me feel better and processed his words. Deep down I knew he was right. I nodded but replayed what had happened anyway to isolate my error. I’d surveyed everything before Oliver stepped into the entrance to that alley. Everything. I’d scanned the buildings and doorways, windows and rooftops. There was no one, and I’d watched Oliver like a hawk. What could I have missed?

“We should call Cavanaugh and tell him what happened,” Vance whispered, interrupting my thoughts.

“You haven’t done that yet? I thought you would’ve while I was getting looked over by the doctor.”

“I never left your side. When would I have called? I needed to hear you were okay first.”

“We should call it in now then.”

In the other room, Camille’s distinctive ring tone sounded again, and I released my phone back into my pocket. It was them. I’d call it in later. Vance and I listened to the call with attentive ears, but Camille’s hushed toned proved challenging to hear anything. She paced, talked, listened, digested, and worried. Cici remained silent.

Camille pled with him—I assumed it was a “him.” They say ninety-five percent of all abductors are male, unmarried, and have few friends; hence the ubiquitous phrase “bad guys.”

The call took less than five minutes, and when it ended, Camille let out a blood curdling scream. She walked toward us clutching the sides of her head, phone in hand. Cici rushed to her aid.

“I’m sorry,” Camille said, fending off Cici’s attempt to console her. “Outbursts aren’t going to help. I’m okay. He’s alive.” She stood panting for a moment and regained her composure. She approached us smacking her phone against her hip. She stopped when she reached the island, and her eyes filled with tears. “Please. You have to help me get him back.”

Vance glanced at me and then back to Camille. “I’m sorry, but there’s not much Diana and I can do. This isn’t our job. We should call the police. The fact that we haven’t yet is bad enough.”

“I can handle this—we can handle this. I don’t need the police, I need you two. Some clown from the FBI will screw this up, or they’ll assign some local Barney Fife. They’ll create a huge media frenzy and get him killed.”

“I really think we should call the police too. I’m scared for Oliver,” Cici interjected.

“You stay out of this. You have absolutely no say in what’s going on here. You didn’t hear your husband’s pained moans through the phone just now. I did. They said no police. We’ll do what I say.” Camille’s skin flushed scarlet.

I hoped to soothe her by softening my voice. “I understand how desperate you are, but this isn’t what we do. The police are trained to handle things like this. Calling them is the best thing for Oliver now.”

She leaned against the counter and smacked her palms down. “No, it isn’t! You didn’t hear what they said. You both can do this. I know you can. Please.”