DELIVER(90)

His arms locked around her belly, hugging her close. He wanted to believe Mr. E raised Livana because she was his granddaughter, but he suspected the reason was more perverse. What better way to keep his arrangement with Liv tightly fastened than to keep her daughter as close as possible.

“What if he figures out Van is gone? Oh God, he has my daughter, and I killed his son.”

“He’ll investigate why neither of you are answering your phones before he eliminates the only hold he has on you.” Maybe Mr. E considered Livana his daughter, but it wasn’t a mercy Josh would count on. The man had abandoned his own son to a woman who was too stoned to prevent her child from being raped. What kind of life was Mr. E giving Livana?

He buried his rising panic and kissed Liv’s head. Leaning her backward against his chest, he lowered their bodies below the windows.

The front door opened a third time. A blond woman stepped out, slender frame, hair in a pony tail. She was maybe a decade younger than Mr. E given her swift strides, the muscle tone in her arms, and her trendy jeans and blouse. With her purse in hand, she strode toward Mr. E. “I’m starving.”

Mr. E stared at his phone. “Change of plans. I need to be somewhere.” His gaze shifted to Livana who yanked on his hand in a futile attempt to move him forward. He untangled their hands and patted her head. “I’m going to drop you and Livana off at the station. We’ll pick up dinner on the way, and you can eat there.”

For a heart-stopping moment, he glanced at the street, his eyes probing the lines of parked cars. Then he climbed in the driver’s seat.

Josh’s muscles ached with tension. “Why would he take them to the station?”

“He’s paranoid.” She stroked his fingers absently. “For the first time in seven years, we’re not answering our phones. My mom’s murder gives me a damned good reason to revolt, and he knows the first thing I’d do is search for Livana.”

The woman clasped Livana’s arm, holding her in place. “We’ll just stay here.”

“Get in the car,” the voice barked from within the SUV.

The woman jumped and hustled Livana into the backseat. As she slid into the front seat, the engine started, and the brake lights illuminated the driveway.

“Shit. He’s backing up.” Liv slumped lower on his lap, dragging him down by his shirt. “Josh, he’s going to Temple. We need to be there.”

His pulse raced. “Shh. It’s okay.” He hugged her against him. “As soon as they leave, we’ll head back. We’ll beat him there.”

She pressed her face against his chest, nodding, her body trembling. “She’ll be safe at the police station. We’ll kill him at the house and…Jesus, what if he doesn’t come? It’s a huge risk.”

He stroked her hair as the rumble of the SUV grew closer. “This is a blessing, Liv. We’re captives. We’ll end this where he imprisoned us. It’ll be self-defense. We won’t have to run or try to cover it up.” He would see his parents again. She could live a normal life. His muscles clenched, his heart thundering. He wanted that for her so badly.

The rumble came to a stop beside them. Was the darkness and the tinted windows enough to conceal them? He popped open the glove box where the guns were stored and held his breath, his pulse drumming in his ears. Her fingers dug into his ribs, her body heaving against his.

The engine growled and the soft whir of tires on asphalt sounded the SUV’s retreat down the street. He blew out a shuddering exhale.

She melted against him, rubbed a hand up his chest, and curled her fingers around his neck. Raising her head, she blinked at him with watery eyes. “I—” she kissed the spot over his heart, leaned up, and kissed his lips, softly, breathlessly “—you.”

His heartbeat catapulted, strumming every cell in his body. “You, too, girl.” His mouth moved against hers, and during that brief, stolen connection, he felt her lips curve up.

For the next hour, they detailed their plan. The setup. The strike. The aftermath. When they pulled into the driveway in Temple, they had the story they would give to police ironed out and rehearsed.

She used the remote to open the garage door, and the emptiness within tingled down his spine. “Where’s the van?”

Her forehead furrowed as she parked the car and closed the doors. “Camila would’ve taken it to transport…” She rolled her lips, chin quivering, and rubbed her nose. “To transport the body.”

The tingle on his spine receded, replaced with a fortitude to do anything needed to ensure they survived the night. He handed her the LC9 from the glove box, grabbed the PT-22, and followed her to the kitchen door. His muscles burned through his strides, amped up and ready.

Her pass code released the door, and he slipped in before her, gun raised in two hands. He had three bullets left. He’d only need one, unless someone was waiting for their return. Did Mr. E have a larger network? Would he have called someone to meet him here?

The silence in the kitchen stood as still as the dark. She moved behind him, her footfalls trailing to the sink where she flicked the switch. Light flooded the room.

The yellow linoleum floor showed no evidence of blood. The matching yellow sink was also scrubbed. The chairs were pushed in at the table. No body, no bloody rags, and no dolls.

“I’m glad they took the mannequins,” she whispered.