Series: Shifter Ops Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
“Who is it?” I hesitate, my hands on the lock.
“Mrs. Armstrong?” a deep voice rumbles through the door. “Mr. van den Berg requests your presence at his home.”
Why did my boss send a car for me? Did I forget something? I open the front door. “Now’s not a good time.”
“I think it is, Ms. Sanchez. He wanted me to tell you, he has your son.”
“Geo.” I sag against the door frame. “Thank goodness.” Wait–but why? My brain tries to make sense of it. My boss must have picked him up for an outing. Or did it have something to do with the new school? I’m totally confused, but at least I know he’s safe. “One second. Let me grab my purse.” I turn–I left my phone on the side table with my keys. Channing is still on the other line. I can hear him yelling something.
“Julia! Don’t–”
“You won’t be needing that.” The big guy closes his hand over my arm, pulling me back. Before I can snap at him to let me go, he plucks my cell phone off the table and crushes it in his fist.
I gasp, and he propels me out the door. “This way. Better not keep Mr. van den Berg waiting.”
Channing
I watch in helpless fury as Hannibal drags Julia out the door and hauls her into the backseat of the car. My shouted warnings didn’t reach her in time. Even if they had, what could she do against Hannibal? The fucker could overpower her with a finger.
I knew Mr. van den Berg was a creep. He has Geo–I overheard that much.
The sedan rolls beyond the scope of the cameras, but not before I clock a welcome sight. A furry black and white shape flowing down the driveway.
Buddy. He came through. If he tagged the car, we have a chance.
I hit the emergency button on my phone, radioing for back up. “Flagstaff. Location TBD.”
If Buddy does his job, I’ll have a location soon.
I hop on my bike. A few minutes into my ride, my phone buzzes with Buddy’s call.
“Tell me you got it,” I say by way of greeting.
“Tagged it.” He’s out of breath from chasing after the car and stealing away unseen. “I’ll send you the location.”
“Send it to command central, too.” Buddy has a line to our pack headquarters. He’ll communicate with them while I hunt Hannibal down.
“Done.”
“I couldn't’ stop them,” he says, his voice soaked in regret. “I couldn’t fight–”
“You did what you needed to do. We have a chance to save her and Geo because of you.”
“Go get them,” Buddy says.
“Ten four. Channing out.”
I pull up the coordinates Buddy sent me. Hannibal’s car is on the move, and I can guess where they’re going.
Time to visit Julia’s boss. I just need Geo and Julia to stay alive until I can pull off the rescue.
I rev my bike and zoom off at top speed.
Hang on, Julia. I’m coming.
Julia
The sun has sunk below the horizon by the time we pull into the long drive leading to Mr. van den Berg's mansion. I've been here before for a holiday party. The gothic architecture looked festive, strung with lights. Now the imported stone looks cold and forbidding as a stone fortress. A prison.
No one's explicitly said that I'm a prisoner, but what else would I be? A giant man forced me into the back of a car against my will. And he said they have my son.
I sit in silence, my posture stiff and upright. I’m in my work clothes–a V-necked sweater and yoga pants. No shoes, just my wooly house socks. No phone. No weapon.
I only have my wits and the knowledge that Channing will find me. If he didn’t hear everything over the phone, Buddy will fill him in.
Channing will come for me. It seems his instincts about my boss were right. I should have listened. He’ll move heaven and earth to rescue me and Geo. I need to sit tight, get to Geo and keep us alive until he comes.
I ask a few questions, keeping my voice calm. “What does Mr. van den Berg want with me? Why did he take Geo?”
The driver says nothing. Neither does the huge guy in the seat next to me, the one who forced me into the car. He catches me eyeing the door latch and lock.
“No,” he rumbles. His voice is deep and wrong somehow. It makes me want to slam myself against the far door. “No funny business.”
“I want to see my son,” I tell him.
The car pulls up to the imposing front door–an arched monstrosity lined with statues–modeled after Notre Dame Cathedral. I wait for the big guy to exit and come around to open my door. He doesn’t grab me this time. The bruises on my arm throb as I pass him and walk into the house.