Chris stared at the empty motel room. The dark-haired man that had taken Abigail away was sprawled out on the floor, blood soaking deep into the cheap old carpeting. They’d missed her. Her tracker had been here not thirty minutes before. They’d rushed here, and they’d missed her.
A gun laid out on the table, in pieces, dirty rags and cleaning solution sitting nearby. He walked through the apartment, careful not to track blood through the room. There was a bag in the bathroom, with a brand new blue t-shirt inside. Loose tags littered the floor. By the brand names, he’d guess jeans and shoes. She’d been able to change clothes before they’d grabbed her.
He sent a quick text to Sierra, asking for Ghost support. They’d have this place clean by morning.
Murphy walked into the room as Chris left the bathroom. His gaze immediately fell to the body. “Oh, boy. Your new life sure is interesting.”
Chris couldn’t bring himself to reply. Instead, he snapped the words out. “Clean up crew will be here shortly. We should go.” Go where, though, that was the question. “I think it’s safe to say he’s got her.” Which left her completely unsafe, but that went without being said. His heart caved in on itself. He was so sure they’d be able to get here in time. How could they not have? How could Lewis’s men get here before they did? They couldn’t have known where she was. They barely knew before they raced over here.
“We’ll keep going,” Murphy said. “We’ll get her back.”
He headed toward the door but froze as the barrel of a shotgun appeared in front of him. “Hardy, these friends of yours?”
Chris raised his weapon as the man holding the shotgun appeared in the room, followed by two more. All three could have been brothers. They were all bulk, filled with tattoos and scars. Hardened fighters. Then as their boss entered, he realized why.
The dark-haired man surveyed them quietly, his hands shoved into his pockets like he was taking a nice morning stroll in the park instead of standing over a dead body. His face hardened as he took in the dead man on the floor but otherwise did not react.
“Giroux.” The word spat out of Chris like an epithet. He hadn’t realized how much hate he’d poured into Jean Giroux’s image in his head until that moment. His scars burned inside his chest.
“Oh, you remember me.” The man chuckled. A malevolent grin, one he remembered from his nightmares all too well, appeared on his face. “I suppose I left you with good reminders. Though, I’m surprised to see you… alive.”
“What are you doing here?” Chris ground out.
He glanced down at the body, shaking his head. “I was here to collect my daughter.”
Murphy’s eyes widened as he glanced at Chris. Chris groaned inwardly. He hadn’t gotten to that part of the story yet. He had focused on telling Murphy about Jack because he really didn’t want Murphy to shoot his team.
Giroux didn’t seem to notice. He focused on Chris, stepping toward him in a slow, easy movement. His face was tight, anger and violence kept on a tight leash it didn’t look like he had much control over.
“Imagine my surprise when I come here to find my man dead, and you standing over his body.” In a lightning fast movement, Giroux grabbed Chris by the vest and slammed him against the wall. His hand wrapped around his throat, holding him against the wall. Chris knew a hundred ways to break his hold but didn’t fight him. “Where is my daughter?”
“Lewis took her,” Chris said it flatly while staring directly into the eyes of the monster that almost killed him two years ago.
“No, we were careful. They couldn’t know where she was.” His face darkened, only inches from Chris.
“He’s telling the truth,” Murphy said.
Giroux turned, releasing Chris at the same time. He bent over and coughed as Giroux leveled his dark eyes at his best friend. “You. I remember you too, lover boy.” He rattled something off in French that made his men chuckle. “How is my little kitten? I do miss her little claws.”
Murphy growled, a deep, inhuman sound, and started toward him, but Giroux’s men held him back, shoving him back against the wall. His entire body tensed, filled to the brim with rage.
Chris had to get to control over this. Either Giroux was going to lose it and kill them, or Murphy was going to lose it and get himself killed. “Listen, Giroux, we both want the same thing. We want Abigail safe and alive.” Chris struggled back to his feet. He really wanted his gun. But something Giroux had said made him think. He glanced at the man. “At least, I hope that you do.”
“I’ve spent the last two decades trying to get her back,” Giroux said. “I had her, and I find you instead, standing over Claude’s dead body. Imagine how… upset that makes me.”
“We didn’t do this,” Chris put his hands up. “We were trying to rescue her but we got here too late.”
“Believe them, Jean,” came a voice from the doorway. Jack had slung a rifle over his shoulder, and stood, filling the entire doorway. His face was unreadable, but his eyes promised brute savagery.
Giroux’s face didn’t change, though Chris thought he might have seen them widen just a tad. Jack Allen had been Alex’s weapon and his old team’s secret one until a few months ago when Nathan had recruited him into the Reapers and ended his old life.
“Well, Jack Allen. This is a day for surprises.”
“We can sit here and yap about all the surprises,” Jack said, grinning dangerously, “Or… we can go find your daughter.”
Giroux narrowed his eyes at Jack. “You left my brother’s side to work with these assholes? You would betray us like this?”
“No,” Jack said and pointed at Chris. “I just work with that asshole. But… we all want the same thing right now. The girl, alive.”
“And when we no longer share a goal?”
“Then we go back to business as usual.”
Giroux harrumphed. He gazed at Jack for several long seconds before he nodded. “You have twenty-four hours to find her and bring her to me. If not, I will look and I promise, many people will die in my search for her. I will not let anyone take her away again.”
“Fair enough,” Jack said. “Let them go.”
Giroux smiled. “No, I think I will keep them.”
“I need them,” Jack said. “I can’t go against that many men with guns by myself.”
“You can have one,” Giroux said. “And you will take one of mine.”
“I don’t want your men. But I’ll take him.” Jack nodded toward Murphy. Chris pressed his lips together into a thin line. Jack had never liked him. But he’d thought he could at least trust him.
Giroux looked thoughtful. His eyes slid over Chris like icy water before he looked back at Jack again. “Agreed.” Giroux jerked his head toward Jack and his men pushed Murphy away from them. He hoped Jack knew what he was doing because if he died at the hands of Jean Giroux a second time, he was going to haunt that mother fucker for eternity.