“Do you know why Maddey isn’t answering her phone?” I cut in.
“It must have died from all the texting she was doing with the girls.” Makes sense. Their group chat blows up incessantly, as if most of them don’t see each other every day. “Let me go so I can finish this up and we can be on our way before Maddey decides to tase me.” Even with the seriousness of the situation, Justin rolls his lips in to hold back a laugh. “I’ll have her call you guys as soon as I’m done.”
“Sounds good, man. See you soon.” Justin pockets his phone, and I resume my pacing.
I hate this. Fucking hate it.
I should have dragged Maddey into the car with us. I don’t care how much she reasoned with me or pleaded; I shouldn’t have given in. The dogs would have been fine. Hell, she’s barely bigger than they are—she wouldn’t have taken up that much space.
She’s never been able to charm me before, so why did I let her now? With so much still up in the air, this is the worst time for me to have done so.
I’ve yet to get her to admit her feelings for me.
There’s the whole issue of us still not knowing who her stalker is.
Wait…
Holy shit!
What if…what if this was all some sort of elaborate play so this motherfucker could get to Maddey? It’s barely been two days since the guy had the balls to set foot on her property and leave those pictures of us in the hot tub, and what if the pictures weren’t the only thing left behind?
Fuck!
I throw my hat to the side and start to yank on the ends of my hair.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Paul needs to hurry the fuck up with that tire because I need to talk to Tink right fucking now. I’m not going to feel better until I have direct confirmation that she is okay.
Relax. She’s with Paul. He’s a cop—he’ll be able to protect her if anything happens.
That’s just it though…it’s my job to keep Maddey safe.
Chapter Fifty
My head is pounding worse than the night tequila and I had a fiesta, and my mouth feels like it did that time I let Tucker talk me into trying to do the saltine challenge.
Burying my hands in my hair, I dig my fingers into my skull in an effort to massage away the deep ache in it. What the hell happened?
A gentle rocking starts to lull me back to sleep then everything slams into my consciousness at once.
Trident and Navy acting weird then collapsing without explanation.
The mad dash to get out of the house and get them to the animal hospital.
Dex sending me a picture of him taking care of my baby.
Paul trying to keep me from having a panic attack.
And then…
Nothing.
It’s just one big blank void.
I bolt upright, clutching my head again when the world around me spins. Seriously, what happened?
Cautiously, I blink my eyes open, and…where the fuck am I? The room I’m in is only big enough for the bed I’m on. The door is cracked, and I scoot forward to peer out into…a…galley? I’m on a boat?
Oh, I love that song. Let me grab my flippy-floppies.
No, I say sternly, cutting off the voices before they can begin. This is so not the time for them to be butting in. I have to figure out what the hell is going on.
The first thing I do is search the covers, smoothing them out, lifting them, tossing the pillows on the floor—anything that could hide my phone—but I come up empty.
I’m too goddamn fuzzy to think straight, and when I manage to do so, all I come up with are questions, not an answer to be found.
Where’s my phone?
Why am I on a boat?
Whose boat am I on?
What time is it?
Based on the fading light outside the small window above the bed, time has passed, but I’m not sure how much.
Holy shit! I’m pretty sure I was drugged.
A sick realization slithers into my belly and makes my skin crawl. Did my…did my stalker finally get me?
I feel frantic but my movements are sluggish, and I’m starting to realize it definitely has to do with being drugged. I pull my leg from under me and slap a hand on my ankle, searching. When my fingers brush the stack of anklets circling it, my heartbeat speeds up. I feel around until I find the familiar shape of Tinker Bell hanging off one of them, but my pulse doesn’t slow until I hit the new addition from yesterday. The miniature mason jar Dex added is still there.
Okay, good. I’m still trackable.
Where’s Paul? Is he okay?
Fuck me I need to stop with the questions and come up with a plan. Time to think logically.
Digging my knuckles into my brow, I take a few deep breaths and will myself to get it together. I need to control the chaos.
First things first. I’ve already deduced that I’ve been missing for an undetermined amount time, but there’s no way Dex and Justin aren’t already scouring the earth to find me. Well, they won’t really have to scour since whoever took me didn’t remove my tracker.
There’s also the whole I’m on a boat thing. Whose boat am I on? Why am I even on it, and where we are headed? I know we are moving because I can tell by the rocking of the hull and the sound of the waves shoosh-shoosh-shooshing against the sides.
Taking stock, I try to suss out what type of vessel I’m on. From the lack of a motor and the faintest sound of fabric rippling in the distance, I suspect it’s a sailboat.
The conclusion also fits with the cabin setup. There are stairs leading to the top deck straight across from the end of the bedroom. To the right of them I see a bathroom, and to the left is a tiny kitchen area. Closer to me there are two chairs and a small table between them, also to my right, and large bench-style seats surround a kitchen table on three sides.
I hate the thought of having to sit here and wait around for someone to come rescue me, but without my phone, I don’t have any means to communicate with anyone to relay the small amount of information I can supply.
The funny thing is—not ha-ha funny, but ironic funny—if it is my stalker who has me, they clearly don’t know me as well as they claim to. What person in their right mind takes a person who has former and active SEALs protecting them on a boat?
I’m pretty sure in the guidebook on how to become a stalker, the first thing is that they aren’t in the right frame of mind. Jiminy, ever his helpful self.
This is true, though. Plus, how many times this week has Dex told me ‘SEALs do it better in water’? Guess it’s time for him to put his money where his mouth is.
In all seriousness—or as much as I can manage; I am still me, after all—whoever has me made a major tactical error. It so doesn’t help their case that I will literally have John McClain (pretend it’s the correct spelling for the story’s sake) as one of the people coming to save me with his fellow frogmen.
Recon—I need to get the lay of the land and assess everything so I know what I can use to my advantage. Actually, scratch that—I need a weapon. Maybe the kitchen will have something suitable.
I wobble when I push to my feet, still a little groggy from whatever I was dosed with. The room swirls around me as I take a few cautious steps, but after a few seconds, it passes. I’m really starting to worry about what happened to Paul. If I was drugged, does that mean he was too? And what did they do with him? I swear to god, if this asshat hurt Justin’s partner…