out, it also became clear something wasn’t right with Malcolm.”
Carter raised his hand, holding up a photograph. “Belle keeps this safe in her sewing kit. It kills her to look at her mom and remember their history. It hurts even worse to see the reason for Malcolm’s obsession.”
Hanson, Ortiz, Rosalie and I moved in, squinting at the photo on his palm.
“Holy shit.” Picking it up, I traced the beautiful smiling woman holding a chubby blonde baby on her lap. “She looks exactly like her. Belle could be her twin.” Horrible realization twisted my stomach. “He wants her because she looks like her mother? His own fucking stepdaughter?”
Expression grim, Carter shook his head. “He wants her because he thinks she is her mother. During the custody battle, he kept slipping up and calling her the wrong name. Arabella,” he said.
“Arabella Fletcher was Belle’s mother’s name. The same name Malcolm calls her every time he’s taunted, harassed, and swore to her he’d find her and bring her back, so now do you understand?” he flung, suddenly speaking to the detectives. “Belle is trapped with a violent, abusive mobster who thinks she’s his wife. The wife he murdered when she tried to leave him. We have to find her now!”
The detectives looked at him and then each other. They were on their phones in a blink.
“Get everyone on the streets. Our man is Malcolm Byrne, suspected of assault, murder, and the kidnapping of Belle Lewis-Adler,” Hanson ordered. “Check the airport, private hangers, and docks. Get in contact with Miss Lewis-Adler’s parents. I want a complete description of this guy posted all over town within the hour...”
I drew Carter to the side, still holding the picture of our girl. “We can’t just sit here,” I said. “I don’t trust those two to find their asses with a flashlight.”
“Agreed. What happened, man? How did he know she was here?”
My jaw clenched. Every inch of me was tight with frustration. Too long without her and I’d claw out of my skin. “I don’t know. It’s not just that he’s rich because shit knows we can’t pull the Houdini crap he does for all the money in the world. He’s smart and he knows who to get to. We have to think like him if we’re going to find her.”
“Where do we start? Asking around town?”
“Absolutely. We’re having a chat with security too,” I said. “I doubt Byrne got lucky and happened to pick the shadiest piece of garbage on the first try. We’ll find out if he approached the others.”
“Right. Yeah.” Carter raked his hands through his hair, wobbling on his feet for a second. “If that guy does anything to her—”
“Don’t. We will find her safe. We have to.” I clapped his shoulder. “First, let’s get Preston out of that damn hospital bed. Belle’s waiting for us.”
BELLE
“Stop! Let me go!”
Malcolm, or Mal as he preferred to be called, locked my wrist in an iron grip as he cut my restraints and dragged me out of the car. It’s amazing that people didn’t see this man for what he was the instant he opened his mouth. What kind of person relished being called a name that meant bad? Abnormal.
Evil.
“What do you think?”
Mal swept his hand over the ramshackle teardown before us. The beach house had seen better days. The wood holding the place together was distressed and splintered. Blue paint covered most of it, but it looked like in some places they chose not to bother. Looking past, my eyes traveled down the beach to the rickety dock. Tied to it was a large, white boat easily worth three times the house.
“I think it looks like a shit heap,” I said.
Laughing, Mal tightened his grip as my heels dug deep grooves in the sand.
“What have I always told you? You can’t look at things for what they are, but for what they can be. This is our safe haven until we can get home.”
I seized on a flutter of hope. “You have always told me that. Me, Daddy. Belle.” I yanked on my wrist, whirling him around. “I’m not Mom. She died.”
Mal crumpled into a frown, jaw ticcing.
“It’s me, Belle,” I screamed for what must have been the thousandth time. “I’m your stepdaughter. Don’t you remember? You sang Irish nursery songs to put me to sleep and told me about the stars? Please, Dad. Remember!”
“Shut up! That’s enough, Arabella.” He stalked off, dragging me with him.
Hope doused in cold reality. I pleaded into those eyes for