Insatiable (Steel Brothers Saga #12) - Helen Hardt Page 0,31
my ass that day at the gym. He knew his stuff.
He also apparently kidnapped people for a living.
He hadn’t hurt any of them—other than drugging them and taking them against their will. That in itself was hurtful. But as far as the torturous, violating hurt that my father had inflicted on Colin Morse? Dominic and his cohorts hadn’t done any of that. Still, he’d hurt the woman I loved, and she might suffer long-lasting trauma because of it. Now he was missing. But I’d find him. I’d find him and make him pay.
Dominic James was most likely Dominic Booker, some relation to Cade Booker and Alessandra Booker.
The mobile number on his business card had an Iowa area code.
The phone calls Joe and I had received had also come from Iowa area codes. Different numbers, though, and no word from Mills and Johnson on their origins.
Couldn’t be all coincidental, though. Could it?
I picked up my cell phone and dialed Dominic’s number. I didn’t expect to get an answer, and I didn’t.
This is Dominic James, personal trainer. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.
“This is Bryce Simpson,” I said into the phone, carefully regulating my voice. I’d never get what I wanted if I threatened to tear him limb from limb. “You and I need to talk. I have information you need.”
I set my phone down and stared at it for a moment. I was bluffing. I had no information he needed.
Or did I?
I knew of his affiliation with Cade Booker, who had disappeared from his law firm the day he’d pepper-sprayed Joe and me. Did his law firm even know about the mafia-style setup in his office? Did they know he regularly armed himself with three weapons? No one had heard anything from him since then. Only a little more than a day had passed. My eyes were still slightly irritated, though I’d forgotten all about it while I was in search of Marjorie. Some things were more important than physical pain.
Marjorie peered into the room, now dressed in one of my T-shirts and the sweats she’d been wearing earlier.
“Do you want to stop at the main house and get something else to wear?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I want to get to the hospital. I’ve been kept out of this loop long enough.”
I wasn’t about to argue with her.
“He’s beautiful.” Marjorie cuddled her newborn nephew in the NICU.
The baby was breathing well on his own. Sometimes, when he forgot to breathe, either Joe or Melanie or a nurse tapped his little heel and he started up again. This would get less frequent as he got older, everyone said, and he’d remember to breathe.
“Good job, man,” I said to Joe.
Despite everything else going on, Joe couldn’t stop smiling. He was so proud to be a father.
“If I’d known being a dad was this amazing, I might have done it before now,” he said.
“It’s the most rewarding thing ever,” I agreed, missing my little son horribly. Knowing he was safe, though—that was worth everything. I’d called my mother earlier and talked to Henry. He babbled in my ear about nothing in particular.
He was safe. Safe and happy.
Melanie was still in her hospital room but was being released later. The baby would stay for at least a week, perhaps more, until he’d gained a pound or two and his breathing had completely normalized.
“She wants to stay here with him,” Joe said. “I booked her a suite at the Carlton.”
“You staying with her?” I asked.
“I want to, but she insists I get back and figure out what’s going on.” He sighed. “It breaks my heart to leave them, but she’s right.”
Marj looked up then. “When are you going to give this little guy a name?”
Joe sighed again. “I don’t know. We were going to name him Brad, after Dad, but now? Knowing he might have faked his death yet again? I don’t know.”
“He’s still your dad, no matter what. He meant a lot to you. What’s wrong with naming your son after him?” I stroked the baby’s soft cheek.
“I don’t know, man. It just doesn’t feel right.”
“What does Mel think?” Marj asked.
“She thinks I need to get over myself.” Joe chuckled.
“You should listen to your wife,” Marj said.
“I usually do,” Joe said. Then, to me, “Remember our first son pact?”
“I feel bad for kids with only one dad,” I said, making the last fold on my paper airplane.